Cat's Cradle (14 page)

“Hang on, boy. Help’s on the way.” Taylor quickly inspected Bowie’s arm. Great hunks of meat were gone from the forearm. He could see the whiteness of bone. A pressure bandage would do no good. Using Bowie’s belt, Taylor fixed a tourniquet, stopping the gushing of blood.

“That’s against policy, Captain,” Bowie joked. “Don’t you know I’m liable to get me a slick lawyer and sue you for doing that?”

“I’ll take my chances,” Taylor said. “I’ll say the devil made me do it.”

Mickey had climbed up into the top of the bleachers, pushed open a crawlspace entrance, and was now making his way through the darkness, on his hands and knees, moving over the classrooms, toward the far end of the school.

“Was it Mickey Reynolds, son?” Taylor asked.

“I swear to you, Captain, I don’t know what in the hell it was. It was a monster.” The deputy’s words ended with a low moan of pain. His arm was turning black, the skin wrinkling.

“Taylor?” Dan called.

“Yo!”

“Get on the horn. Tell the backups to surround the school.”

“Right.”

“Just like cowboys and Indians,” Bowie said.

Mickey was scurrying like a rat through the darkness. He reached the far end of the building and kicked his way through the ceiling tile, dropping down into the science room. He opened a window and climbed out, running to the garage area. There, he caught his breath and raced for the creek that ran behind the school. He forced himself to wade through the water, heading downstream, loathing every second the water touched his flesh. He angled toward the other side and carefully picked his way up the bank, staying in heavy brush, hiding his footprints. He disappeared into the back of a store in a small shopping center and crawled behind some boxes and crates.

There, he rested.

It was Chuck who first spotted the open window on the side of the school. He wheeled his car in close and jumped out, looking in through the window, spotting the hole in the ceiling. He yelled for Dan.

“He’s out and runnin,’ Dan,” Chuck said. “Was it Mickey?”

Dan looked at the hole in the ceiling. “Damn! We don’t know, Chuck. Bowie’s going into shock. He’s in bad shape. Arm all mangled.”

“Bitten?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, no!”

“Yeah. Goddamnit, Chuck, I’ve had it. Screw the OSS and Dodge and everybody concerned with this crap. This is getting too big and too ugly and too dangerous. No more coverups.”

“No, Sheriff. We don’t go public.”

Dan and Chuck spun around. The man called Lou stood smiling at them. “We must not unduly alarm the citizens, gentlemen,” he said.

“I’d like to see you stop me,” Dan said. “Goddamn you, Lou—or whatever your name is—this crap has gone far enough.”

“It’s only just beginning, Sheriff,” Lou said.

At that moment, none of the people involved could realize just how true the man’s words were.

“That’s your butt! Dan popped.

Lou’s smile never wavered. “That’s an interesting choice of words, Sheriff. We thought you might have a change of heart, being the public-spirited gentleman that you are.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold chain with a tiny gold heart attached. “Recognize this, Sheriff?”

Dan lifted his eyes from the chain and heart. His eyes were filled with black hate and rage. “I’ll kill you, Lou.”

Lou laughed at him.

Chuck put out his hand, restraining Dan, as his eyes picked up the forms of half a dozen men moving closer. Lou’s people.

“Easy, Dan. We’re outgunned.”

Dan stood and cursed the OSS man.

The gold chain and tiny heart belonged to Dan’s daughter, Carrie.

* * *

“All we have to do is wait,” Anya said. The cat looked at her, understanding. “The mortals have made things much easier for us. They have unknowingly released the Old Ones.”

The cat stretched, arching its back. It seemed to smile. The cat padded to a window in the storage garage and looked out. Several dozen cats had gathered around the building. They lay resting and sleeping on the ground, dozing in the warmth of the sun.

“More are gathering?” Anya asked.

Pet looked at her, passing a silent message.

“Very good,” Anya said. “When it is time, those who have interfered will learn the power of the cat. Right, Pet?”

Again, the cat seemed to smile. Turning back to the window, Pet yowled. The cats spread out, encircling the building. Some of them moved to the woods’ edge, almost as if they were standing guard.

They were.

There were cats of all types and sizes and breeds. House cats to alley cats. Strays and pampered pets. But these would never again serve-as far as a cat ever serves—any human master. They had found another master.

Anya’s eyes held a glow she had not experienced in hundreds of years. Her lips curved in a smile, a smile that was the very essence of wickedness. “I believe our being awakened was not simply a matter of fate, Pet. We were called. The human was an unwitting messenger. We were right in assuming the Old Ones were all about us.”

Pet cocked her head. Her yellow eyes glowed.

Anya laughed. It was not the laugh of a young girl. The laughter held the pent-up evil of two thousand years.

“Relax, Sheriff,” Lou said, his smile never leaving his lips. “Your little girl is just fine and dandy. She’s at home, I believe. One of my people went into her bedroom last night and got this little bauble. I just wanted to show you how easy it would be-if it came to that. It doesn’t have to; it’s all up to you.”

“Lou . . .” Dan sputtered, his rage just barely contained.

