Cat's Cradle (8 page)

Mickey removed his hand. Quickly. “You can’t keep me from going to my office.”

“Be my guest, Mr Reynolds,” Dan said. He walked away.

“Monster!” Mickey snorted, but not loud enough for Dan to hear. “Monsters, indeed. How ridiculous!” He walked to his car and drove away, toward the school.

The superintendent of public schools knew there was bad blood between Dan and Mickey. Had been ever since high school. But Dan Garrett was right in this matter. The safety of the children came first.

* * *

The creature, AKA Eddie Brown, was so bloated it knew it must find some sort of shelter to sleep and digest its heavy meal.

It was not confused, disoriented, or frightened. It knew, without knowing how it knew, where it was and how to get about. It headed for a cluster of buildings. Back when it was ... well, back in some other . . .
life,
it supposed, the rotted brain unable to form the thoughts, it used to hide in the darkness of the buildings. But which one. Then it came to the creature.

It slipped in through an unlocked basement window and settled down among the boxes and crates and other dusty and long-forgotten materials. It snuggled up against several old wine bottles. The bottles were familiar to the creature. Somehow.

It rested in the basement of the Valentine High School.

“It’s all wide open now, Dan,” Captain Taylor said. “The lid’s blown off the pot.”

“And the press is gathering,” Chuck said glumly. “But I ain’t seen that goddamn libber yet,” he added. Women’s lib turned Chuck off. Completely. He saw pictures of the famous, or infamous, march in New York City years back. When he saw some of the women waving their bras, he almost swallowed his bridgework.

“You will,” Taylor said. He looked at Dan. “She’s out to get you, Dan.”

“I know it,” Dan admitted. “And she’ll probably succeed in doing it, too.”

Odd thing for him to say, Taylor thought. He had just arrived from Division and had not yet seen the mangled and half eaten bodies. He was not buying Dan’s story about the creature.

“A monster, Dan?” Taylor asked.

“Yes,” Dan stuck to it. “I saw it and so did Susan. We both fired at it. I don’t know what it was. I know only that I have never seen anything like it. Not in my worst nightmares. But is it connected with the initial murders?”

Captain Taylor shook his head. He ventured nothing.

Sergeant Langway walked up. “Captain. We got a lot of good footprints. The thing was barefooted. From the depths of the depressions, it weighs about two hundred pounds. It scraped itself on several bushes, for we found lots of long dark hair. They do not appear to be human.”

“Yeah,” Dan said. “It was covered with long hair. Had slanty yellow eyes. Like a cat.”

Taylor looked as though he would have liked to toss a net over Dan Garrett. “The light was very bad in there, Dan.”

“Not that bad. I know what I saw.”

“And we found some . . . deposits,” Langway said. “The medics from the hospital have them for analysis.”

“Deposits?” Taylor said. “Excrement?”

“No, sir. More like drool.”

“It was about six feet tall,” Dan said. “The trousers were ragged, with a leather belt.”

“Six feet tall, two hundred pounds,” Taylor said. “Covered with long hair. Ragged pants and a leather belt. Cat’s eyes.” He shook his head. “Computer’s gonna blow a fuse when we put this in it.”

Dan’s eyes were on the hills around the town. He thought: a scratch from whatever it was they had been, or were, chasing, could change a human being into a mummy. But could it make other changes in the human system? Maybe. And maybe he was really reaching on this. Whatever. It was worth a shot. Dan pointed with his finger.

“Eddie Brown’s cabin is right up there. You can almost see it from here. Our people followed the trail we assumed Eddie made when running from those who attacked him. You with me, Captain?”

“Yeah, so far. But I don’t know what it is you’re driving at.”

“Bear with me, Captain. It’s wild.”

“Any wilder than a six foot tall, two hundred pound hairy human being with cat’s eyes who eats people?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, that’s dandy. Please proceed.” The captain’s tone was very dry. Like a desert.

“First I want to find out where that creature crossed the highway,” Dan said.

