Fatalis (26 page)

She shrugged with her palms up and widened her eyes even though she knew he couldn't see them. If he wanted her to come over, he would have gestured in some way. So what did this mean? Was he getting ready to walk back or run back or go farther into the woods?

What
? she screamed inside, her fingers curling slightly as she shook her upturned hands.

As the young woman watched, something moved. Not in the woods, but to her immediate left. Hannah turned and looked in that direction. A moment later she slowly raised her right hand, reached into her shirt for her dog tags, and held them tightly.

She swore silently.

She
should
have phoned in the damn story.

Only once in his life had Malcolm Gearhart gotten to a point of frustration and rage that was so absolute that he lost it. That was when Company A, 3rd Reconnaissance Battalion, 3rd Marine Division, was in action against the Vietcong near Danang. Gearhart, his best buddy Emanuel "the Man" Slatkin-"of the Brooklyn, NY, Slatkins," as he was proud of saying, always pronouncing his home state
En-Why
-and three other men were part of Lieutenant Leonard Ax's advance party that had deeply penetrated heavily controlled enemy territory. The Vietcong suddenly opened fire from six different concealed positions, cutting off the five men from the main party. When Lieutenant Ax was cut down at the start, Slatkin took over the deployment of the remaining troops, organizing a base of fire while managing to kill four Vietcong and silence an automatic weapons position on his own. While Gearhart concentrated on the killing, that short little pecker Slatkin kept everyone's spirits up, kept them fighting, and helped keep them alive until the main body could cut through, drive the Vietcong back-the bastards usually didn't like to hang around for a fair fight-and get them the hell out.

That was when Slatkin stepped into a Hanoi Two-Fuck. They called it that because first you got screwed in a figurative sense; and second you literally got fucked when a thin, sharp eighteen-or-so-inch stake, usually bamboo but sometimes steel, attached to a horizontal arm, came slashing at you from camouflage hiding and penetrated your belly. Penetrated with such incredible force that it came out your back and dragged you with it, pinning you to whatever was behind you. Often, it was another soldier.

There's a moment, just before the Hanoi Two-Fuck impales you, when you know it's coming. It's a moment filled with the worst sound in the world: a click that means you stepped on the hidden trigger, like a tiny landmine, that launches the arm. Even keeping your foot on the trigger won't save you. Once it's sprung, it's sprung. Dropping won't save you either because the stake conies too fast and will still get you in the chest or head.

Gearhart was to the right of Slatkin. about three feet away, when they heard the click. They looked at each other. They knew what the sound was, though for a second they weren't sure which of them was going to get two-fucked. The ground was thick with vines and rocks and it was impossible to know whether you'd stepped on the trigger or not.

They just stared into one another's eyes for what seemed like forever until the Two-Fuck came shrieking from behind some goddamn plant and, covered with leaves, smashed through Slatkin. Two-Fucks were often set up in pairs, since the instinct of a soldier was to go to his buddy and the Cong could get two for the bloody price of one. So all Gearhart could do, all anyone could do, was watch as Slatkin was dragged back, his toes lifted off the ground, his heels digging through the ground, and was whammed into a tree.

They had to leave Emanuel Slatkin of the Brooklyn, En-Why, Slatkins hanging from the tree there while they searched the ground for the other Two-Fuck and disarmed it. Fortunately, Slatkin only lived for about a half minute after being skewered. But during those thirty seconds, Gearhart screamed inside with a helpless pain that he'd never experienced before or since. Only after he was sure the man was dead did he let it out. And there were times he thought he was still screaming, still wanting to punish the fucking Cong. Or any one or thing that killed with that kind of cold sadism.

Like now.

Standing by the fifth wheeler, looking again for anything that might tell him who or what was behind this, Sheriff Gearhart was getting close to popping-very close. He hadn't been able to finish the job in Vietnam or in Los Angeles, but he was damn well going to finish the job here. The job he was
supposed
to be able to do better than anyone else.

