Cat's Cradle (25 page)

Denier glanced at his watch. “This . . . situation, for want of a better word, will be over by this time tomorrow. One way or the other.”

“Suppose it’s the . . . other?” Chuck asked.

The priest said, “Then we will all be dead.”

3

His Christian name was William, but everybody called him Billy. Had for as long as he could remember. He had been a deputy for two years and thought he might like to run for sheriff someday. Someday. For sure, though, he was going to be married next month and he and his wife were going to have three kids. Two boys and a girl, he liked to say with a smile.

He was thinking of his bride-to-be as he pulled into the driveway of the Service farm. He sat in the car and looked around him for a moment. He didn’t know what he was walking into here. Dispatch couldn’t make much sense out of the old lady’s call. She was hysterical. Hollering. Hard to understand.

Billy radioed in and 10-97’d with dispatch. He got out of his car, his flashlight in his hand. His eyes swept the darkness for cats, monsters, and whatever else might be lurking in the night. It really made him mad being left out of that SST rig that overturned north of town. Bastards wouldn’t even let him see the damned accident. Couldn’t get close to it. Snooty civilians at the scene told him to go back to his regular duties and stay out of the way. Hard-eyed bunch of folks, too. Damned unfriendly. Sheriff Garrett just said to ignore them. But Billy could tell the sheriff didn’t much like it, either.

Billy walked up to the front porch and knocked on the door. He waited. No sound came from within the house. He looked in through the picture window. Everything looked fine. No furniture knocked over like there usually is after a family fight. No holes in the walls, busted TV’s, and torn-down drapes and curtains. This place looked just fine.

Anyway, he didn’t figure this to be any sort of family disturbance. Not old Mr. and Mrs. Service. He’d known them all his life. But ... you never knew about old folks; sometimes they could be as vicious as the young couples that fight and scrap.

“Walter?” he called. “Mrs. Service. Ya’ll sing out. Where are you?”

The darkness greeted him with near silence. Only the sighing of the light night wind answered his calls.

Then an odor drifted to him.

Billy knew what that was. He’d worked enough killer wrecks to know it well. Relaxed bladders and bowels and blood. He started to walk around the house and then remembered Sheriff Garrett’s words: No one lone-wolf’s it if you think it might have something to do with the current situation facing Ruger County.

Sheriff had a nice way of putting it.

Billy walked back to his car, trying to ignore the tingling in the center of his back. He knew something awful had happened here. But what? He was soaking wet with sweat when he opened the door to his car and got in. He knew,
knew
there was bad trouble here. He reached for his mike.

It had taken Dan four years and a lot of arguing to do it, but Ruger County had finally come through with the money. Every call coming into the department pertaining to department business, every dispatch between officers, was taped. It helped in court, and it lessened the chances of lawsuits and other foul-ups.

It also virtually stopped all non-business calls coming out of the office.

“Base, I’m still ninety-seven at the Service house. Requesting backup.”

“Is this ten-thirty-five?” That is the confidential information signal. Dan had settled on that one for anything pertaining to cats, creatures, the OSS, and whatever the hell else might be mysteriously occurring in his county.

“Ten-four.”

“Stay put. Backup on the way.”

“Base? I’m backing out of the drive and back onto the road. I’ll wait there.”

“Ten-four. Anything firm?”

“Negative. Hunch.”

“Stay with it. I’m notifying Ruger One.”

“Ten-four.”

Billy began backing out of the drive. Halfway to the road, he jammed on the brakes as his headlights caught a glimpse of ... He didn’t know what it was. He blinked and stared. Nothing. Must have been my imagination, he thought.

No. There it was again. Something moving by the side of the house. But what was it? He mentally vacillated for a few seconds. What to do? He made up his mind and removed his shotgun from the rack, getting out of the car. He pumped a round into the chamber and began walking slowly up the gravel drive. His headlights were on high beam, casting artificial light over the front yard, creating deep pockets of darkness in the bushes and shrubs around the house.

Billy moved closer to the house, once more smelling the odor of death. And . . . something else. God, what was that smell?

There it was again. That movement by the side of the house. Billy knew it wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Service. Thing was too small for either of them. But whatever it was, it was short, stocky, and wide. Kinda like a bear.

Billy took a few more steps. “Walter? Mrs. Service? Answer me, folks!”

