The cat that had been splashed reversed course and headed all the way around, apparently aiming to get behind his partner, who was gathering himself for a spring up to their ledge. Cam squatted down and aimed carefully at that one as Mary Ellen struggled to stay up on the narrow and slippery rock ledge.
Starvation trumped tame as the cat jumped right up at them. Time slowed down. The cat’s huge face filled Cam’s entire vision. It was so strong that it could hang right on the edge of the narrow ribbon of rock with its hind claws, gather its immense shoulders, and roar at him. He could smell its rancid breath and feel the heat of its predatory fury.
He shot it full in the face as at least one fully clawed paw swiped the air right in front of him. The cat screamed and tumbled back down the rock, sliding into the pool and disappearing. Cam barely had time to switch his aim before the other cat was bounding up at them. He fired once and then again, missing both times, but that was enough to make the cat overshoot, lose its balance, and fall off the ledge amid the sound of ricocheting rounds. It dropped like the other one into the pool. Mary Ellen lost her grip and slid off the ledge. Cam reached to grab her and joined her in the debacle. They hit the water together and gasped at the icy temperature.
Cam held on to the gun and spun around, looking for that one operational cat. It was right there, swimming powerfully in their direction, making a hideous screeching sound. Cam tipped the big pistol down to drain any water out of the barrel and shot the beast right down the throat. The recoil lifted his arm just as the cat tried to slash him, and then, spewing blood, it sank out of sight.
Mary Ellen had managed to get to the side of the pool, but she couldn’t get herself out of the water because of the slippery surface. Cam tried to swim over to her but found his left arm wasn’t working. He looked down and saw a mass of blood and other things where his left bicep had been. He hadn’t felt a thing, but now he did. Gritting his teeth, he backpedaled over to where she was struggling and told her to wait a minute and catch her breath. His own boots could gain no traction on what seemed like the glass-smooth sides of the pool, but first he wanted to make damn sure the cats were out of the picture. A roil of bubbles broke the surface out in the middle of the pool and then all was still-until the first cat surfaced right next to Mary Ellen, causing her to scream and lunge back out into the pool. One of the cat’s eyes was completely gone, the other one showed only white, and the back of the cat’s skull was missing. Somehow, it found the edge of the pool and used its long claws to pull itself up onto the dry ground. It rested unsteadily there for a few seconds, flanks heaving, and then hoisted its body all the way out of the water. It tried to stand up but couldn’t. It collapsed, convulsed once, coughed, and then died on the rock floor, its front claws still embedded two inches into the dirt.
They treaded water for a long minute, really feeling the cold now but wanting to make sure it was over. Mary Ellen’s teeth were chattering, but Cam was silently blessing the cold water as it numbed his ruined left arm. Then he paddled over to where the cat’s body lay, hesitated for a second, then grabbed its tail and hauled himself one-armed out of the water. He lay right alongside the panther for a moment. The cat was still warm and it was longer than he was tall. He gestured to Mary Ellen, but she wouldn’t come near the panther. He crawled down to where she was treading water and pulled her out ten feet away from the cat’s inert body. Then they both sprawled on the floor of the cavern. She hadn’t seen his arm yet. He didn’t want to look at it.
At that moment, an authoritative voice called down from the hole up top and asked what in the hell was going on down there.
“Better late than never,” Mary Ellen gasped.
“County cops. What can I say?” Cam replied, putting his hand on her forehead.
“Sorry about the cats,” he said. “Sorry about this whole damned mess.”
Feeling a familiar roar in his ears, he clamped his good hand over the wound on his arm. “You better get them down here,” he whispered.
She sat up, saw the arm.
Then things got a little fuzzy.
69
A month later, Cam sat out on the deck behind his house with a Scotch in one hand and Frick’s fuzzy head in the other. Frack lay on the deck, watching as usual. Bobby Lee Baggett sat across from him, also enjoying a sunset libation.
“So I’m still fired,” Cam said.
“Well, actually, you’ve been early-retired. Sounds like fired, but different.”
Cam thought the Sheriff was still a little gray around the gills and that he’d lost pounds he couldn’t afford to lose. From time to time Bobby Lee would unconsciously put his left hand on his chest over the wound site. Cam knew the feeling.
“Don’t remember signing the papers,” Cam said, massaging his own bandaged arm.
“Memory is the second thing to go, especially when you get retired.”
“What’s the first?”
“I forget,” Bobby Lee said. It was such a lame old joke they both chuckled.
“What are the feds up to these days?” Cam asked.
“They have identified some ‘persons of interest,’” Bobby Lee said.
“That mean what it usually does?”
“Yep. They know who the bad guys are, but can’t prove shit. Yet. There’s an interesting wrinkle, though, if you can believe it.”
“Try me.”
“They want to offer that Indian computer wizard immunity if she’ll help them tag the federal members of that cat dancer thing.”
“She had to have been the one who set that bomb at Annie Bellamy’s house,” Cam pointed out. “Immunity from a murder charge?”
“I think they’re going to pretend they don’t know that,” Bobby Lee said. “Offer her immunity for being a part of the death squad. Get what they can, then open the murder charge.”
“Get her in custody and give me five minutes with her,” Cam said.
“Now, now, those aren’t the words of a retiree.”
“Have they found her?”
“That’s the problem. They seem to think you might be able to help them out with that.”
“Me?”
“She was the one who sent you the GPS points, right?”
“That was an entirely one-way channel, boss,” Cam said. “My chances of finding her on the Internet are precisely two.”
“One of their computer wienies is going to be in touch. You can at least make helpful noises.”
Cam reflected on that and sipped some scotch. His doctors had told him not to drink while on the final course of antibiotics. He had invoked his constitutional rights against cruel and unusual punishment, although he kept it well within bounds. Pretty much.
“I’m going to the County Sheriffs’ annual convention in Raleigh next week,” the sheriff said. “Gonna have me some ‘offline conversations on matters of mutual collective interest.’”
“Share some technical parameters?” Cam asked.
“Those too. What do you hear from your ranger friend?”
Cam tried to flex his left arm. It didn’t flex worth a damn. There was too much meat gone from vital places. Mostly he walked around like Napoleon, with his left hand shoved inside his shirt. “Unfortunately, not much,” he said.
“Why-’cause you shot those cats?”