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.

The severed tail.

Grand wondered if the smell of the tail had been what brought the cats to that side of the tunnel, not just the tar.

"Wait, Sheriff! Don't!"

Gearhart continued ahead.

With an oath Grand held his breath, swung his legs around, and lowered himself into the dusty opening. He ducked down and looked ahead. Gearhart was a dim figure about four feet ahead of him. Grand stepped over the jacket and reached for him.

Suddenly, Gearhart seemed to rise up and fly toward him, as though he'd been lifted and thrown. His gun bounced off into the darkness. Grand jumped back as Gearhart landed hard on the jacket. He was followed by a saber-tooth, its head held low and bucking like an angry elk, its eyes golden slits in the mist. It had a large ridge of hair down its back and its nose was twitching in a way that exposed a row of long, white upper teeth.

It was a male. Grand wondered if the tail had belonged to its mate.

"Help down here!" Grand yelled and bent to get his hands under Gearhart's shoulders, pull him away-

The saber-tooth roared and leaped onto Gearhart. He butted Grand back with his head. Grand struck the stone wall hard. Then, opening his huge jaw ninety degrees, the saber-tooth buried his fangs in the sheriff's belly. Gearhart wailed and pushed desperately at the creature's thickly whiskered muzzle with both hands. The saber-tooth didn't seem to notice. It shook its head from side to side, digging through the sheriff's body and then ripping down.

"No!" Grand screamed.

Pushing himself off the sharp stone, the scientist looked around for something he could use against the animal. He saw a long, pointed shard of concrete that had been broken off by the jackhammer and picked up. Holding it in both hands, Grand ran at the creature, managed to squeeze beside it, and drove the makeshift knife down hard at the back of its neck. The tip struck fat wads of muscle. The creature hissed. It sounded like a car tire spinning on ice. The animal lifted its head, tilted it to the side, and snapped at Grand. The scientist hopped to his left, toward the opening. The fangs missed him by less than an inch. Grand seized the moment to grab the front of Gearhart's vest and try to pull him back.

The cat roared and pounced forward, butting Grand back with a big swipe of its head and pinning Gearhart beneath it. The sheriff put his hands on the ground and tried to push himself from under the cat but the cat wouldn't release him. Bits of flesh hung from the creature's fangs as it raised its head and bit down again, this time higher, just below the rib cage. Gearhart screamed, his body spasming as the fangs tore through muscle and bone. His fingers shaking, Gearhart clawed at air, his hands covered with his own blood.