Deep silence, accompanied by that awful smell, greeted his words.

“You!” Billy called. “By the house. Step out into the light.”

Faint chuckling drifted to the deputy.

Chuckling! “You think it’s funny?” Billy shouted. “Move it—now!”

He lifted the shotgun to his shoulder. He wished his hands weren’t so sweaty.

The shotgun was savagely torn from his grasp, the butt of the weapon striking him on the lower jaw as it flew from his hands.

Billy, blood leaking from his busted mouth, stood in shock for a few seconds, not understanding what had happened. He jerked out his .357 and fired, the booming shattering the nighttime quiet of the country. When his hearing returned, Billy heard the sounds of strange laughter. The ... thing, man, bear, whatever it was, shuffled backward, into the deep darkness at the rear of the house.

Billy did a slow turnaround in the yard, looking in all directions, trying to figure out who, or what, had jerked the shotgun from his hands. He was soaked from sweat, his heart pounding as fear gripped him and adrenalin surged through his blood. Blood dripped from one corner of his mouth. He could see nothing human.

“Billy!” Walter’s voice wavered through the night; a voice filled with pain. “Oh, God, Billy. I’m hurt bad. Help me, boy.”

“Walter!” Billy shouted. “Where are you, Walter?”

“Behind the house, boy. Come quick. Mother’s hurt real bad. Hurry, boy!”

Billy ran into the darkness, beyond the limits of the headlights. His boots slipped in something slick. He knelt down and touched the slickness with his fingertips. Blood. He was standing in blood. But whose blood? Walter’s? Mrs. Service’s? That thing he’d shot? If it was blood from that unknown, the thing sure had a funky sense of humor, laughing like it did.

“Oh, Lord, Billy!” Mrs. Service groaned. “Please help us, Billy.”

Billy ran around the corner of the house, into almost total darkness. He ran right up to the most awful-looking thing he’d ever seen in his life. He froze, numb with shock and fear. He began screaming as huge, clawed hands dug its fingers through the cloth of his shirt and into the flesh of his belly. Blood squirted as the fingers dug deeper.

* * *

“Ruger One,” dispatch radioed, “I can’t get Billy to respond.”

“Oh, no!” Dan muttered. “Didn’t you tell him to stay put?”

“Ten-four. Said he was backing out into the road and waiting for backup to arrive.”

Taylor rode with Dan in the lead car. Dodge and Father Denier sat in the back. Chuck followed behind. Langway and Hawkes made up the third and fourth vehicles. The priest was silent, sitting quietly, his bag on the seat beside him.

Chuck had wanted to ask him what he had in that bag, but he wasn’t that sure he really wanted to know. He’d seen a lot of those movies about exorcism. Those priests who really did that sort of stuff-like Denier-had to be ballsy. Even if they didn’t use them like other guys.

They all saw Billy’s car parked in the drive, the headlights on high beam. The cops parked and got out. Dan and Chuck carried M-10’s, set for full auto, in addition to their sidearms. The troopers carried pistols and shotguns. Dodge carried an M-16.

Father Denier carried his black bag in one hand and a large silver cross in the other.

“It’s here,” Denier said.

“What’s here?” Dodge asked.

“Death and the Old One. They are one and the same.”

“Don’t you want a pistol, or something?” Chuck asked the priest.

Denier lifted the large cross. “I have one of the most powerful weapons in the world,” he said.

“One
of the most powerful?” Dan asked.

“Faith in God tops the list,” Denier said.

Chuck didn’t want to sound like a wise guy and get the priest down on his case, but he’d take his M-10 any day.

Denier looked at him. “You will soon see that your weapons are useless against the Old Ones.”

Chuck’s flesh got goose bumps when he realized that Father Denier had read his mind.

“Is Billy dead?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know,” Denier replied. “I only know that somebody is dead.”

“Captain,” Dan said, “you and Langway take the left. Dodge, you come with me to the right side. Chuck, you and Hawkes stay with Father Denier.”

“No,” the priest said. “I must lead the way.”

“Father . . .”

The priest didn’t hesitate. He began walking toward the rear of the house, his stride firm. The others had to move out just to keep up with him.

Denier suddenly stopped, holding up his arm for the others to halt. “Stay where you are,” he ordered, his tone telling the others he would not tolerate any argument. He was running this show. He began praying, softly but firmly.

