Fatalis (42 page)

"Sheriff," Grand shouted, "do you have air tanks down there?"

"Yes-"

"Put them on." Grand turned to the police officers and yelled, "Someone get me a lighter and someone else get a fire extinguisher. And you better call for backup. If they turn on us, we'll need it."

The idea of fighting the saber-tooths with guns sickened him, but there were over twenty lives at risk. He prayed the cats would retreat, give him time to find a nonlethal solution.

The captain slid a Bic lighter across the floor while one of the police officers grabbed an extinguisher from the back of the truck. Grand went over to the truck, pulled the maps from the back, and went to the hole. The officer gave the extinguisher to Grand. He set it near the hole.

The leaking tar had begun to spill over the edge of the hole. Grand slid inside. The air was still thick with concrete dust and he held his breath. He lay the maps on the tar and removed his jacket. He placed those on top of the maps. Then he ignited the maps beneath the jacket Neither the garment nor the tar would burn, though the maps would cause the tar to smoke. Grand hoped he was right about fires possibly having chased the cats into the hills. If so, they would vividly remember the smell of burning pulp and hot tar.

Grand squatted beside the jacket He could hear the scratching of claws, the low breathing of the cats. The saber-tooths weren't far behind. Thick gray smoke began to seep from around the jacket Grand raised one end slightly and with slow, rhythmic movements began fanning the smoke into the tunnel.

Time had become completely distorted. Millennia had been condensed into days; day and night had run together, and now seconds seemed eternal as he watched the smoke float down the fissure. He shouldn't need a lot of it. Computer reconstructions of their nasal cavities suggested that the saber-tooths had an olfactory sense equivalent to modern-day lions. Like prey, they should smell the smoke almost at once-

"Grand, the cat stopped coming!" Gearhart yelled. "What are you doing back there?"

"Get back on your air!" Grand shouted. "I started a fire! The cats will probably leave the way they came."

Grand listened as the scratching suddenly stopped. He heard low growls, like the sounds Fluffy made whenever he thought he heard someone coming toward the front door. After a moment the scratching resumed.

It was coming toward him.

Grand lifted the jacket so the cats would feel the heat of the fire, smell the smoke more intensely. He stood in the opening. He pulled himself up, lay on his belly, and continued to look down. As the tar smoldered, the smoke became darker and thicker.

"They're leaving!" Gearhart called out.

"Give them some time and stay on your air," Grand said. "There's heavy smoke coming."

The growling stopped and the scraping grew quieter. After a few moments, Grand heard movement-footsteps on loose rock, belts and gear hitting rock. The men were coming out.

Smoke was rising from the hole now. Grand pulled out his handkerchief and put it in front of his mouth. Then he turned and motioned toward the police. Captain Mclver ran over with another man. Both squatted beside Grand, their MPSs turned toward the opening.

"Your men are coming," Grand said through the handkerchief. "We're going to have to get them out quickly and then figure out where the saber-tooths are headed."

"You burned the maps," Mclver said.

"Hannah has copies," Grand said.

Just then the first of the police officers appeared through the dark gray smoke. They were staggering. Unlike full-face masks used by firefighters, Scott packs don't filter out smoke entirely. Grand grabbed the fire extinguisher and turned the hose down the hole, on the fire. When he was done, he set the extinguisher behind him, by the truck. The policeman with Mclver gave the man a hand getting out and men helped him away. Mclver helped the second man out and led him back to the truck. Then Gearhart appeared. The sheriff hesitated.

"Come on!" Grand said.

Gearhart pulled out his mouthpiece and let it hang on his chest. He looked up at Grand. "I can't run from them," he said. There was something almost plaintive in the way he used it, in his expression.

"We're not running," Grand said. "We're regrouping."

"No," Gearhart said. "Not me."

He turned back and snuggled the MP5 against his shoulder. The dust, which had mostly settled, was kicked up by the men's return and hung around him like mist. There was still smoke in the air from the fire.

"What do you think you can do?" Grand asked.

