Jeff Rovin - Fatalis

There were no turn-offs from the tunnel, no side-tunnels. Hannah didn't know if that were unusual or not, but she was glad about that. At least there was no question which way the cats had come.

After what had to be another quarter mile or so-some of which they had to walk bent over, since the roof of the tunnel was less than five feet high-Grand stopped suddenly. Hannah stopped too. She listened. She heard nothing except Grand breathing deeply through his nose.

She breathed through her nose too.

And tasted fresh air.

Grand started up again. When he could finally stand up straight he ran, weaving and moving through the stalactites and outcroppings and getting well ahead of Hannah. She wasn't worried about losing him. The air was getting sweeter. The tunnel was coming to an end.

The ground leveled off and then rose slightly. The final leg was about fifty feet up a steep slope, which she took on her hands and knees. Though the rock scraped her knees and the heels of her palms, it was the quickest way up.

She reached the top and climbed out. She stood beside Grand.

There were near the base of a mountain and looking across a wide gully. Hannah couldn't place where they were or even what direction they were facing. There were more hills beyond the gully and peaks on either side of them.

Hannah looked straight ahead, where Grand was looking.

"This isn't good, is it?" she asked.

"No," he replied gravely. "It is not."

The Bell chopper touched down lightly on the mountaintop, in the center of the clearing. Gearhart climbed out, not lightly but with a clear sense of purpose. That purpose was to find the animals the pilot said he saw. Find them and kill them before the night was over.

The rotor-blown grasses whipped around Gearhart's feet as he approached the edge of the mountaintop. The Wall was taking pictures around the sinkhole. He stopped as Gearhart approached. The sheriff didn't see Hannah or Grand. He didn't like that. He didn't like it at all.

Snapping on his flashlight, Gearhart removed the point-to-point radio from his belt. After debriefing the pilot back at the campsite, Gearhart had spoken to Chief Deputy Valentine and given him his instructions. As soon as the chopper lifted off Gearhart called him again.

"What's the status on Dr. Thorpe?" Gearhart asked.

"I spoke with her and she's pulling her charts together," Chief Deputy Valentine informed Gearhart. "I've sent a deputy to the house. She should be here by the time the second chopper arrives."

"Good. What about the rest of the team?"

"Felice is calling everyone in now. Frank Lyon has begun organizing squads and putting together gear."

"Has he got extra night-vision equipment?"

"The police department and Sheriff Shooter are sending over their hardware," Valentine said. "Shooter is ready to offer his people if we need them."

Gearhart didn't want help from the Ventura County Sheriff's Office. It was bad enough the situation had spread as far as it had in his own county. "Will the teams be ready to move out when Dr. Thorpe gets there?"

"They'll be ready," Valentine said.

"I'm counting on it," Gearhart said. "I want these killers, Mike. I want them out of commission, tonight."

The sheriff switched off the radio and slid it back into the belt loop. He stopped a few feet from the Wall and glared at the photographer. "Where did they go?"

The Wall pointed down the hole.

"Does your boss have her phone?"

The Wall shrugged.

"Call her."

"I can't."

Gearhart advanced on the photographer. "Mister, you call her. I want those two back here."

"Sheriff, I physically cannot do that."

"Why?"

"Grand turned the phone off," the Wall said. "A ring at the wrong time-the cats might hear."

Gearhart swore again. "That's the reason I keep you people out of places like this."

The Wall said nothing.

Gearhart calmed slightly. "Tell me about the cats. Did you get a good look at them?"

"Not really."

"Is that a no ?"

" I didn't get a good look at the cats, no, sir," the Wall said. "I saw a big thing for about a half a second when I jumped up and pulled Hannah behind the rocks. After that all I saw was Hannah's butt."

Gearhart shook his head. That was a big help . The guy was supposed to be a goddamn journalist. The sheriff shined his light down the sinkhole. He didn't believe what the pilot said he saw-lions with fangs. And if that was what he saw, then this was someone's idea of a sick gag. He didn't believe there was a pair of saber-toothed tigers in the hills.

"Walter, I'm closing off the entire area," Gearhart said. "I asked you to drop the film off at my office. Would you do that now?"

"If I leave the mountain, Sheriff, it may block the phone call when Hannah gets out."

"Then give me the phone," Gearhart said.

The photographer stood there. "You want my film and my cell phone. Anything else?"

"Yes, I want your fucking cooperation! I'm not running a summer camp."

The Wall hesitated, then handed him the phone. "I'll need Hannah's okay on the film," he said.

The sheriff slid the cell phone into the back pocket of his pants.

"You know, Hannah is trying to do good," the Wall said.

"Save it-"

"And she's got guts," the photographer added. "It wouldn't hurt you to cooperate a little."

"Cooperation is trust and trust is earned," Gearhart said. "Now please get yourself back down the mountain."

The helicopter had resumed hovering over the campsite. The north side of the peak was once again spotlit and the Wall walked toward it. He climbed the boulders and started down the mountainside.

As soon as the Wall was gone, Gearhart turned and ran the powerful flashlight over the flat field and the woods beyond. He had told Chief Deputy Valentine to organize the deputies and volunteers into teams of three and four, all of them armed. It was clear now that the killers were moving southeast through the mountain caves. Whether they were people or animals or some twisted combination of both, they had to sleep sometime and emerge somewhere else in the range. The plan was for Dr. Thorpe to define an outside perimeter with the beach and this sinkhole as southern and eastern boundaries. Once the map was drawn his teams would take up positions at the base of the foothills and close in. If the squads found cave openings, they would make their way inside. With helicopters spotting from above, there was no way the killers could get away.

Again.

The sheriff walked toward the foggy woods. He was impatient for the operation to begin. If he didn't hear from Hannah and Grand before his teams were in place, Gearhart would warn his personnel that two people might be inside the caves and to watch out for them. But he wouldn't hold up the operation. It wasn't personal; his job was to protect citizens whether he liked them or not. He wouldn't delay this for anyone.

Chief Deputy Valentine called to say that Dr. Thorpe had arrived and the second chopper was ferrying her up. She was accompanied by Shooter and Deputy Skitch Kline of Search-and-Rescue, Mountain Tracking Division. Gearhart turned toward the ocean. He could see the Bell's bright flying light from where he stood. Valentine said that the rest of the teams, over fifty men in all, had arrived and would await Gearhart's instructions before heading into the mountain range.

Gearhart thanked him and signed off.

As he did, the cell phone in his back pocket beeped.

Grand and Hannah took a moment to stare across the gully. On the opposite side was the mouth of a large-diameter pipe made of concrete and approximately six feet in diameter. The bottom of the pipe was about two feet off the ground; the thick steel mesh that was designed to keep children out had been torn back and was hanging from the lower left corner. Water and detritus was flowing from the opening like spillage from a log flume. The runoff was pouring into a narrow, jagged channel that had been eaten from the pipe to the large gully.