Catnip

by J. S. Frankel

He found an electrical outlet and booted up his computer. This cabin also had Internet access which was good. He needed to check on the news of the search as well as contact Jason. While he waited for it to load, his girlfriend came in, washed her hands over at the sink, and said she wanted to take a nap. Doug also complained of feeling tired. “You go ahead,” he told them. “I’ve got work to do.”

  She kissed him and lay down on the bed while Doug took the couch and soon they passed out. The computer was now ready, so Harry first sent off a message to the FBI, telling them he was okay for the moment and that he was searching for the real killer. He knew they’d probably be able to trace his IP address, but…too late now.

  Job done, he sent off an e-mail to Jason.

  I’m sending you a file. Keep it safe, okay?

  Harry

  It was a file with his preliminary calculations in it, and even though he knew his friend wouldn’t understand a thing, he also knew Jason would keep it safe from prying eyes. He just hoped the FBI wouldn’t find out the destination too quickly.

  The real work came next, and he brought up his file on Anastasia’s DNA matrix. He typed in a few commands and the result came up. With a sinking feeling, he stared at the numbers and went through the entire process once more, hoping he’d made a mistake in his calculations. He hadn’t. The same numbers came up once again, and he rubbed his eyes and wished things could be different.

  The running, the raw meat, Doug’s speech problems, along with the fact that he’d physically changed over the last few hours all pointed to one thing—his friends were both devolving.

  Casting a look at their sleeping forms, he saw that Anastasia’s body seemed to have shrunk perhaps half an inch. Her ears had gotten pointier, and her features had become more feline, with a flatter nose and pointier chin. Doug’s body had also shrunk, his hands had now become paws, and his snout had lengthened considerably.

  A riot of emotions ran through Harry’s mind. He knew he was innocent and would be able to prove it. He thought they’d get away from the real killer, and hoped that he’d be able to spend more time with his girlfriend.

  Now, it appeared both science and Mother Nature were conspiring against him. It seemed like a cruel joke to have found someone he cared for and then have her taken away through something he couldn’t control.

  Upset as he was, he didn’t have the heart to wake them and he didn’t know if he could give them the bad news later on or not. For now, he turned off his computer, closed the lid, and walked over to the bed. Anastasia’s eyes opened ever so slightly, the yellow shining out through slits. “Are you tired?” she asked.

  “I guess I need to sleep, too,” he answered, hoping his voice wouldn’t choke.

  She lazily reached up and drew him down to lie beside her. “I’m sleepy,” she said in a very quiet voice. “Hold me, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He put his arm around her waist and she kissed him. A second later, her eyes closed. He lay next to her, felt the warmth of her body, and heard her heart beating in a fast, regular rhythm. In contrast, his heart felt like it would stop, his sense of impending loss was so great. He held onto her tightly, and a few times in her sleep, she murmured something which sounded like Nurmo or Nurmlev, but he couldn’t be sure. Then fatigue caught up to him and he felt his eyes closing. If he remembered later on, he’d ask her about it.

  “Hey, it’s night time,” a voice said. Harry abruptly woke up, heart pounding. Anastasia wasn’t there. “Are you hungry?” the voice repeated.

  Doug stood near the freezers. He reached inside and grabbed a package of what looked like steak. After tearing through the plastic with his teeth, he pushed his snout into the plate and quickly gobbled up the contents. “Hey, this is deer meat!” he exclaimed. “Pretty damn good, if you ask me. Are you hungry?” he repeated.

  His voice had gotten lower and more indistinctive. In Doug’s case, the changes seemed to be happening faster than with Anastasia. Harry didn’t know if he could tell him the results of his tests. Instead, he asked, “Where’s Anastasia?”

  Doug jerked his front foreleg at the door. “She started twitching before and said she wanted to scout around,” he answered. “She’ll be back soon.”

  Harry went to the refrigerator, found some cold cuts and a can of soda, and stuffed the food in his mouth quickly. He didn’t want to take too much time when there was data waiting to be correlated.

  Seating himself at the table, he fired up his computer and after Doug had finished eating, beckoned him over. The file came up and Doug stared at the screen. “What am I,” he cleared his throat again, and this time when his voice came out, it sounded throatier than ever, “what am I looking at?”

  Harry pointed to the screen. “I ran a check on Anastasia’s DNA before. I was trying to find a way to reverse the process and take the animal elements out of her. But according to this,” he lost his voice a moment, “according to this, the non-human DNA is beginning to overwhelm her system—and yours, too.”

  Doug stared at the data uncomprehendingly, blinked, and dropped his head as the meaning of the words became clear. “You mean we’re turning into animals, right?”

