Fatalis

Chapter Seventy-Three

A crowd of nearly twenty reporters had run after the LAPD truck. The group was cut off by police and forced away from Wilshire. None of the reporters believed the police when they said they had no idea what the Anti-Terrorist unit was doing in the garage. The situation did not improve when the small National Guard convoy from the Hollywood Hills rolled down Curson.

Of all the press people only the Wall managed to get to the Wilshire Courtyard. He had crossed Curson after the police truck left and hid behind the pedestaled bust of Miracle Mile founder and developer A. W. Ross. While he was there, the Wall phoned Grand and told him exactly where Hannah had gone. Then, as the police were busy moving everyone else back to the museum entrance, the Wall was able to sneak across Wilshire.

The photographer went to the garage entrance. There was a security camera on the left, right beside the electrical closet. As the Wall walked down the ramp to the guard gate in the center of the two-lane road, the security officer stepped out to stop him.

"I'm going to lose my job if I don't get down there," the Wall lied.

"So will I, if you do," the security officer told him.

Just then the National Guard vehicles arrived. The four Jeeps swung through the entranceway and down to the gate.

Mindar was sitting in the back of the first Jeep with Grand. "Open up!" he yelled, rising in the seat. The other Jeeps lined up behind the officer's vehicle, their engines growling.

"Lieutenant, the police captain told me-"

"Now," Mindar said.

The guard ducked back into the booth to raise the black-and-white-striped bar. As he did, Grand yelled over to the Wall.

"There was an electrical closet back at the entrance," Grand said.

"I saw it-"

"Get in there and crank up the emergency lights," Grand said. "Do anything you can to make it bright down there."

"Will do," he said.

As the photographer relayed Grand's instructions to the guard, the convoy charged down the ramp.

Grand was no longer feeling disconnected. He could feel the cats, the sense of danger, the impending confrontation. In the midst of it all, he could also feel Hannah. There was nothing mystical about that. She was brave, she was impetuous, and she was someone he cared about very much. His jaw was locked, his fists were hard, and the muscles of his arm were coiled tight. The Jeep couldn't get down the ramp fast enough.

As the convoy approached P3, they were greeted by a thin fog of dust. When Grand saw Hannah and the other officers crouching behind the flatbed truck, he leaped from the still-moving Jeep and ran over.

"Jim!" Hannah cried in a loud whisper.

He crouched behind her as one of the policemen, a captain, was telling whoever was in the hole to sit tight.

"What's happening?" Grand asked Hannah.

"We think the tigers came in through a side cavern and they may have Gearhart and two men pinned."

Grand didn't wait to hear more. Still squatting, he stepped around Hannah. "Captain, let me have your pistol."

"Who the hell are you?" the officer asked.

There wasn't time to discuss this. Grand reached for the 9-mm pistol, pushing the butt down to release the holster's internal safety catch before pulling up. He ran around the truck to the side facing the hole. There, he quickly emptied the full clip into the two drums that were facing him.

Tar sprayed from the large, raw holes.

"Lieutenant Mindar!"

"Here!"

"Turn the Jeeps sideways on the ramp and then back everyone out!" Grand yelled.

"Jim!" Hannah yelled. "What are you going to do?"

There wasn't time to answer. "Flashlight!" he called back to the police officers.

One of the men tossed him a flashlight. Grand caught it and ran to the hole as the tar pooled and began dripping over the rim.

Grand dropped next to the opening. "Gearhart, can you hear me?"

"I hear you!"

"What's happening?"

"Your tigers are coming!" Gearhart said.

"How many?"

"I can only see the first one," the sheriff said. "A big bastard."

"Bigger than the ones on Monte Arido?"

"Definitely. A seven footer, maybe bigger. It's got a ridge of hair on its back, like a Mohawk. The teeth are longer, more curved."

The cat was a male. Grand wondered if it was the men, the tar, or something else the saber-tooth was after.

"He's coming through an S-turn," Gearhart said. "We don't have a clear shot yet."

"Are you backed as far away as you can go?"

"Yes," Gearhart told him.

"Do you have tar?"

"Two buckets."

"Spill them now," Grand told him, "as far along the floor as you can. The cat may not realize it's only a few inches deep. It might not want to risk crossing."

Grand listened as the men did what he said.

"And keep your lights turned ahead," Grand added. "The saber-tooths don't like the light."

Just then the dusty garage grew much brighter. The emergency spotlights came on in the corners and from several of the support columns. The Wall had done his job. Now Grand had to do his. He had to get the cats out of the fissure and back whichever way they'd come. He stood and looked around. He noticed the equipment locker on the truck, saw the open case marked EMERGENCY AIR SUPPLY. He turned back toward the hole.

"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.

The severed tail.

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.