"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.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Gearhart got Grand's message about there being a pride of cats in the mountains. The sheriff wasn't entirely surprised. He didn't think the deaths at the campsite had been caused by two animals. He still didn't believe that the cats were what Grand claimed them to be: resurrected prehistoric animals. He might as well say they were ghosts.
No. Whatever these animals were they had a reasonable, credible explanation. If they weren't tigers gussied up and set loose by some homicidal nutcase, maybe-maybe-they were mutations. And that was a reach. In any case, Gearhart would know for certain before long.
After placing his call to the 40th, the sheriff worked out a deployment plan at his desk. Then he went to the small cafeteria in the back of the building and took a nap on the couch. He was awakened at 8:00 A.M. by Deputy Valentine, who said that the sheriff had a call from Brigadier General J. D. Dori, commander of the 40th Division. The fifty-eight-year-old Dori and Gearhart went back over thirty years, to when Dori was a Marine drill instructor. Dori left the Marines in 1969 and joined the California Army National Guard two years later. He had been Gearhart's DI and they reconnected years later, when Gearhart moved to Los Angeles.