A ragged howling sprang from the darkness, the roaring filled with rage. The cops almost blasted the night with gunfire, nervous trigger fingers easing up just in time.

“Spawn of hell,” Denier said quietly, no fear in his voice. “I am not afraid of you.” He lifted the large silver cross, the moonlight reflecting off the polished silver.

The howling became a wild shrieking in the night, so loud and high-pitched in its anger, it momentarily deafened the men.

Odd, Dan thought. But I can clearly hear Denier’s praying over the shrieking. How can that be?

The night seemed to literally shake from the insane howling and shrieking and roaring. Lightning licked across the dark sky and thunder rolled in a rhythmic flow; a sky filled with insane drummers. A limb ripped from a huge old tree in the back yard as the winds screamed in, raging with a stormy fury.

Denier stood like a solid rocky point against a surging sea. The rains came, lashing the men standing by the house. The raindrops, heavy and fat, were hot and stinking. Denier lifted his face to the sky and prayed, his arms spread wide, the cross in his right hand.

The men, as if under the control of one mind, one body, stepped backward as the Old One approached the priest. They stared in horror and revulsion at the hideous sight. The Old One came at the priest in an awkward, running shuffle, its long arms almost dragging the ground. Its bluff failing to move the man of God, the Old One stopped a few feet from Denier. Denier looked down at the wicked hideousness.

The Old One and priest exchanged glances for a moment. Then the rain stopped. The winds ceased. The lightning no longer licked across the dark night sky. The thunder faded away.

The priest smiled.

“Stupid fool!” the words rolled from the Old One’s mouth. It was Walter’s voice. “So your power is strong enough to stop me. But will it stop all of us?”

“If I can sustain my faith, perhaps.”

“Your God is not going to help you,” the Old One said, this time speaking in Billy’s voice, shocking the men who knew the young deputy. “He is not going to interfere. And your faith will not be strong enough against all of us.”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it, you walking piece of filth?” Denier replied.

The Old One laughed, a high-pitched cackle. It was Mrs. Service’s voice.

“I don’t believe I’m seeing this,” Dodge said. “I think I’ll shoot the son of a bitch!” He lifted his M-16.

“See this! ” the Old One howled, looking at Dodge, its eyes glowing.

Dodge’s entire body erupted in flames as all present felt the force spring from the Old One’s eyes. Dodge’s hair burst into flames, the skin from his head peeling away under the intense heat. Dodge’s head exploded as his brains bubbled and cooked, his eyes melting, running down his face.

“Fire!” Dan yelled, lifting his M-10 and pulling the trigger, holding it back. The others joined him. The walking, living foulness was knocked around the back yard, pieces of it flying all about as the lead impacted.

Denier’s shouting silenced the weapons. “Cease firing!” he yelled. “You’re only making it worse.”

A ball of fiercely glowing light stood where the Old One had stood. The men watched as the light began to dim. All about the yard, tiny balls of light were glowing. The huge ball of light faded away, melting into darkness. The Old One was gone. But pieces of it remained.

They looked at the charred body of Dodge. The intense heat had turned the man into a pile of ashes. His M-16 had melted.

“Where’d that . . . thing go?” Chuck asked, fighting back the sickness that threatened to boil from his stomach.

“That is not important,” Denier said. “It is close, believe it. What is important is to destroy all the pieces of it. See them glowing, becoming one with the earth. Be careful to avoid them.”

“You don’t seem in any big hurry,” Langway said.

“They are vulnerable,” the priest said. “At this stage, they can be destroyed by fire. If they are not destroyed, in a few days you will have a hundred like the Old One you just saw.”

Denier walked toward a whiteness glistening on the ground, a few feet from the back porch. He stopped before he stepped in something.

Dan followed the priest. “Oh, my!” he said, his eyes finding why Denier had stopped.

Billy was spread all over the back yard.

Only a few scraps of meat was left of the old couple; their bones lay white on the ground. But the head of the young deputy had been torn from the body. The head rested on the steps leading to the porch. The eyes were wide open, staring in shock and horror at that one hot second of agony before the head parted from the rest of the body. Intestines dangled with a gray slickness from the lower limbs of a tree. Various organs, still warm from life, littered the back yard.