"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.