The tunnel sloped down, which didn't surprise Hannah. After several minutes it turned sharply to the north and dropped away faster, nearly at a forty-five-degree angle. Grand turned so that his right side led and leaned back slightly as he continued down. Hannah did the same. Grand would frequently turn quickly to make sure that she was all right. Despite his attitude before they descended, his attention-and expression-showed concern for her.

As they walked. Grand also swung his flashlight over the floor and walls of the tunnel looking for signs of passage. Twice so far he'd stopped to examine scratch marks on the ground. He would turn and nod to Hannah that they appeared to be going in the right direction.

The deeper she and Grand went, the more the tunnel turned and twisted, sometimes in a tight S-shaped pattern. There were thin, deep ruts here and there. They looked like cracks but Hannah realized that they were probably caused by water dripping from stalactites and dribbling downhill over the millennia. Hannah tried to picture lava being forced up slowly to create these passageways, burning through the softest strata of stone, the path of least resistance. It probably piled up in these lower caverns until the pressure became so intense that the magma just blasted through the upper sections of rock. Hannah imagined heat so intense that higher areas of the tunnels, areas that weren't submerged as long, were liquefied, then solidified into the oddly shaped bubbles she saw around her. It was strange. The bubbles looked so new, ready to pop, while the stalactites-which were formed much later-appeared vastly older.

As Hannah thought about these awesome natural forces, she realized that she had been at this newspapering game for too many hours of her life, far too intensely. She was actually writing the antediluvian volcano story in her head, as if she were publisher of the Ice Age Gazette.

Hannah had no idea how far they'd gone. A half mile? Maybe more?

It certainly felt like more. The tunnel became tighter-

Grand was ducking now, and she had to as well in spots- and Hannah began to feel closed in. The air was cool and wet and it was scary, the idea that it was probably longer to go back than to go forward. Her legs had been weak after the climb and they were getting wobbly now. Blisters were forming on her heel and big toes. But she pushed herself on, then on some more, because she had asked for this. And she was actually glad she had exhaustion and claustrophobia in the front of her mind. It was something to think about other than what they were searching for. If she thought about the cats for too long she might freak or freeze, the way she did when she first saw them back on the mountaintop. They were frightening, yet so overpowering in their form and hypnotic in their movement that she couldn't look away.

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."

Chapter Forty-Five

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.