“If
it crossed the highway,” Taylor qualified that.

“It crossed the highway,” Langway said.

Taylor cut his eyes. He wondered if it was time for his sergeant to take a vacation. A nice long rest. “And just how did you arrive at that conclusion, Sergeant?”

“Well, sir, the footprints were very erratic. So unless it staggered and stumbled right down the center of town, it had to have crossed the road.”

“Uh-huh,” Taylor said. That’s what Langway needed all right. A rest. “Very well, Sergeant. I’ll accept your ... hypothesis. For the moment. Go on, Dan.”

“When we find where the . . . thing crossed the road, I want the road closed until we can search the blacktop on both sides. Carefully.”

“What are we looking for, Dan?” Taylor asked. Other than a padded room and rubber dollies for both of you. And no sharp instruments either.

“I don’t know,” Dan said, hedging that. He knew, but he also knew the captain thought him a basket case. So he’d play it close to the vest for now. For if he told Taylor what was really on his mind, the man might very well go whooping and hollering and running up the road, screaming for a net. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

“Sheriff Garrett!” A reporter called from the crowd. “When do we get some kind of official statement from you, sir?”

Dan looked at Captain Taylor. “Will you handle the closing of the road?”

“All right, Dan. I’ll . . .” He started to say: Humor you. “I’ll handle it.” He glanced at Langway. Come to think of it, the sergeant’s eyes did look a little weird. “Close it off, Scott. Find out where your ... monster crossed, and start combing the area.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dan, with Taylor by his side, walked to the knot of reporters. He looked for Mille Smith. Ms. She was not there. Yet.

Dan waved the crowd silent. He was conscious, and self-conscious of the several mini-cams pointed at him. He cleared his throat and said, “The chief of police of Valentine, Nick Hardy, and a neighbor, Mrs. Gladys Milford, were murdered last night. Chief Hardy had gone to investigate a prowler call from Mrs. Milford. This area, as you are all well aware of, is now cordoned off by Virginia State Troopers, Ruger Country deputies, and several platoons of the local National Guard. We don’t know how many people were involved in the recent killings, or whether they have any connection with the earlier murders, which are still under investigation. Just as soon as we know more, we’ll let you know. Thank you.”

Ignoring the shouted questions, Dan and Captain Taylor turned and walked away. Agent Dodge of the FBI fell in step with the men. He had just arrived at the confusion.

“You’re learning, Dan,” Dodge said. “Keep it brief and then walk away—quickly.”

“Here in Ruger, I just haven’t had much practice with the press,” Dan admitted.

“You forgot your Bureau training so soon?” Dodge kidded him.

“Working undercover as I did for those years, I really didn’t have much chance to put it into practice.”

“That’s right,” Dodge said. “I forgot. You were with that . . . team, weren’t you? Tell me about the murders. The latest ones.”

Dan brought the man up to date. Then, with a grim smile, he said to Captain Taylor, “You haven’t seen the bodies, yet, have you, Captain?”

“Eh? No. No, I haven’t.”

“Why don’t you and Dodge see the bodies and then I’ll meet you at the search site?” Dan suggested.

“Good idea,” the FBI man said. “See you there, Dan. Oh, by the way. What are you boys looking for up at the road?”

With a straight face, Taylor said, “A two hundred pound, six foot tall, hairy creature with cat’s eyes that eats people.”

The FBI agent was still sputtering and stuttering as Dan got in his car.

* * *

“You asshole!” Captain Taylor said, when he joined Dan at the search point. “You might have warned me. I’ve known Nick for twenty years.”

“I thought it best to shock you with the truth. Remember that old line about seeing is believing?”

Taylor took several deep breaths. He slowly nodded his head. “All right, Dan. Sorry I lost my temper. Sorry I made fun of you and Langway. Accepted?”

“Sure. We’re all in this together. Let’s go to work.”

“Found something over here, Sheriff,” a deputy called.

