Fatalis

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Hannah was already showered, dressed, and working at her laptop when Grand walked into the living room. He winced as he glanced through the wide-open glass sliders at the white beach. The sands were blinding. He turned away and looked around the room for a clock. He saw one on the VCR. It was seven-forty. Hannah wasn't the only one exhaustion had caught up to. He hadn't slept this late in years.

"Good morning," Hannah said.

"Good morning," he said groggily.

Grand walked toward Hannah. The young woman was dressed in a sky blue blouse and faded jeans. The long sleeves of the blouse were rolled back. There were scratches and bruises on her forearms, cheek, and neck. Despite the wounds, she looked fresh. It was her attitude, he decided.

"There's coffee in the kitchen. I brewed it this time."

"Smells good," Grand said. He went in and poured himself some. "Do you want anything?"

"No, thanks. Listen-there's been news."

Grand woke up fast.

"My managing editor called a few minutes ago. It may not have anything to do with the tigers, but the helicopter with Officer Lyon went down."

"The Special Ops officer?"

Hannah nodded.

"Is he all right?"

Hannah shook her head. "Both he and the pilot were killed."

"In the crash?" Grand asked.

"I don't know," Hannah said. "The coroner is doing an autopsy, but of course no one is telling the press anything yet."

"So there were bodies this time," Grant said.

"Yes," Hannah said. "Besides, how would the tiger have gotten inside the cockpit of a helicopter that was airborne?"

"We've always suspected that saber-tooths may have been climbers," Grand said. "Are climbers," he corrected himself. That would take some getting used to. "They have the claws and strength for it. They could have jumped off a treetop, off a cliffside. Or maybe the helicopter landed and tried to take off again."

"But why would they attack?"

"To protect their territory. I told Gearhart to have Lyon follow a route southeast, remember? He may have found what he was looking for and tried to take them out. Is there any other information?"

"Not about that," Hannah said. "The only other news is that Gearhart has requested assistance from the Army National Guard to seal off the area. He's going to get it."

Grand turned back toward the sliders. Since the night before, when Gearhart had threatened to kill the creatures, Grand had been wondering how they would fare against automatic weapons. These very saber-tooths had probably faced prehistoric hunters with spears or arrows. They might understand the concept of projectiles. If so, they might also have come up with a strategy for dealing with humans and their weapons.

He needed to collect his thoughts, make a plan. He slipped his hands into the pockets of the robe and breathed deeply. The sea air smelled good. He looked along the beach toward the south. There was a wharf with a pair of workers hanging over the side painting the pilings. There was a faint smell in the air, one he couldn't quite place that was coming from the wharf. His mind was sidetracked as he thought back to when he lived on the beach with Rebecca. There was something different and he realized at once what it was. There were joggers but no dogs. Usually the beach was full of them at this time of day. He wondered if the animals sensed the presence of the saber-tooths and were refusing to come out. Maybe that was the reason that Fluffy had been so quiet the day before.

"Finished," Hannah said as she typed the last period with a flourish. "Last night's adventure as we lived it."

"Did you mention the saber-tooths?"

"I fudged," she admitted. "I said they were big cats that looked like saber-tooths. I usually don't run anything without two sources, and I try not to be one of them. Let me ask you something."

"Sure."

"If the tigers are traveling southeast, their trip to the beach was pretty far off course for them."

"Very."

"Why do you think they went there?"

"I'm not sure," Grand admitted.

"What do you think about this idea then," she asked, "that the cats might have been looking for something familiar. These tigers wake up, things are totally different from what they were. The ocean could have been the only smell they recognized. Maybe they went to check it out."

"It's possible," Grand agreed.

"That could also be why they attacked the fish truck," Hannah said. "It was a familiar smell."

"The saber-tooths could also have mistaken it for a giant herbivore," Grand said. He slid the door open a little further and watched me workers. "The truck growled, it smelled of fish, and it moved quickly. Modern cats like to attack running prey."

"Why?"