“Lamotta, Sheriff. Lou Lamotta.”

“Sure, Lou. I’m sure that’s your real name.”

Lou shrugged. “It’ll do, Sheriff. I’ve used it before.”

Dan sized the man up. They were about the same age, but Lou was a mass of muscle. A big, solid, dark-complexioned man. Dark eyes that gave away nothing. Dan didn’t think he could take the man with his hands. But he could goddamn sure shoot him.

Something flickered in Lou’s eyes. “I wouldn’t try it, Sheriff. It would be a stupid move.”

“But a very delicious thought, Lamotta.”

“You don’t have the guts to do it, Sheriff. There’s too much law and order in you.”

“Don’t put too much weight on that thought, Lamotta.”

Lou nodded. His smile was gone. He, too, was sizing up the man in front of him. Lou reached the conclusion that Dan Garrett was harder than he at first thought.

“The thing in the school house?” Lou asked. “Was it Mickey Reynolds?”

“We don’t know,” Dan said. “The deputy’s not sure what it was. It probably was Mickey.” Damned if he was going to tell the man about the Reynolds’ house. He was going to drag his feet whenever possible.

“Well, we have more problems, Sheriff. So I’ll have your deputy taken out to our facilities. I say problems; if we can isolate and control it, we’ll have the ultimate weapon.

“You idiot!” Dan flared. “You’ll kill everyone in this county in search of a weapon that you thought might give you the upper hand over the Russians, wouldn’t you, Lou?”

“Yes.” He stepped closer. “Now you hear me out, Sheriff. You and your boys find this Reynolds character. And when you do, call us. You don’t tell the people of this hick town a thing. Nothing. You know the drill, Sheriff. You keep your mouth shut. Tight! I’ve already talked with your deputies—most of them. I can nail two or three for income tax evasion. Don’t make any difference whether it was deliberate, or not. Three of them are in some kind of military reserve or guard. I can have them jerked back in active so fast they won’t know what hit them. And then it gets unpleasant for them. You want me to continue or do you get the message?”

Dan met the man’s stony gaze. “I get the message,” he said.

“Fine. I knew you were a reasonable man, Sheriff. But just let me add this one little thing. Don’t screw up and talk to the press. ’Cause if you do, I’ll take your daughter and your wife and pass them around to the boys.” He grinned. “And the girls. I might even video tape it and play it back for you. And your son, Carl? He could very easily get picked up on a coke charge. Now do you copy all that?”

“Yeah.” Dan popped back at him. “I sure do.”

“Fine.” Lou laughed aloud. “You’re a real wimp, Sheriff. Now run along and do your little country hick sheriff bit.”

Lou and his people stepped into the school and were soon out of earshot. Taylor walked up, joining Dan and the chief deputy.

“I heard it all, Dan,” the trooper said. “I thought stuff like this only happened in the movies?”

“Strangely,” Dan replied, “so did I.”

“You think he means it?”

Before Dan could answer, Chuck said, “I do. I think he’s just crazy enough to act sane. I think he’d do anything he felt had to be done. And I also think he’d enjoy doing it. He probably tortured little puppy dogs when he was a kid.”

“And pulled the wings off little birds,” Taylor added.

“Yeah.”

Another deputy panted up. “We lost him, Sheriff. He went into the creek. We can’t find out where he came out.”

“Call Mr. Mathews. Get the dogs.”

“Yes, sir. It’ll be a couple hours before he can get here, though. Get everything lined out.”

“All right. Get hold of him.”

One of the older deputies, Jake, met Dan’s eyes. “My oldest daughter is workin’ up in Washington, Sheriff. You know. That damn Lou showed me a file on her. Told me if I don’t cooperate, things could go hard for her. How in the hell can they move so quickly?”

“They’re very powerful, Jake. He just threatened me, too. Threatened to rape my wife and daughter and frame my son.”

“You goin’ to stand still for it?”

“For the time being, Jake.”

“Goddamnit, Sheriff! Is this America or Russia?”

Dan just shook his head. He really didn’t know how to answer the man’s question. He knew only this: he was going to get out from under the totalitarian rule of Lou and his OSS people. If he could, without risking the lives of his family.

Dan looked at Chuck. “He get to you, too, Chuck?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the man said tersely.

And Dan knew that Lou had made a very vindictive and mean enemy in Chuck. Mountain born and reared, the wiry chief deputy grew up with the stories of blood feuds and shots in the night. Lou had made a very bad mistake in threatening Chuck.

Standing across the street from the high school, Pat Leonard watched all the police activity. A state trooper had just told him they thought they had the man responsible for all the murders cornered. But something nagged at Leonard; the trooper seemed evasive. He got the impression the man was trying to tell him something. But what?

Pat was a small town newspaper owner and editor, but one with a lot of big city experience. Savvy. He had started out as a cub working the night beat in Richmond. From there he’d gone to Washington. Then spent ten years in New York City before returning home to take over the local paper after his dad died. Nobody had to tell Pat that things weren’t as they seemed in Valentine. Too many local deputies with worried expressions. Too many strangers in town. And nobody in their right mind would reopen that old terminal. Too many debts against it; too far off the beaten path.