Dan looked at the small pin. It had been run over a couple of times, but the wording was still readable. He really didn’t want to look on the back for initials. He was afraid his theory might turn into fact.

“What is it, Dan?” Taylor asked.

“A church pin. A ten year pin.”

“That mean anything to you?” Dodge asked.

“Only if there are initials on the back,” Dan said slowly.

Chuck took the pin from Dan’s hand and turned it over. “E.B.,” he said. He lifted his eyes, meeting Dan’s eyes. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin,’ Dan?”

“Yeah,” Dan said, almost reluctantly. The pin really didn’t prove anything; but it did drive another nail in support of his theory.

“E.B.?” Taylor said, taking the pin and looking at it. “What? ...” He cut it short and looked at Dan. “E.B. Eddie Brown. Now you just slow down, Dan. Whoa! Now I can only take so much of this before it begins to boggle the mind. You don’t think . . . You can’t mean . . . You’re not implying? ... Oh,
hell,
no! No way, Dan!”

Dan shifted his eyes, looking at the FBI man. There was something . . .
curious
in the Bureau man’s eyes. Something Dan couldn’t pinpoint. What was he doing back here? These murders didn’t fall under federal jurisdiction. And Dodge had not returned alone. He had brought a half dozen other men with him. Suddenly Dan just didn’t trust Dodge. And for no good reason he could firm up in his mind.

“Are you holding back from me, Dan?” Captain Taylor persisted.

“In a way, Captain,” Dan admitted. “You see, I spoke with the medical people over at the hospital this morning. I guess while you and Dodge were over there seeing what was left of Hardy and Milford, Goodson didn’t show either of you the severed arm from the engineer, did he?”

Dan stole a quick glance at Dodge. The man’s eyes were hooded.

“Well, no,” Taylor said. “At least not to me. But we separated for a few minutes.” He indicated Dodge. “He went with Doctor Ramsey. What about the arm?”

“It’s growing,” Dan said.

“What?” Taylor seemed stunned. “Bullshit, Dan. Dead, severed arms don’t
grow
! Do they?” he asked in a near whisper.

“The engineer’s arm is growing. It went from a dead, lifeless object, to a living thing. It’s alive.”

Taylor rubbed his face. He swallowed hard. To hell with Dan and Scott—
he
needed a rest. “What is the arm growing, Dan?”

Dodge’s face was emotionless. He knew all about the arm.

Dan said, “The doctors tell me they don’t know. It keeps growing . . . well, matter, I guess you’d call it, and then rejecting it. Goodson said it appears to be seeking some specific form that it is, as yet, unable to produce. And something else: Jimmy’s blood type is O positive. The doctors haven’t, as yet, been able to type the new blood from the severed arm. It’s not even the same color.”

“What the hell color is it?” Taylor asked.

“It has a greenish tint to the red.”

“But the arm is
human
!” Taylor said.

“Not any more,” Dan said. “Goodson says he doesn’t know what it is.”

Captain Taylor looked at Dodge. The FBI man had nothing to say. He turned back to Dan. “Why do I get the feeling you have yet another shoe to drop?”

“Chuck just brought the word to me about the dead engineer, Al.”

“What about him? I thought he was a mummy.”

“He is. He’s also gone.”

Mickey Reynolds unlocked the door to his office and stepped in. He leaned against the door jamb for a moment. He didn’t like it when the kids weren’t here. Place was just too quiet. Unnaturally so. The building seemed dead without the kids. Mickey liked kids. Always had. And he was a good administrator, tried hard to be a Christian and a law-abiding man.

He just didn’t like Dan Garrett.

Never had.

They were the same age; went to school together, first grade all the way through the university. Different majors. It was just that Mickey had been in love with Evonne since the first grade. And then that damn Dan Garrett comes along and shoots him out of the saddle.

