Fatalis (37 page)

"What are you talking about?" Gearhart asked.

"Killing these cats may have created a bigger problem. They're just part of a larger group."

"You mean, the Chumash painting of the eyes?" Hannah asked.

"Not just that," Grand said. "The other group is almost certainly moving southeast, as I said. These cats were here for another reason."

"How do you know that?" Gearhart asked.

"A little zoological police work."

"Grand, don't fuck with me-"

"I'm not," Grand said. "I'm telling you that the worst is still to come. These dead cats are all female."

"So?"

Grand said, "The cats Hannah and I faced in the pipe were males."

Grand's remark took Gearhart by surprise.

The sheriff slid the severed tail through a belt loop. He looked around at all the cats. While he did, Grand turned toward the north, toward Route 166. He picked up sand from the ridge, sifted some of it through his fingers, and watched as it fell to earth.

As the Wall took pictures, Hannah walked over to Grand.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Checking something else," Grand said. "Something that might explain why some of the cats were here."

He released more of the granules. Like the first batch they drifted to the southeast, as he expected. Grand sniffed the air. He found something else that he expected. Something he should have thought of before.

"Well?" Hannah said.

Before Grand could answer, Gearhart walked over. The sheriff was once again a focused professional with a mission.

"Professor, I need to know how many more cats we're talking about," Gearhart said.

"Seven or so, assuming a full pride has survived," Grand replied.

"Would the remaining animals split up, go off in groups of two or three?" Gearhart asked.

"They might," Grand said. "They're looking for something."

"What?"

"I think I know but I won't tell you unless I have your assurance that the cats will be tranquilized and not executed."

"Executed?" Gearhart screamed.

"That's right."

"You twisted
shit
! You think your goddamn cats are more important than human beings?"

"Not more important or less," Grand replied. "I told you before we can save them all."

"Mister, you tell me where those cats are headed or you won't be able to save your
own
ass!"

"I already told you they're moving to the southeast," Grand replied. "And Sheriff? Don't threaten me."

"No?What'l you do?"

Grand didn't answer.

Gearhart raised both hands and gave Grand a big push to the chest. Hannah hopped back to avoid being bumped aside.

"Hey!" she cried.

"Don't do this," Grand said to Gearhart.

"Why not? You think you can take me,
Professor?"
Gearhart shoved him again.

Grand suddenly threw what was left of the dirt to the right. Gearhart glanced at it. When he did. Grand's right hand shot down. The scientist drew the hunting knife from the sheriff's belt. It was still wet with the saber-tooth's blood. Grand pointed it down and pressed it against the top of the man's groin. At the same time, Grand used his left hand to grab Gearhart's belt and yank him closer.

"I know I can take you," Grand said.

Gearhart tried to shove away from Grand but the scientist twisted the belt, pulled tighter, and pushed the knife down. The blade tip penetrated the fabric just above the zipper.

"Push me again," Grand said through his teeth. "Please."

Hannah hurried toward them. "Stop this!" She eased her hands, then her arms, between the men.

The men continued to glare at each other.

"Jim,
please
," Hannah said. "We don't have time for this."

Grand released Gearhart. Gearhart stepped back.

"When this is over, we settle up," Gearhart said, thickly.

Grand flipped the knife over and handed it to Gearhart hilt-first. "You know where to find me."

"And I will," Gearhart promised. "Now I don't have time to argue. What buys your cooperation?"

"I want to talk to the National Guard field officer at your base camp," Grand told him. "We can work out details of tranquilizing the cats while we move to intercept them."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Gearhart yelled. "Sedation may not
work
!"

"I'm an optimist," Grand said. "Let's try it anyway."

Gearhart hesitated, but only for a moment. He pulled the radio from his belt and told the chopper pilot to lower the harness. Then he turned away and radioed Lieutenant Mindar.

As Gearhart talked, Hannah stepped in front of Grand.

"A pair of cowboys, that's what you two are. And I stress the 'boys.'"