People were dying in increasing numbers, a prowler was still out there, and he wasn't getting anywhere. His lab team was still at the beach, so he'd had to request a forensics unit from nearby Ventura County in order to get this site sampled before it rained or the wind blew away clues or camera crews arrived and saw them doing nothing here except scratching their asses while they looked again for footprints or tracks that just weren't here.

And then there was the problem of failing to apprehend this thing before it spilled into another county. Not only would Gearhart lose control of the manhunt to the state police or-worse-the National Guard, he'd lose face. Even when he came home from Vietnam, there was nothing Malcolm Gearhart had been ashamed of personally.

As the sheriff was about to get on the radio-again-and ask for another update from Thomas Gomez and his lab team at the beach, stones suddenly struck the top of the RV and the ground around it. He looked up at the mountainside to the north. Ground appeared to be giving way somewhere near the top, dropping rocks and dirt.

It could be nothing. It could also be the killer.

Gearhart switched the radio from Gomez's frequency to the frequency of the helicopter.

"Officer Russo!" he said to the woman flying the chopper.

"Sir?"

"Take yourself up about two hundred feet," Gearhart said. "Ride the spotlight along this side of the northern peak to the top. I want to see if there's anything there."

"Yes, sir," Russo said.

A moment later the spotlight was crawling from the center of the campsite toward the northern rim.

Jim Grand had once read a zoology paper about the interaction between apes and humans. More than once, the lifestyle and activities of the great apes gave him ideas about how Neanderthals and other human ancestors might have organized social hierarchies.

According to the paper, it was not uncommon for a male ape to stand watch while the female ate. However, there had been several recorded instances where a male ape would appear to stand watch while the female circled and attacked intruders. Grand had never heard of any other species doing this, since it required a level of deception and intelligence that most animals did not possess. But that didn't mean it never happened.

Even before Grand was sure exactly what was standing in front of him he became aware of something moving to the side and then behind him. It was moving quickly. He heard the low drumroll of its breath as it stalked away, deeper into the woods. Then he saw a large shadow move from the far side of the thicket toward the cliff.

Toward Hannah and the Wall.

There are two animals
. Grand realized.

He had speculated about that possibility before, when he and Hannah were tossing ideas out at the university. Grand should have kept that in mind here, in the field.

The scientist was angry at himself for having underestimated these creatures. The animal in front of him had been the decoy while the other one flanked them. Fortunately, the animal to the side was hugging the ground and moving toward Hannah at a slow, stealthy crawl. Perhaps it didn't intend to attack. It might just be positioning itself to protect its home or enter the sinkhole. The animal in the thicket could be covering for it.

Still, Grand didn't intend to take chances. He started back toward the ledge. He wanted to get back to Hannah and the Wall, be there in case the big cat did go after them. Make sure they got a good start down the mountainside and cover as they descended.

By this time Hannah had seen what Grand was looking at. She froze. That was a good thing; this wasn't the time to make any sudden, panicked movements.

Grand moved confidently but not hurriedly. As the seconds passed he became more and more in tune with the land, the
moat
of the two animals, and his own center. He looked to the east. The second animal was still moving without haste or menace. At this rate, Grand would reach the ledge first. Now that he'd had a clearer look at the animal, he could see that it was definitely a large cat, though he couldn't tell what kind.

Grand listened carefully. He didn't hear anything behind him. The encounter would probably end without a confrontation. Though they didn't get everything they came up here for, at least they now had some idea what they were dealing with: animals that apparently weren't hostile unless hungry or provoked. The first thing he and Hannah should probably do upon getting back to town was bring in the State Department of Fish and Game, Wildlife and Large Animals Division. Try to figure out a way to track, encircle, and tran-quilize the cats-

Grand's brow darkened as the slap of the helicopter rotor suddenly became louder. He looked out and saw the chopper rising higher above the campsite, the sky brightening in front on him.

A moment later the darkness turned bright white and the mountaintop flooded with light. From behind and from the right. Grand heard a roar that ripped through the din created by the helicopter, the wind, and Hannah screaming his name.

The light and the bellowing collided somewhere over Grand's head. "Hannah, get down!" he yelled. Hannah turned back toward her photographer. "Wall, get a picture!"

