“Three cats against one grizzly? Where are the grizzly and the other two cats?”
“This is the only one that got seriously hurt, think.” I go on to tell her about the fight.
Dad has the first aid kit open and Matt is pulling out things. Sam moves over to the cat’s head and starts stroking him between his eyes, and down his broad neck. “It’ll be okay,” she says to him and then nods to Matt. He has a bottle of hydrogen peroxide in his hand. “You don’t have to worry about him,” she adds. Matt opens the brown bottle and Dad, Mom and I step back.
“I don’t know about this,” Dad says. I can see the same concern on Matt’s face. “Shouldn’t he be restrained?”
“Nothing to restrain him with. He has total trust in me. Go ahead, Matt.”
Matt looks up at us. I can tell he is scared but I understand that he is in his element now. This is what he knows. This is what he can do. Despite his fear of the big animal, he places one hand on the cat’s massive front shoulder—as if he would be able to hold him down—and leans forward. He pours a little into the center of the worst gouge. The cat jerks only slightly and then settles. Sam strokes him. “It’s okay, Simon. Everything will be fine.”
“Simon?” Dad says. “Isn’t he the one that killed the doctor?”
“He was setup to take the fall. Peter McCully was actually killed by Victor. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Simon was innocent. He was only a year old then. Now he is old and dying.”
“He’ll heal from this,” Matt says, “as long as he doesn’t get infected.”
“No, Matt. He’s dying because he’s old. He won’t recover from this.”
“But he’s only nine,” I say. “They had to have lived a lot longer than that.”
“Do it, Matt,” Sam says. “He knows what it feels like now and he’s prepared. He knows we’re helping.”
Matt pauses for a few seconds and then begins. He pours hydrogen peroxide directly into the wounds, waits, follows with water, wipes it clean and then adds more peroxide.
“Simon is the oldest cat now still alive, along with his twin sister, Tricia.” Sam points. “See the gray here, along his jaw, and here? He’s the equivalent of an eighty year old man. I’m surprised he tried to fight the grizzly. He knows what his limitation is, and I don’t think he would have sacrificed himself for a human, despite what orders I’ve given them.”
“Maybe he attacked to help the two younger cats who weren’t having any luck.”
“Maybe he was willing to sacrifice himself to hold onto the species. At some level I think they know this is their second and last chance, and that they are going to lose.”
“What do you mean?” Mom asks.
“They went extinct because it was meant to be. Their usefulness on this earth was gone. Even with our meddling, they will return to extinction. It’s just a matter of time. A few years. Five at best is my guess.”
“It’s the cloning, isn’t it?” I say. “Old DNA.”
“That’s right. Zitnik was concerned about it, but eight years ago we didn’t have enough data yet. If you use DNA from a fifteen year old cat, what you virtually end up with is a fifteen year old kitten. The cells are already aged.”
“But what about subsequent generations. Don’t they start out with new cells and DNA?”
“You’d think so, but it’s obviously not working that way. Instead it seems to accelerate. Simon is the kitten of Nitsa, one of the original cats created from the DNA of the 28,000 year old fossilized Smilodon, who we thought was only about three years old when he became a fossil. Apparently he was much older than that. He had to have been between ten and fifteen. Nitsa died several years ago from heart failure. The others of the original litter, Cyrus and Zoe, are gone as well. Cyrus was shot by a hunter but got away. He died of infection, too old and weak to fight it. Zoe went to sleep and never woke up. Sergei, Karlov, Nadia, and Duscha have all gone within the last six or seven months. I think it was the combination of age and a harsh winter. Simon, here, and Tricia are the last of those who escaped Sans Sanssabre.”
“Except for us.”
We all look at Mom. “Yes.” Sam says. “Except for us,”
“How many are there now?” Dad breaks the silent-filled space.
“Counting Simon, eight. If you remember, Nadia and Duscha were pregnant when they escaped. There were others born between then and the time I arrived here, and several births since. The young females are now starting out with three quarters of their lives already depleted. By the time they mature to the point of being able to conceive and bear kittens, they’re into the equivalent of our menopause. There is one who is pregnant right now, and there is some gray showing up along her neck.”