Pat didn’t know what was really going on here in his little town and county. But he damn sure intended to find out.

He got into his car and drove out to the terminal. But he didn’t make it that far. He was forced to stop at a new fence just off the highway. The road leading to the old truck terminal was effectively blocked. Too far off for pictures. He got out of his car and walked up to the gates.

“Can I help you, sir?” a guard asked.

Pat turned to look at the man. Where in the hell had he come from? And why would the man be wearing a pistol and one of those handy-talkies? What was so important about an old truck terminal?

“Just curious,” Pat said. “The signs say this is government property.”

“That’s right.”

“Housing a civilian trucking firm? HPB?”

“Also correct, as far as it goes. HPB is under contract to the government. The truckers who’ll be pulling out of here work exclusively for Uncle.”

“Hauling what?”

The man smiled. “I’m afraid that’s classified, sir.”

“Oh. Hush hush and all that, huh?”

“Just classified, sir.”

“I see. Well, thanks for the information.”

“You’re certainly welcome, sir.”

When Pat returned to his office, Lou was waiting for him.

* * *

“How’s your deputy?” Taylor asked.

“Goodson says he’s stable,” Dan said. “But the man spoke in double talk. Like he was trying to tell me something. Trying to get me to read between the lines.”

“Could you?”

“No. I couldn’t make any sense out of it. And on top of that, the Reynolds family is gone. Mother and kids. I sent one of my men over there to pull them in for questioning and they’re gone.”

“Getting stranger and stranger,” Taylor said. “Dan . . . what I’m about to ask . . . do you have any contacts left in Washington?”

“Like . . .”

“The CIA?”

Dan smiled. “Funny you should ask that, Tay. Yeah, I do. I’d like you to have one of your, ah, vacationing troopers get the gear and electronically sweep this office for bugs. I’d like that done just before I call. Can you arrange that?”

“Easy. I’ll have it done first thing in the morning. Forbes is the wire expert.”

“Fine. I’ll call him after that’s over.” Dan looked up as Carl and Mike walked into the office. He introduced them to Captain Taylor and waved the boys to a seat.

“What’d you characters do now, bust out of college?”

“Naw, Dad,” Carl grinned.

“So what’s up?”

“Strange things still happening here in Ruger, Mr. Garrett?” Mike asked.

“You could say that.”

“Sheriff Garrett, do you believe in the devil?”

“Yes. I believe in heaven and hell, Mike.”

“Captain Taylor?”

“Yes, son. I do.”

Mike laid the worn old book on Dan’s desk. “The last chapter in that book tells of a strange religion—stranger than the others detailed in there. Cats and kids and Satan.” Mike related everything he had read about the Cat People. Then he leaned back in his chair and said, “The girl and the cat have to rest in twenty-five year cycles. If they’re disturbed, well, all hell—literally—can break loose. Mike told me about the paper he did on the New York City murders. That was twenty years ago. Is there a connection?”

“Maybe,” Dan said. He and Taylor exchanged glances. The trooper said, “It’s a place to start, Dan. I’m about ready to believe anything.”

“Has any of that stuff been verified?” Dan asked, pointing to the book.

“No, sir. But shortly after it was published, the author was killed. The body was partially eaten and the blood sucked from it. Small footprints and cat tracks were found in the blood.”

Taylor sighed. “Maybe there is a connection.”

“You boys through with finals?”

“Yes, sir,” they both said.

“Carl, you and Mike go on home. Stay there. Keep an eye on your mother and sister. Don’t let them out of your sight. Both of you are good shots. I know, I taught you. Carl, you get those M-one carbines out and load up the thirty round clips. Keep them handy.”

“Dad? ...”

“I’ll explain when I get home. Thank you both for this information. Now take off and stay at the house.”

The boys gone, Taylor looked at the old book on Dan’s desk. For some reason he could not explain, he did not want to touch that book. “I don’t want to believe it, Dan.”

“Neither do I.”

Dan stilled the ringing of the phone. He listened for a moment, then hung up after a terse, “Thanks.”

“Denise Moore died a few minutes ago. That was one of the so-called doctors out at the terminal. He didn’t tell me what she died of.”

“You a praying man, Dan?”

“Not in a long time. You think prayer is the answer to this?”

“Damn sure wouldn’t hurt.”

Dan’s intercom buzzed. “Dogs are ready, Sheriff.”

“Okay.”

* * *

“You going to autopsy?” Goodson asked.

“Not yet. I want to keep an eye on the deputy.” He jerked a thumb toward the body of Denise. “She’ll keep for a few hours.”

The man left, closing the door to the cold room of the portable morgue. The body of Denise lay on a narrow table, the sheet covering her from the waist down. A peculiar humming filled the small room. Several of the jars and bottles began vibrating. Surgical gauze began unwinding and dropping to the floor. The sheet lifted from Denise’s body and slowly slipped to the floor. Those areas on her body where the doctors had stitched suddenly opened, blood oozing out.

Denise opened her eyes.