He sat down in his chair, behind his desk. He smiled, and then laughed, leaning back in his chair. No, he thought, that just isn’t true. He never was
in
the saddle. And, he sighed, Dan was right in closing the schools. Don’t blame the sheriff for something that isn’t his fault. Love or life.

Mickey closed his eyes and indulged in a few moments of reminiscing, recalling the old days. Class of ’57. God! where has the time gone?

He opened his eyes and swiveled in his chair, looking around at the shelf behind him for his old yearbooks. He had forgotten what they all looked like back in high school. So long ago. Then he remembered that when his office had been renovated, four or five years back, the workmen had moved all the albums and took them down to the basement. Mickey wondered if anyone had cleaned up all those wine bottles he’d seen down there? Probably not. Nobody ever went into the basement.

“Well,” Mickey said aloud, getting out of his chair. “Nothing else to do today. Might as well lose myself in nostalgia.”

He walked out of his office and toward the stairs that led to the basement. He removed a ring of keys from his pocket.

* * *

“And ladies,” Alice Ramsey said to the monthly gathering of the local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy. She was winding the meeting up, or down, depending entirely on one’s point of view. “Remember, next month Mrs. Grace Grillingham from the Sixty-nine Club of Richmond will be here. Right here in this home. And I know none of you want to miss
that
!” She gushed the last. Alice was one hell of a good gusher.

The ladies applauded.

The Richmond 69 Club is, supposedly, comprised of descendants from the original first 69 families to settle in Virginia.

Naturally, Alice belonged.

Dan, one evening while he and Vonne were visiting at Quinn’s home, looked at the hundreds of applications from people wishing to join the 69 Club. He told Quinn, “I don’t see how the men ever got the time to put a crop in. With all these descendants, they must have been screwing morning, noon, and night.”

Alice had overheard the remark. She didn’t speak to Dan for a year.

Emily Harrison, wife of Doctor Harrison, was a marginal member of the Daughters of the Confederacy. It was a little dubious as to just exactly which side her great grandpappy fought on. He was found hanging by his neck from a tree limb on the side of the road. The top half of the body was dressed in Union blue, the bottom half wearing the Rebel gray. But the DOC gave Emily the benefit of the doubt and let her in anyway. Doctor’s wife, you know?

Emily pulled Alice off to one side after the meeting. “Have you any idea what is going on at the hospital?”

“No.” Alice looked blank for a few seconds. “Is there something I need to know about?” Alice was just a little bit of an airhead, too.

Emily sighed. “The
murders,
Alice!”

“Oh. Oh! Well, Sheriff Garrett will take care of that gruesomeness. He is a good sheriff, even if he is a bit disrespectful toward that which is most important.”

“Huh?” Emily said.

“Never mind, dear. You weren’t here.”

Thank God for small favors, Emily thought.

Alice babbled on. “Ladies should not concern themselves with such matters as murder and all that. It just isn’t proper.”

Emily looked at the woman strangely and nodded her head. Emily had been an emergency room RN before she married Bill Harrison. If there was
any
thing she hadn’t seen, she didn’t know what in the flippin’ flap it was.

“Come, dear,” Alice gushed again. “Let’s have a glass of tea and talk about next month’s meeting. We have so much to plan.”

Emily looked around her. Everyone else had left. Oh, damn! she thought. I’m
stuck.

A thumping came from the back porch. Sort of a slow thump-thump-thumping.

“Now what in the world is that?” Alice said.

“One way to find out,” Emily said.

“Oh?”

“Go look.”

“Oh. But I’ve dismissed the help. Oh, well. You know where the glasses are. You pour the tea and I’ll go see what all the commotion is about.”

The thumping was growing louder.

Alice walked out of the room, toward the back door. Walking is perhaps the wrong descriptive: gliding would be more like it. Like on a protected pillow of air. It fit her well.

Emily found the glasses, filled them with ice, and poured the tea. Pre-sweetened. Yukk! She hated sweetened tea. Stuff was so sweet she could feel her teeth turning into sugar cubes.