“A pregnant old woman.”
“Exactly. Her embryos aren’t getting the care in growth that a truly young female should be able to provide, and when they appear they’ll probably already be dying of old age. It will for certain be the last birth.”
Matt finishes cleaning and disinfecting the wound and then applies the largest bandage that’s in the kit. It barely covers it all.
“Now what?” I say.
“After he’s rested for a while he’ll get up and go drink. He may or may not eat. He is incapable of getting his own game but the others will provide for him if he wants. Once he understands that his own death is inevitable, he will go off and die alone, putting no more burden on the den.” Sam stands up and walks over to a huge backpack.
Matt picks up the lantern and goes over and sits down where Sam was. He looks into Simon’s eyes. A deep sorrow flows from him. He feels he is losing a battle, one he hasn’t been involved in, yet one he is taking on personally. I kneel down next to him. I rest one hand on his shoulder, and the other on the forehead of the big cat. “There’s nothing you can do,” I say. He strokes the cat’s neck. The others are moving away, down to the fire. I want to go, too, to find out what Sam has to say about our situation, what plans are being made. But I don’t want to leave Matt. He is sliding into himself, no longer due to fears, but because of an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Everything about his life is coming apart and now he can’t even save the life of an animal, the one thing he is most passionate about. He doubts himself to ever be as good as his mother. His sorrow is so oppressive that it’s spreading into my bones. I try to stop it but I cannot. A burning rises behind my eyes and tears begin; huge, wet tears roll down my neck and my chest. I sniffle and Matt looks at me. I start to turn away but he grabs my hand.
Don’t, he thinks. It’s okay.
He doesn’t know I hear him. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, afraid that the words will come out broken. What he also doesn’t know is that it’s not okay. He thinks I’m crying over this one sabre-toothed cat, or over its extinction. Yes, I’m sad about those things. Who wouldn’t be? It is instead for him that I am so deeply sad. It is for his death that I am crying.
Not his death in the literal sense, but for the death of his father, and the death of the power inside him to hold back his many fears. It is for the death of his dream, and then for the death of his innocence.
It is also for the death of mine.
Chapter 53
Zach
I worry about Becky and Matt being up there with Simon, but Aileen has assured me that it’s okay. The three of us are sitting around the fire on three standup logs. Tanya is in the middle. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Plan?”
“It appeared you had some overall scheme to get us out of trouble. Some master plan.”
Aileen grunts. “I did the only thing I could think of at the time to keep you guys alive. That’s it. I can’t do any more. Now I’m wondering if I made a smart decision.”
“What do you mean?” Tanya says, with a I’m about to kick your ass undertone.
“This place was my hideout in case Victor should find me, where I could live indefinitely. I wasn’t planning on sharing it with an entire family.�
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“You have my deepest apologies, Ms. Bravelli. I want nothing more than to get the hell out of here. I’ve no more desire to share a roof with you than with one of your long-toothed friends.”
“It sounds like you’re trying to lay the blame on me, Ms. Price. You all invited yourselves into this mess. I’m the innocent victim.”
“Innocent as hell! You invited my daughter here, my seventeen year old daughter.”
“No I did not! We chatted on the Internet for quite some time before I realized who she was, and then I was still guessing. I was floored when she showed up on my doorstep.”
“If you wanted to stay hidden, why did you set up this internet chat thing to begin with?”
Aileen blows out a lungful of air. “I was stupid. Okay? If there was a law against stupidity we’d all be in jail, and I’d probably be the ring leader, and there would be no one to guard it except maybe Mother Teresa, and she’s dead.”
I chuckle and Tanya gives me the look. She’s not amused.
“Here’s the way it is,” Aileen says. “You’re stuck here, and neither of us like it.”
“How long?”
“Victor knows that you guys are involved now, and he knows that you know where I am. He won’t stop searching. He’ll find you and your family and he’ll hurt you until you tell him what he wants to know. I’m not going to let you do that.”