"He'll cool down," Grand said. He looked at her. "Listen, Hannah. While we work this out with the National Guard I need you to do some things for me."

"Name them."

"Would you call Joseph? If things don't work out between the National Guard officer and myself, I'll need him to crawl up the command ladder until he finds someone who will listen about saving the cats."

"Okay," she said. "Maybe there are Chumash in the guard ranks. He can go to them."

"Good idea," Grand said. "Then I'd like you to call Dr. Thorpe. Tell her I need to know if there are any geological vents that open up between Hollywood and Beverly Hills. We also have to find out if there are any new sinkholes, maybe in the Hollywood Hills. And is there anyone you can call to find out where the drain pipes and viaducts open up in that same Hollywood-to-Beverly Hills corridor?"

"I'll have my City Hall stringer call the Department of Water and Power in Los Angeles," she said. "But why there?"

"Remember what you said earlier, that the cats might be looking for a remnant of their world?"

"Yes."

"You were right."

"I was?"

Grand nodded. "That's what I was checking over here," he said. "I smelled something before outside your apartment, but I didn't make the connection till now. The cats went to the beach because the wharfs are sealed with pitch. They came up here because of the repair work being done on the roads. Asphalt."

"Pitch and asphalt," Hannah said. "I'm confused."

"Tar," Grand said.

"My God, Jim. Why didn't we think of that before?"

"Because it's not a living place to me. It's a graveyard. But to them it was a buffet."

"I don't follow."

"Eleven thousand years ago Los Angeles was dotted with tar marshes," Grand said. "Rain doesn't mix with tar, so the pits were often covered with water or dust or fallen leaves. Large animals would wade across the pits thinking it was solid ground, or stop for a drink and get trapped. Saber-tooths used to prowl the edges of the marshes, leap onto the backs of the larger animals like ground sloths, long-horned bison, and mammoths, and tear away large chunks of meat before the prey went under."

"How do we know that?"

"Because the cats didn't always get away," Grand said. "Sometimes the animals rolled over and trapped them."

"And those remains are the ones that have been dug from the pits," Hannah said.

"In many cases, yes," Grand said. "Now suppose our saber-tooths were forced to leave the tar pits for some reason. Maybe they were driven out by a series of natural disasters tied to the eruption that eventually trapped them-forest fires or earthquakes or underwater eruptions that sent a tsunami inland. What if they sought refuge on the high ground of the Santa Ynez Mountains until they thought it was safe to return? Maybe it was smoky so they went underground. What if they were trapped in the cave before they could go home?"

"You're a genius," Hannah said. "So they emerged a few days ago, thinking that no time had passed-"

"And continued toward the tar pits," Grand said.

"But why would they have separated into two groups?"

"I'm not sure," Grand said. "Male and female lions often hunt separately, in relatively close proximity. Maybe the females headed to the smell of tar, thinking that vulnerable prey or the saber-tooth males would be there. Maybe they became disoriented and were separated from the males."

"God, what a story," Hannah exclaimed. "Male saber-toothed tigers headed for Beverly Hills."

"Hannah, this is still speculative-"

"I know," she said.

"The worst thing we can do is cause people to panic, start shooting everything that moves."

"I know that too," Hannah said. "And I won't run any of this. But you'll keep me in the loop?"

"Of course."

She handed him a cell phone. "I'm going back to the office. I'll call you on this. See why I carry three phones?"

He put the phone in his jacket pocket. "Because you're obsessive," Grand said. "But I'm glad, Hannah. Thanks for your help. Thanks for everything, Hannah."

She smiled. "Just stay safe, okay? If those cats figure out that they lost their mates, they aren't going to be very happy."

"I know," Grand said.

"And I wouldn't be very happy if I lose you."

Hannah stood on her toes, kissed Grand on the cheek, then quickly walked away.