"If prey is running they're already scared of something, possibly a fire, army ants, that sort of thing," Grand said. "Which means they probably aren't going to pay close attention to something that's stalking them. Prehistoric herbivores were probably the same."

"I see," Hannah said. "What else do we know about these animals in particular?"

"Not a lot," Grand admitted. "As I said, we suspect that saber-tooths were territorial. We tend to find their fossil remains clustered in areas that were once plains or fertile valleys."

"Why did they become extinct? Changes in the environment because of the Ice Age?"

"Only partly," Grand said. "They may have been forced out of many areas when prehistoric humans crossed from Asia to North America over the Bering land bridge."

"That's when the Bering Strait was frozen so you could literally walk from Asia to here."

"Correct."

"So migrating humans hunted them out of existence?"

"Not directly," Grand said. "We believe they preyed on many of the same herbivores for food. Eventually, humans outnumbered them and overran Southern California."

"Starving them to death."

"Effectively," Grand said.

"Why didn't they hunt us?"

"We suspect they did," Grand said, "which is why we accelerated the invention of weapons to protect ourselves."

"The first arms race," Hannah said. She shook her head. "I still don't see how people fought those things with primitive weapons."

"You and I did it in the pipe."

"We had a flood and a branch to help us," Hannah said.

"If it hadn't been those things it would have been something else," Grand said.

"Such as?"

"A hubcap, a bottle, our own shoes tied together and used as a bolo or garrote. There's always something."

"Really? Suppose all you had was a bunch of leaves," she said. "What would you do then?"

Grand thought for a moment. "Stand up."

"What?"

"Just stand up," Grand said.

Hannah did.

The scientist took a piece of paper from the stack in her printer tray. He crumpled it.

"Pretend you're one of the cats," he said.

Hannah made her fingers into little claws and growled.

Grand threw the crumpled piece of paper to the right, toward the sliding glass door. Hannah looked at it. When she did, Grand reached to the other side and pulled a letter opener from a stack of mail. He flipped the blade in his hand and held it to her throat.

She recoiled, then frowned. "That's cheating."

"Why?"

"Because there wouldn't have been a letter opener on a mountaintop."

"It could have been a chunk of rock."

"To do what with, bop me on the nose?"

"That, or stab you," Grand said. "Cut your throat. Many of the shales up there can be split with a good whack on another rock. The edge you'd have would be scalpel-sharp."

Hannah sat back down. "I still say it wasn't fair. You didn't use the piece of paper as a weapon. You used it as a distraction."

"The best weapons are nonlethal, psychological ones," Grand insisted. He replaced the letter opener on the pile. "According to leather pouches I've found in ancient graves, prehistoric hunters carried what we call 'startlements,' which may have been used to distract predators. Crushed leaves or feathers to catch their eye, ground bone to make them sneeze. Anything to gain time so they could run or grab a weapon or cry for help. Maybe next time I won't need the letter opener, just the crumpled paper to remind you that I can get a letter opener. Many evolutionary scientists believe that something simple like that-a crumpled piece of white paper-can change the course of genetics. If you preyed on butterflies, they might notice your reaction to the paper. Through genetic mutation they might slowly turn white to intimidate you."

"Are you saying that living things can actually will mutation?"

"We don't understand the mechanism, but it happens," Grand said. "The perception of threat, the ability to respond, and the desire to survive-they're all directed from in here," he tapped his temple.

"I guess if you can make yourself sick or get ulcers, anything's possible," Hannah said. "So with any luck I'll grow myself a sixth finger on each hand to help myself type faster."

"And then your brain will start to think faster and then you'll need a seventh finger," Grand said. "That's how it happens."

"I'll take that faster brain now," Hannah said. "What about those Chumash paintings you were talking about? Not the ones of the volcanoes but the eyes. What do you think the Chumash were telling us?"

"I don't know," Grand said. "The paintings in the upper cave told how the cats became trapped. By volcano and glacier. I suspect the eyes in the passageway below were a Chumash 'keep out' sign. Another shaman would have understood them. The caves are full of warnings like that."

"Fascinating," she said. "The things we don't know that are all around us. It's awe-inspiring."