We both level our, what the hell do you mean look at her.
“I’m not letting you leave until he is no longer a threat. It could be . . . years.”
Tanya jerks to her feet. “You’re crazy! You’re nuthouse crazy!”
Just as I start to get a handle on what else is in her mind, the cavern is filled with Becky’s screaming, echoing voice.
“MOM NO! DON’T!”
Seemingly enflamed even more, Tanya rushes over to the woodpile and returns with a club-size piece, firmly gripped in both hands.
Becky’s screams, “DAD, DO SOMETHING! STOP HER!”
I’m already on my feet.
She pulls the club back like she’s Babe Ruth and growls at Aileen. “How about if I just beat your fucking brains in and then tell Vandermill where your body is?”
I have an instant flashback of eight years before in a snowstorm when Tanya jumped on Aileen and started slapping her. She had snapped. She had gone from feminine to masculine, from peeing her pants to slapping Aileen around. And now she has snapped again.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Aileen says calmly to Tanya, pointing, but the club is already in motion. I catch it and knock Tanya off balance. A half dozen slivers of wood slice into my hand as I jerk it from Tanya’s grasp and throw it to the ground. I swear away the pain and follow Aileen’s pointing figure. Two sabre-toothed cats are silhouetted in gray at the entrance. Her arm moves. There’s one standing at the entrance to the tunnel; another is coming from the area of the hot spring. “Go ahead and put me out of my misery. Your bodies will never be found.”
Simon is also on his feet, moving slowly toward us behind Becky and Matt, who are on the run. “MOM!” Becky screams. “STOP NOW?”
Tanya shoves me. I stumble for balance, hit the log I was sitting on, and cartwheel over backwards. I jump to my feet, stumble and fall back onto my ass. “TANYA NO!” I yell. The club is back in her hands, raised high as though getting ready to split Aileen in half with an ax. Aileen still isn’t moving; nor is she attempting to defend herself. “I’d love to,” Tanya growls in response to Aileen’s misery comment. She’s definitely gone crazy. They’ve both gone crazy and their craziness is going to get us all killed. I jump to my feet again. “STOP!”
Becky is still screaming. The club is arcing down. At the last second Aileen rolls away and the club strikes the stool with a bone-jarring thud. I go around the stools, intent on tackling Tanya. All the cats are on the move. I’m lined up on her and heading in when Tanya’s back swing strikes me alongside the head.
Reba
It hits me without warning, that feeling of approaching death. I jump up and stare down at Simon, waiting for the pictures, thinking that he is suddenly going to jump to his feet and attack us. It’s as though someone is tightening a steel band around my chest until I can’t breathe. I slowly back away from him, trying to bring Matt with me. “No,” I struggle to say, but I don’t know what I’m saying no to. The pictures aren’t coming. Only feelings; helpless feelings. This must be how it is with Dad. Matt follows with me. “No, what?” he says.
Then, suddenly, the pictures come. Three solid blows from a club in Mom’s hand and blood and pieces of Sam’s skull. “MOM NO! DON’T!” I scream as I turn to look down at them. Mom is rushing over to the woodpile. She picks up a long piece of wood. “NO MOM!” I scream again, and again, but she ignores me. “SAM! RUN!” Sam doesn’t move as Mom walks toward her with the stick pulled back. I don’t know how many times I say those two phrases over and over again before I give up and yell, “DAD, DO SOMETHING! STOP HER!”
It seems to take forever before Dad grabs the stick away from her, just as she was starting to swing it at Sam. I slow to a walk, expecting that since Dad intervened, the visions will immediately stop. They do not. Sam is still sitting there like they’ve been having a pleasant chat, pointing here and there about the cavern. I look to where she is pointing. We are suddenly surrounded by sabre-toothed cats. It is far from over. On top of the vision of Mom bashing in Sam’s head, I see the rage of the sabre-toothed cats upon Mom and then Dad. “MOM!” I scream. “DON’T!” It does no good. She rushes forward and shoves Dad hard enough that he falls over the stumps. She picks the stick back up. Dad has no time to do anything, and Sam continues to sit there like an idiot. I give up yelling and start running again.