She heard some sort of . . . she didn’t know what it was. Sort of a strangled sound. She turned around. Alice was standing in the archway. Her face was chalk-white and she was shaking all over.

“Alice! What’s wrong?”

“Uh-uh-uh!” Alice said, pointing toward the back porch. “Gibjubuhdo.”

“What?”

“Mum ... mum ... mummy!”

Shock, Emily thought. The woman’s in shock. She ran to the woman and gave her a good pop across the face. She grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Damnit, Alice. Talk to me!”

Alice cut her eyes to the back. Emily looked and froze to the floor.

Emily’s first thought was: somebody’s playing a joke on us. She was used to that. ER people will do anything to relieve the tension.

Emily quickly realized the scene before them was no accident. It was just too hideous. It would have taken a professional Hollywood makeup artist hours to do this. And the smell was sickening.

And she knew that smell. Decaying flesh. Rot. Maggots working overtime, eating through putrefied flesh.

The mummy-looking—and that’s exactly what Alice had been trying to say—
thing
, wrinkled and stinking, took a hesitant step forward, unsure of its surroundings. It opened its mouth and screamed at the women. The air was suddenly fouled.

Emily moved. She jerked Alice forward and practically slung her into the hall. “Move!” Emily shouted.

The mummy-man screamed again and lumbered forward, knocking the table to one side.

The women ran into the den. Emily slammed the door and locked it. She grabbed one end of a heavy sofa.

“Grab the other end!” she told Alice.

“Heavens, darlin,’ ” Alice found her voice. No surprise to Emily. “We can’t move that big ol’ thing by ourselves.”

“Lady,” Emily said, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Move it!”

Her sharp words were like a slap in the face to Alice. The woman grabbed her appointed end of the sofa and together they moved it against the door. They piled a large chair on top of the sofa. Emily pointed to the phone on the small desk.

“Call the cops. Move.”

Emily looked around the den as the inhuman sounds from the godawful looking thing grew louder in the hall. It was beating on the wall, sending small pictures and prints to the floor. She saw Quinn’s gun cabinet and ran to it. Locked. She picked up a poker from the fireplace stand and smashed the glass, jerking out a twelve gauge shotgun. She checked it. Unloaded.

“Oh no!” she groaned.

She found a broken box of shells and filled the tube. She was just conscious of Alice’s frantic phone conversation.

“Tell ’em to get the hell over here! ” Emily shouted.

“Get the hell over here!” Alice repeated automatically, startling the local city dispatcher. Mrs. Ramsey just didn’t talk like that. Alice hung up the phone.

“What did they say?” Emily asked, clicking the shotgun off safety.

“They said, ’yes, ma’am’. You know how to shoot that thing, Emily?”

“Yeah. I know how. I used to rabbit hunt with my brothers down in Alabama.”

The den door began splintering. A horrible grunting, panting, savage sound filled the hallway. Emily lifted the shutgun.

“If that big ugly thing comes through that door, I’m gonna fill his ass full of lead.”

“Emily?” Alice said.

“Yeah, Alice.”

“I’m glad it’s you here instead of some of those other helpless biddies.”

Emily smiled. “Alice, you’re a fraud.”

The woman returned the smile. “Of course, I am. But isn’t it such fun? And don’t you tell anybody or I’ll tell everybody your great grandfather was a Yankee sympathizer.”

Emily laughed. “Hell, Alice-he
was.
”

The den door smashed open, the force of the blows knocking the chair off the sofa. The mummy-looking creature jumped into the den.

* * *

Mickey rummaged around the poorly-lighted basement, inspecting box after box. No luck. A noise spun him around, his heart hammering from sudden fear.

“Who’s there!” he called into the darkness.

But the darkness remained silent.

“Come out here!” Mickey called.

A hissing greeted his words. The hissing was unlike anything Mickey had ever heard.

Then he got mad.

“All right, kids. Now come on out here. You don’t have anywhere to run. Now come on out and face me.”