"It's also scary," Grand said.

"In what way?"

"I was just thinking that I'd better get in touch with Environmental Protection Agency and pest-control people."

"Why?"

"Because there were gnats in the lower cave," he said. "They were bigger and buzzier than any I'd ever encountered. I wonder if they might have been frozen with the tigers."

"Shit," Hannah said. "Prehistoric bugs."

"If they are, they can cause a serious imbalance in the insect ecology of the region."

"And what about any bacteria or viruses the tigers may be carrying?" Hannah asked.

"There's that too," Grand agreed.

There was a lot to consider, which was all the more reason to take the animals alive, to study them without obliterating whatever they might be host to. Grand had to make that his immediate priority.

Hannah read what she'd written, then E-mailed the story to the copy editor. "This is all completely amazing," she said. "What are you going to do?"

"I was just thinking that," Grand said. "Gearhart probably won't do anything else until the National Guard arrives."

"That'd be my guess," Hannah said. "Otherwise, why call them out?"

"I want to make some calls, see if Joseph Tumamait had any luck, and also find someone to cover my classes. Then I want to get to Gearhart, try and talk to him, explain why we need to capture the cats alive."

"You haven't got a prayer," Hannah said. "Besides, if those animals did kill Officer Lyon then this is now a personal matter."

"But won't the operation be out of Gearhart's jurisdiction if it crosses the county line?"

"Technically, yes," Hannah said. "That's probably why he called in the Army National Guard. He has friends there. They'll cut him slack if this spills into other counties."

"It can still be his trophy," Grand said.

"You've got it. And trust me, if he can stop the cats he'll make the most of it. We'll see Gearhart standing beside dead saber-tooths on all the evening shows. The national ones."

Grand finished his coffee. "I've got to go."

"You know, if I were you I'd appeal to people's pocket-books," Hannah said. "Tell the county leaders how much they can make from a Live Prehistoric Animals attraction at the zoo."

"I'll have to think about it," Grand said.

The thought of caging these beasts also sat like a stone in Grand's gut. He knew he'd do it if it were the only way to keep them alive, but he suspected that captivity, even in a wildlife preserve, would kill them over time. There was something about these animals that seemed to require the open environment, the hunt, a connection with the earth itself. It was as if they became part of the land they ranged, drew strength from it.

Just like the gods in Chumash mythology, he thought, which was why they fought over it.

Grand put the coffee cup back in the kitchen. As he turned to go he suddenly realized that he had to say goodbye to Hannah. But just good-bye wouldn't quite cut it.

"I'll be done with everything around noon," Hannah said. "Can we link up then?"

"Sure," Grand said.

Hannah wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to Grand.

"What's this?" he asked.

"My other cell phone number," she told him. "Let me know if anything interesting happens."

"Sure. How many cell phones do you have?" he asked.

"Three," she admitted. "Well, two now. I'm a reporter. Can't afford a dead battery or busy signal." She looked at him. "Do me one other favor?"

"Of course."

"Stay out of trouble."

"With?"

She grinned. "If you want to knock Gearhart's block off, that's fine. I mean with the tigers."

"I'll try to avoid them both," he said. "And by the way- there's something I should have told you before."

"What?"

"These animals-they're saber-toothed cats. People call them tigers because they look like tigers. But they aren't related to tigers. Or lions. They were their own species."

"Damn." She wrote a quick E-mail to the copy editor asking her to make the change.

"Sorry. I should have told you before."

"It's okay. You're a guy. The truth takes a while."

Hannah sent the E-mail, then looked at him. He looked at her.

"Well," he said after a long pause. "I better get going."

Hannah smiled-a little sadly, he thought. "Thanks again for everything," she said.

He smiled back, then turned and left. And kicked himself for that.

Rebecca is gone, he told himself. You can't let yourself die with her.

Grand continued kicking himself on both sides of his conscience all the way out to his car and as he drove home and as he walked along the path to his front door and took Fluffy, who was much more animated than he had been- and certainly more cheerful than Grand was at the moment, damn his own cowardly skin-out for a short walk.