The cat was thrashing about the base of the elephant. Grand spoke to the saber-tooth as quietly as possible. But the noose, and his careful maneuvering of it, only seemed to infuriate the cat. Every time he came close to slipping it over the some part of the cat it would swat and howl and sink a little lower.
Grand knew the animal was lost.
The saber-tooth's enormous paws smacked at the plaster skin, forcing Grand to jump higher. The cat roared and threw itself at the frame, furiously trying to latch onto the metal with its front claws and submerged back claws. Any time the saber-tooth managed to get a hold, the tar refused to release it. And as the cat continued to struggle, the elephant began to list. The metal frame bent near the base and the upper struts started to fold inward, outward, and around.
Grand took a last look at the cat, which was hissing and rolling its head, trying to rise. There was nothing Grand could do.
The mastodon shuddered. Quickly reeling in the rope. Grand turned toward the shore and threw the tar-blackened lariat toward the smaller of the two palms. He lassoed one of the lower branches and jumped free of the elephant just as it collapsed. He pulled himself up the rope as he swung across the pit to keep from being caught in the tar. Grand remained on his feet as he reached the shore. Hannah ran over and put her arms around him. He looked back.
The cat clawed at the wreckage but wasn't able to pull itself free. The animal sunk to its forelegs, then to its shoulders. Its struggles slowed. Grand watched, helpless, as the police came in. Two men held the animal noose but it wasn't long enough to reach the saber-tooth; they didn't even try. The animal shook its head in a last, violent dispute with the tar. It tried to raise its forelegs but there was nothing for it to push from.
In a moment they would be gone again, this time forever.
It was a monstrous joke. He'd always blamed himself for not being with Rebecca when she died. Yet he was here when the cats died and he hadn't been able to save them. Not one. As Tumamait had told him after Rebecca's funeral, "Fate works inconsiderate of our needs and designs."
The police squad leader looked at Grand, who turned his back to the pit. The scientist hugged Hannah.
"I'm so sorry," she said.
The leader gave the order to fire. There was a short volley and then the slashing stopped.
Grand wept into Hannah's neck. She held him tightly.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
After Grand left the pit with Hannah and the Wall, Lieutenant Mindar sought them out. The officer wanted to thank the scientist for everything he did. Grand didn't say anything about that. All he said was that he was sorry he couldn't save Sheriff Gearhart.
"Don't be sorry." Mindar said. "The sheriff died the way a man like that hopes to die. With his boots on."
"And with his work unfinished," Grand said.
"Yeah. Well, you make your choices."
The sheriff's body was taken away with those of the other victims of the saber-tooth attack. Lieutenant Mindar said he would see to it that Gearhart was brought back to Santa Barbara for burial. Before leaving, Hannah asked if she could use what Mindar had said about Gearhart as her editorial eulogy. A simple quote under a photograph of the sheriff.
Mindar said sure. Hannah felt the sheriff would have appreciated that.
As Grand, Hannah, and the Wall headed back to the car they saw scientists from the Page Museum who had come to claim the cats, while city, county, and state health officials were also at the scene with mobile laboratories to take samples of human and saber-tooth blood, to ascertain whether those who were bitten might be at risk from unknown organisms.
The Wall drove them back.
Grand and Hannah sat in the backseat. Grand didn't speak. He just looked out the open window at the night sky that was rich with stars. Along certain stretches of the freeway, with the lights in homes and office buildings turned off, the sky barely moving as the car sped home, Hannah almost felt as though time had been rolled back. The sky was clear and the sea air smelled as it probably did millennia ago-the poor cats. They had to have been so confused. If she found herself suddenly transported to their time, Hannah wondered whether she would have wanted to stay alive. Whether she could have stayed alive.
Hannah looked at Grand. Yes, she decided. She would go if he were there. She took his hand. He squeezed it but he didn't take his eyes from the window, from the distant hills. Nearly an hour had passed, but he didn't move. She wondered where he was.
And then, suddenly, Grand looked at her.
"Do you have the geologic charts?"
"They're in the back. Why?"
"We have to go to Monte Arido."
"Now?"
"Yes," Grand said urgently.
"The National Guardsmen will still be there-"
"I know. That's why we need the charts."
"Why? What's there?"
"Something else the Chumash may have missed," he said.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
The geologic charts of the Santa Ynez Mountains showed a different cave access. It was an eighth of a mile to the west of where the National Guardsmen were removing the last of the dead saber-tooths. The Wall drove to the foot of the hill; the cave was just twenty feet up, little more than a yard-wide opening in a white stone face.
Grand, Hannah, and the Wall got out of the photographer's Jeep and started climbing.
Grand moved up the gently sloping hillside like a wraith. He seemed to glide over the rocks, focused on a goal only he could see, and it wasn't the cave. Hannah had been around him enough to know when his mind was elsewhere. She wished he would tell her where.
Hannah and the Wall kept up with Grand as best they could. But the pair were exhausted and it was becoming increasingly difficult. Finally, after falling several yards behind Grand, Hannah stopped. So did the Wall.
Grand turned and walked back down.
"Don't," Hannah said.
He came back to her anyway.
"You go ahead," she said.
"No, I'll wait," he said. "Another few minutes won't matter."
Hannah thanked him with a smile. "Why don't you tell us what we're looking for?" she asked as she took long, slow, deep breaths.
"There were more than a dozen saber-tooths," Grand said.
"Which means?"
"The Chumash shaman only painted twelve sets of eyes."
"All right. He missed some of the cats," Hannah said. "Maybe he didn't want to get too close."
"Possibly," Grand said. "But that may not be all he missed."
"I don't follow."
"I've been trying to understand why the pride split into male and female groups," Grand said.
"You said they often hunted separately," Hannah said, "and that the females were drawn by the smell of tar."
"That may not have been the reason they came to this spot," Grand told her. "They may not have smelled asphalt until after they were here."
"Then what attracted them?"
Grand said. "That's what I want to check."
"Okay. You've got me hooked." Hannah reached her hand out to Grand. "Let's go."
Grand helped her up. They continued up the mountainside together, the Wall trudging behind.
Dawn was just beginning to brighten the horizon as they reached the small cave. Grand turned on a penlight he kept for emergencies. The cave was slightly wider than the opening and seemed to snake down. Grand crept along the rock floor and Hannah followed him on very sore knees. The Wall remained outside; even if he had the energy, he wasn't sure he'd fit. Hannah had no idea what he was looking for, though the thought nagged at her: If the Chumash missed one cat, they could easily have missed others. She didn't want to die. But the irony of dying now, when this was supposed to be over, was even worse.