Then the thought came to him: What if it isn’t kids? What if it’s those crazy people who killed last night? Oh, God!

The hissing grew louder, an angry sound to it.

Mickey looked around him, his eyes finding a length of 2x4 on a crate. He picked it up. He sniffed the closed air as a very foul odor drifted to him. He backed up, the 2x4 in his hand.

Not kids, he thought. Definitely not kids. But what in the hell is it?

The hissing changed to a yowling type of sound. Much like what big cat might do. A panther? No, no, that’s silly. No panthers in this area for years.

And what was that terrible smell? It smelled like... then it came to him. Rotting flesh.

Mickey gripped the 2x4 and stepped forward. Whatever it was, one good bash on the head should do it.

Mickey was suddenly jerked to the floor, slamming down hard, knocking the wind from him. White hot pain filled his left leg. Screaming from pain and fear, Mickey kicked out with his other leg. Then he saw what had him. Horror overrode the pain.

Nothing real looked like that! He screamed in terror.

He smashed the 2x4 onto the thing’s head, feeling the sharp teeth clamp down harder on his mangled leg before releasing him. The creature jumped back, howling in pain, retreating into the darkness. Mickey crawled toward the stairs. The thrashing and screaming of the beast filled the basement as Mickey panted up the stairs and out into the hall. He slammed the door and locked it.

He crawled and then ran/limped a hundred feet down the deserted hallway until the pain in his badly bitten leg caused him to stumble and drop to the coolness of the corridor floor. He crawled to the nurse’s office and found the first aid kit, ripping it open. He poured iodine on the gnawed flesh of the leg. He leaned back against a wall and rested, taking some assurance in the burning healing powers of the iodine.

Phone! he thought, as pain misted his mind. Got to get to a phone and call the police. Guess Dan was right. Monsters did attack Mrs. Milford and the chief. He was unaware of how curiously uncaring he was becoming. Almost as if some new being was taking control of his mind and body.

That was correct.

“I’ll just rest for a minute before I do that,” Mickey said. Rest. Got to have some rest.

He closed his eyes as a very odd sensation filled him. He slipped into a coma-like sleep as strange dreams-more like visions-filled his mind. His blood was battling, and losing, against ancient invaders, from a time long before the human body was even begun to be understood. His visions were ancient dreams, taking place high above the sands. They were horrible dreams, filled with human sacrifices and orgies. And a small child and a cat.

Mickey let the dreams take him deeper and deeper.

* * *

The shotgun boomed and the butt plate slammed against Emily’s shoulder, the crashing report loud in the room. The shot hit the creature in the shoulder and arm, bringing a scream of pain from the hideous thing. Green slime splattered against the wall. Emily fired again. This time the shot struck the mummy-man in the side. More green slime slopped as the shot tore open the wrinkled, foul-smelling flesh.

The creature howled and lumbered awkwardly down the hall, back toward the rear of the house.

Emily was only then conscious of sirens winding down. “Mrs. Ramsey!” a man’s voice called. “Mrs. Ramsey, where are you?”

“In here!” Alice called. “In the den. Watch out. That . . . monster just ran out the back door.”

It did indeed.

The young city patrolman ran around the side of the house just in time to run headlong into the arms of the wounded, painfilled creature. The maddened once human object put both its hands into the cop’s mouth; one hand pulled down, the other hand pulled up. It tore the young man’s head apart, leaving only the lower jaw and tendons attached to the neck. Blood gushed several feet into the air. Holding the severed head in its hands, the creature ran into the back yard and disappeared behind another house.

Alice ran out onto the back porch, saw the glistening lower teeth and jaw of the cop, who was flopping in near-death on the ground-and promptly lost her brunch. She was leaning against a porch railing about ready to go into screaming hysterics when Emily ran on to the back porch. She took one look at the still-jerking young cop, mentally fought her stomach’s urge to rebel, and ran for the phone, jerking Alice inside with her, slamming and locking the back door.