Grand turned toward Gearhart. The carnage was awful. But there was the future to think about. And for the first time in a long time he had a reason to care whether or not he ended his day as the mummified Brooding Mountain Man.

There was a time, early in the twentieth century, when the long and winding Sunset Boulevard offered spectacular views of the sun as it disappeared into the Pacific. That was before the avenue became so built-up that it was impossible to see the horizon over the homes, trees, and buildings in Beverly Hills and in the Pacific Palisades.

To see breathtaking sunsets, one of the best vantage points in the Los Angeles region is high in the Hollywood Hills. Located north of Los Angeles, the Hollywood Hills are a terminus of the sprawling Coast Ranges, a system comprised of the Sierra Madre Mountains, the San Rafael Mountains, the Santa Ynez Mountains, and many others.

One of the highest and most scenic spots in the Hollywood Hills is the high area where Coldwater Canyon Drive and twisting Mulholland Drive intersect Not only are the sunsets awe-inspiring as they turn the hills and valleys from forest green to flame red, then from brown to black, they're followed by lights winking on across the wide, flat floor of the San Fernando Valley. Rippling heat gives a distinctive shimmer to the tiny white lights as they spread out for miles, more plentiful and brighter than the stars in the skies above.

Six-foot-four-inch Jason Broughton stole a moment from his guests. He pretended to be on his cell phone but what he really wanted was to look across his backyard and savor the view of the valley. He used to be daunted by those lights. When the unemployed actor worked as a valet for a Japanese restaurant on Ventura Boulevard in Sherman Oaks, he would drive into the hills at night and see the lights as places he didn't want to be: the boulevard where he worked, which was a commercial drag that had nothing to do with movies; an apartment he shared on Kester with two other aspiring actors; the valet job at night and clerking at a video store during the day.

Now the thirty-seven-year-old saw the lights as something magnificent. They were the map of a place he owned. After years of clawing his way up from bit parts, Jason Broughton was the star of the smash hour-long adventure series
The Legendary Adventures of Mighty Samson
. He was the new owner of this sprawling house that once belonged to one of the founders of Hollywood.

He had arrived. Those lights were
his
now. So much was his.

Jason turned. He looked at his sprawling, all-white Mediterranean-style home and his three-quarter-acre yard. The grounds were surrounded by ten-foot-high hedges, stonework, and poplar trees. Iron torches with flickering electric lights were mounted on the trees, house, and cabana and gave the small estate a Greco-Roman look. He had had those put in, replacing the garish spotlights that had been buried about the property.

A small pool in the center of the yard was lit by candles floating on miniature wooden barges. Jason looked at the tents arrayed around the pool. The sheer fabric blew lightly in the soft early-evening breeze. The tents were supported by columns and surrounded by statues that had been used on his show. The meats and vegetables roasted on open fires in stone pits. The waitstaff, dressed in Philistine attire, offered beverages in real silver goblets. He knew that guests were chatting with each other but looking at
him
and smiling. Actors and actresses. Agents and managers. The press.

They were his now, too.

Life was good.

Jason closed up his phone. He tucked it back into his white dinner jacket. It was time to return to his guests.

Suddenly, something leaped over the hedge, landed on the actor's back, and pounded him face-first into the lush green grass. Jason's spine and both of his lungs were crushed. In the moment of life that remained he saw a monstrous golden thing jump to the ground in front of him, jag suddenly to the left, and launch itself at Lizz Hirsch-Horn, his Delilah.

At the same time, the hedges and walls of the estate were being breached on all sides by other giants, some of them nine and ten feet long and standing five feet high at the shoulder. They flew down into the perimeter like dark angels, drawn by the smell of meat and the shimmering water of the pool. They tore into the fresh game that was standing around the yard, bounding one way and then the other, thick claws and fangs savagely pulling down prey by an arm or leg. Some cats would twist their prey by the head to break its spine, while others simply left it crippled where it fell so it couldn't get away. Then they would turn on another victim. Half the forty-odd guests were down in a matter of seconds.