"Go back and get them," Gearhart said. "There's a wide fissure low on the floor, about twenty yards in. I missed it because of the dust. If we let those animals get away we're going to lose them."

"No," Grand told him. "There are only so many places the saber-tooths can go."

"It'll take time for backup to get here and we can't police them all," Gearhart said. He took a few steps back the way he'd come. The dust swirled gently and the smoke curled around him more thickly before rolling into the fissure.

"Sheriff, don't."

"It'll be okay," he said. "I'll have an advantage. They'll be facing us ass-backwards."

"You don't know that," Grand said. "They leave sentries-"

"Then the sentries will die." Gearhart started forward, the severed tail still swinging from his belt.

Grand wondered if the smell of the tail had been what brought the cats to that side of the tunnel, not just the tar.

"Wait, Sheriff!
Don't
!"

Gearhart continued ahead.

With an oath Grand held his breath, swung his legs around, and lowered himself into the dusty opening. He ducked down and looked ahead. Gearhart was a dim figure about four feet ahead of him. Grand stepped over the jacket and reached for him.

Suddenly, Gearhart seemed to rise up and fly toward him, as though he'd been lifted and thrown. His gun bounced off into the darkness. Grand jumped back as Gearhart landed hard on the jacket. He was followed by a saber-tooth, its head held low and bucking like an angry elk, its eyes golden slits in the mist. It had a large ridge of hair down its back and its nose was twitching in a way that exposed a row of long, white upper teeth.

It
was
a male. Grand wondered if the tail had belonged to its mate.

"
Help down here
!" Grand yelled and bent to get his hands under Gearhart's shoulders, pull him away-

The saber-tooth roared and leaped onto Gearhart. He butted Grand back with his head. Grand struck the stone wall hard. Then, opening his huge jaw ninety degrees, the saber-tooth buried his fangs in the sheriff's belly. Gearhart wailed and pushed desperately at the creature's thickly whiskered muzzle with both hands. The saber-tooth didn't seem to notice. It shook its head from side to side, digging through the sheriff's body and then ripping down.

"
No
!" Grand screamed.

Pushing himself off the sharp stone, the scientist looked around for something he could use against the animal. He saw a long, pointed shard of concrete that had been broken off by the jackhammer and picked up. Holding it in both hands, Grand ran at the creature, managed to squeeze beside it, and drove the makeshift knife down hard at the back of its neck. The tip struck fat wads of muscle. The creature hissed. It sounded like a car tire spinning on ice. The animal lifted its head, tilted it to the side, and snapped at Grand. The scientist hopped to his left, toward the opening. The fangs missed him by less than an inch. Grand seized the moment to grab the front of Gearhart's vest and try to pull him back.

The cat roared and pounced forward, butting Grand back with a big swipe of its head and pinning Gearhart beneath it. The sheriff put his hands on the ground and tried to push himself from under the cat but the cat wouldn't release him. Bits of flesh hung from the creature's fangs as it raised its head and bit down again, this time higher, just below the rib cage. Gearhart screamed, his body spasming as the fangs tore through muscle and bone. His fingers shaking, Gearhart clawed at air, his hands covered with his own blood.

Grand still had the concrete wedge. He was about to charge again when Captain Mclver appeared in the opening.

"
Stand clear
!" he shouted.

Grand froze, then jerked back as the officer fired his MP5 into the cat's head. The saber-tooth's eyes widened and it rose on its hind legs as though it wanted to charge. Its head struck the roof of the fissure, leaving blood on the stone. Then its powerful hind legs just folded; the cat fell back down at Gearhart's feet, lifeless.

The sheriff wasn't breathing either.

"Come on!" Mclver said, extending a hand.

One of the other officers arrived then and covered them. Tar was now pouring over the lip.

Grand threw the concrete aside and dropped beside Gearhart He slipped his hands under the sheriff's broad shoulders and pulled him back under the opening. He stood, still holding the body. Blood was running down the sheriff's legs, pooling with that of the dead cat.

"Help me," Grand said.

Mclver reached in. "Aw, shit," he said. "Shit. Shit."