"There's time to get a shot-"

"No!" Grand screamed. "Get down!"

"Jim, we can do this-"

"Dammit, call Gearhart to get the chopper out of here then get the hell
down
!"

The Wall had had enough. He wrapped his big arms around Hannah and pulled her back. Hannah shouted at him. He didn't care.

Good for him
, Grand thought. He admired Hannah tremendously, but she could be completely reckless.

Grand kept running but took a moment to look behind him at the animal in the thicket It was moving now. It emerged at a slow-motion gallop-big, strong steps powered by muscles that were so taut, propelling a body so long, that it took several moments for the animal to build up speed.

Incredibly, the creature was exactly what they had thought it might be: a saber-toothed cat.

As the giant came forward, the fine white fog rolled around its low-slung head and shoulders. It was almost as though the animal had taken form from the cloud itself.

Grand couldn't tell much about the saber-tooth from this distance. The animal had long, golden fur-not shaggy, but longer than the coat of a lion. It seemed stiff, like bristles.

Because the creature's head was down, averted from the spotlight. Grand could only see its eyes. They were dark, wide-set, and very narrow now.

The scientist also didn't have much time to study it. Looking back, he ran across the white-lit terrain toward the ledge. The chopper was just hovering, level with the cliff. Grand waved for it to go back, but the helicopter remained. The cat on the east was just outside the light but also running toward the ledge. It would be in the spotlight within moments. Hopefully it was headed toward the sinkhole and not toward Hannah and the Wall.

Grand watched the cat as it ran. The animal was easily over six feet in length and its tail added nearly another foot to that, held straight behind with a teardrop-shaped tuft of hair at the end. The cat had to be moving at least forty miles an hour and gaining. It moved like a cheetah, its torso extending with each long stride. But it was much larger and more muscular than a cheetah. And just seeing it turned something on in Grand. It aroused something primal, a competitiveness he didn't feel in real life. Certainly not in academia. His legs moved harder, faster, and his senses seemed more acute somehow. Challenge, stretching and expanding the human template.

Or was it the animal spirit of the earth itself entering him, he wondered, the way the Chumash said it was supposed to?

Behind him. Grand heard the stones crunch faster as the other cat picked up speed. The scientist started turning the starbursts at his side and then raised one of them above him, a dervishlike display of
moat
. He whistled loudly. Grand wanted the cat to know that he was running not because he was afraid but because he was protecting his own.

This was what the Maori must have felt during
haka, he thought. Moving in a way that appeared mad and uncontrolled to outsiders but was sane and necessary in the context of preparing for war or intimidating an enemy.

It was liberating, not just physically but emotionally. Frenzy took the place of fear, burning away everything but the warrior within. He resisted the urge to cry out, only because Hannah or the Wall might think he was hurt and come running. But the energy to do so was there.

And yet the paleoanthropologist was still present in him too. The cat was just coming into the light on the right and Grand watched as it emerged from the darkness.

Against all logic and defying any known precedent, the animal was a saber-toothed cat. It was not a vision but a living
Smilodon
-genus
fatalis
, from the awesome size of it. And it was magnificent.

The animal was indeed nearly seven feet long from point to point, with longish, dark gold fur save for a stiff, slightly raised brownish tuft that ran along its back from the neck to the base of its tail. The animal's seven- or eight-inch-long fangs grew from a thick pocket of bone beneath those patches. Their backward curve was slight and graceful, ending in incisor-sharp points. The creature's mouth was shut; on each side flaps of skin bulged over the tops of the fangs. The animal's large ears were pointed sideways and slightly flared, almost like those of a bat. There were small white tufts of hair on the tops of the ears, like those of a bobcat. The neck was much thicker than that of a modern-day cat, packed with muscles that supported the heavy upper jaw. The animal's foreleg shoulders were massive and the hind legs were even greater still. The paws were the size of baseball mitts with claws like sharks' teeth. The body between them appeared to have scars-healed scars. The creature had to weigh a half-ton.