The stick, which looks more like a huge club as I get closer, rises over Mom’s head. Her muscles tense and she brings it down toward Sam. At the last minute Sam rolls away. I knew that would happen. It’s the next swing that gets her, and two more after that before a cat is on her, unless Dad or I can stop her. Dad tries to get at her from the side but in her wind up for another try at Sam, she smacks him alongside the head—I don’t think she means to—and he goes down, maybe out cold. Sam is coming to her feet but not quick enough. She thinks she can dodge Mom until she can bring one of her cats into play. All the cats are on the move. But Sam falters in her attempt to get to her feet. Mom will make contact this time, directly on Sam’s back as she tries to rise, unless . . .
At the last second, knowing that I have no other choice, and praying that I don’t hurt Mom too bad, I dive over the stumps, and fling my body straight into hers. I think I’m screaming again, or maybe it is her. I’m not sure. My arms go around her in some crazy attempt to protect her, and then we are all arms and legs and I feel like a race car going out of control, rolling and flipping down the track. I’m suddenly filled with a fear of slamming into the fireplace and breaking Mom’s back again, or worse.
We miss it. We separate at the last second and she falls hard against the woodpile. I slide to a stop, chin-first in the dirt, and then jump to my feet. Sam is on her feet, arms horizontal, palms facing out. She is holding the cats back. I swear I can see a dull orange glow in her eyes. Matt is standing behind her, mouth hanging open, oblivious to Simon standing behind him
Mom is not moving.
Oh God, shit to hell.
Two logs lay on top of her. I throw them aside and touch her face. There is no blood; not around her face, arms, legs; no place. Nothing appears broken. Still, she lies unconscious. I try reaching into her mind. There is nothing. I have no idea if that means anything.
Dad kneels next to me. He runs his hands through her hair, gently feeling for an injury. When he pulls his hands back there is blood on one. “It’s not bad, but it needs to be cleaned.”
“How? Can we move her?”
He shakes his head. “We’ll have to wait until she wakes up.”
“Because of her back?”
“Yes. Go get a couple of blankets.”<
br />
I stand.
“And water. Fill some of those bottles.”
I grab Matt. He stands with his hands in his pockets while I dig out the blankets. “Take those to Dad,” I tell him. I pull out three water bottles. Sam is sitting on one of the stumps, bent forward, her head in her hands. I step in front of her. “Sam!” I don’t soften my anger with her, an anger I didn’t know I had until now. She looks up. I point one of the water bottles toward the two cats still standing at the entrance. “I have to get water. Tell them to leave me alone.” She nods and returns to her head-holding.
I cautiously walk around Simon, and then break into a run. I’m not entirely sure why I’m so angry with Sam. Mom was attacking her, but I have the feeling Sam was provoking it. It was like she had a death wish for herself, which translates into a death wish for all of us. I slow to a bare crawl as I approach the two cats standing guard. They back away, and then make like leading me outside. I don’t follow. I had forgotten that it was dark. Very dark.
Zack
I run my hands over every square inch of Tanya’s body but can find no other damage beyond the wound on her head. Matt runs to get the first aid kit. He returns with that, a quarter bottle of water, and Becky with three empty bottles.
“I need the lantern,” Becky says. “It’s dark out there.”
“You haven’t seen the spring?” Aileen says.
“What spring?” Becky says.
“Up there,” Aileen points. “Near the hot spring.”
“We were just up there. I didn’t see any other damned spring.”
“Don’t get uppity with me, young lady.”
“Excuse me! I have a right to get anything I want. You nearly got us all killed.”
“The hell you say. It seems to me it was your mother who went half crazy.”
“You provoked her.”
“And how the hell would you know? You weren’t even here.”
I leave Tanya in Matt’s capable hands and enter the argument. “She knows, Aileen, so lay off of her. Where the hell is the spring?”
She stands, pulls off her hat and wipes her brow, and says, “Find it yourself.” She walks away.
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 71