As Grand was passing the sheriff's body out of the hole, he felt a change in the fissure.

Warmth, coming at him in waves.

The fire was extinguished, and the cats smelled death
, he thought.
The death of one of their own
.

They were coming.

Hannah ran over and dropped beside Grand. She looked down at the mauled body of Malcolm Gearhart.

The sheriff was dead; there wasn't any doubt about that. But Grand knelt beside him anyway, one knee on the ground, feeling frantically for a heartbeat, then for a pulse, then for a sign of breath.

He finally gave up.

"It's not your fault," Hannah said. She had always hoped to write a farewell to Gearhart, but not this way.

"I told him not to go in."

"I know," Hannah said. "But the sheriff had to do things his way. You couldn't change that."

As they bent over Gearhart, Mclver sent two officers to collect the body. Then he called for medical teams to be waiting by on Curson. Meanwhile, Mindar's team moved in. The scratching sounds and long, low hisses rose from somewhere below. It sounded to Hannah like a door to hell had opened and unimaginable demons were crawling forth.

The Wall came over but he didn't take any pictures. He stood there with a shellshocked expression and made the sign of the cross as the two officers ran over with a canvas sheet from the back of the truck. They wrapped it tightly around Gearhart's body.

Grand put his arm around Hannah and stood. "Come on. We'd better get back."

Hannah looked out at the soldiers who were forming a skirmish line beside the truck, men squatting in front and others standing behind them.

"I'm sorry about this," Hannah said to Grand.

Grand nodded and hugged her close. Then they, the Wall, and the two police officers carrying Sheriff Gearhart's remains ran forward. There was blood on Grand's hand and forearm. As soon as they got behind the line, Hannah pulled him down and checked to make sure the blood wasn't his.

It wasn't. Grand had stuffed his handkerchief halfway into his pocket. Hannah pulled it out and began wiping the blood away.

The sounds were getting louder. Or maybe they only seemed louder because everything else was so silent.

Captain Mclver was standing between his team, which was on the truck, behind the barrels, and the soldier.

"Pick them off as they come out of the hole," Captain Mclver said softly. "We don't want to tag the first one and have him fall on the others."

Grand looked anxiously toward the soldiers' backs. He tried to rise but Hannah was still holding his hand. She pulled him down and gently turned his face toward hers.

"Don't watch," she said.

"Hannah, how can I just let this happen?"

"You did everything you could," she said. "It all happened too fast and people are dying."

There was a sound behind her. Hannah turned. It was coming from the drainage grate. It had been too small and indirect for the men to go through. But tigers were not men.

"Jim?"

He looked back.

"When we were on the truck Gearhart said something about tributaries," Hannah said.

"He was right."

"Do you think this room drains into the underground water system?"

"We'd have to check the building plans-"

Just then the heavy iron grate flew from the opening. It spun through the air like a tossed coin and crashed just feet away from them. A golden-furred head appeared in the bright lights. A moment later saber-tooths began leaping into the garage.

The Army National Guardsmen turned. So did the police. Before they could fire, more cats rushed them. "Watch your backs!" Grand yelled.

Still crouching behind the truck, Grand threw himself on top of Hannah to protect her. He managed to steal a quick look back at the Wall, who had gone over to the Jeeps to take a picture of the garage. The photographer leaped behind them when the cats emerged.

When Grand shouted, Mclver turned back toward the original hole in the concrete. He saw two more cats running toward them. He swung his weapon around as the cats leaped the truck in a muscular bound and landed on the other side. Mclver drove a flurry of bullets into the cat's underbelly and it landed on the truck, amidst the leaking barrels of tar. The other made it across and came down on Mclver. The captain fell back, his ribs cracking audibly. The cat simultaneously turned and leaped at the officer standing next to him; the animal's takeoff crushed Mclver's pelvis. The officer tried to turn and fire but the cat's fangs pulled his arm away at the shoulder. The man fell and the cat jumped at Grand, who was behind them. He was still lying on top of Hannah, shielding her from cats and bullets.