  “Yeah, you are.” Harry shut down the computer, his hands shaking. “I don’t know why. It must be the way…”

  “We’ve been programmed or experimented on or whatever,” Doug finished for him, and a note of unmistakable bitterness crept into his voice. He took the opportunity to walk over to the glass case and observe his image. When he returned, his expression resembled a stone’s. “I don’t want to end up as a dog. Nothing wrong with animals, but I was someone once.”

  “I’m sorry,” Harry said. He couldn’t think of any way to make things better or say the right words.

  Doug swore quietly. With a sigh, he picked his head up and said, “You didn’t know. I’m not blaming you for anything.” He stopped to run his tongue around his lips. “Do you think your girlfriend knows?”

  “Maybe she does. I’m not going to tell her.”

  “You love her, don’t you?” Doug asked and stared at him, his brown eyes penetrating into Harry’s psyche. “Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen how you look at each other. ”

  Harry didn’t know if he did or not, but at the same time, the way he felt around her, the way she moved, how she touched him…everything they’d gone through together so far…he didn’t want to be without her. Maybe that was what love meant. Silly as the concept was of a guy falling for a half-woman-half-cat in the space of a few days, he decided the silliness could take a hike. He wanted to be with her and no one else.

  “Yeah, I do,” he finally decided. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  His ally blew out a breath and sat down on his haunches. “Well, at least you found someone. I couldn’t talk with the other dogs when I arrived in New York. I couldn’t even talk with people all that much unless I told them I was an actor or with the circus. My memory’s been wiped clean. All I know is that I must have liked drinking, because I’ve still got a craving for beer.”

  Doug’s voice caught and he started to cry, heavy tears dropping from his eyes. He sobbed and sniveled for a couple of minutes, and then with a massive effort he managed to stop and heaved in a number of deep breaths. “I’d give my eyeteeth if I could find out who did this to me. I wouldn’t even kill him. I’d just bite him all over…and make him change me back.”

  Harry felt just as helpless to do anything for Doug as he had for his girlfriend. Hesitantly, he put his hand on the other man’s shoulder as a gesture of friendship. “All I can do is to try,” he said.

  “Please don’t make any jokes about man’s best friend,” Doug said, and gave a sad smile. “I’m still me until the experiment says I’m not.”

  He moved off and sat down near the bed while Harry went back over the equations. Something about the matrix not holding…something about protein compounds and transference went through his mind. He wished mightily that he had the proper materi
als with him…but no, he would have to make do with what he had for the moment, and then wished his girlfriend would hurry back.

  Then he remembered what she’d muttered in her sleep. “Hey Doug, did you ever hear of a guy named Nurmo or Nurmlev?”

  His traveling companion looked at him, his face puzzled. “Who told you that name?”

  “Anastasia did…she was talking in her sleep.”

  Doug cast his eyes to the floor, his mouth working over the name. Finally, he shook his head. “I get no feeling from it,” he said. “Sometimes images of where I was go through my brain. I see flashes of forests and trees…it hurts when those images come in…then the next thing I can remember is running through an alley in New York and meeting you and her. Now, I got nuthin’.”

  He fell silent and Harry pondered the hours and days left for his girlfriend and canine buddy. Devolving, though, wasn’t the least of their problems, and neither was the name of a possible mad scientist. The sound of a fast approaching vehicle filled the air. Cars had come around before, but they’d always sounded as if they’d been way off in the distance. This one, though, was different, and Harry realized that the car was headed to their cabin. The roar of the engine grew louder and its tires squealed to a stop.

  Doug jumped up and peeked out the door. “Oh, hell, they’ve found us!” He scurried back and started growling in anger. “We gotta leave. We’ll pick up your girlfriend on the way to the forest.”

  Harry quickly shut off the computer and yanked the cord out of the socket. He was too late, however, as the door suddenly burst open and an enormous fat man stood in the aperture, a shotgun cradled in one hand and a couple of bloody paper packages in the other. He stood close to seven feet tall with a bright red beard and hands smeared with blood. Dressed in a lumberjack’s shirt and a pair of stained overalls with heavy work boots, he had to weigh in excess of three hundred pounds and he did not look friendly at all.

  Doug started to move in the man’s direction, but the guy moved quickly and let loose a shot which missed his head by less than an inch and buried itself in the wall.

  “Don’t move, Fido,” the fat man said. “I’m faster on the draw than you are.” He chuckled. “You gotta love the NRA. They’re on the side of gun owners all the way, and I’m glad I got my rifle with me.” He nodded to himself with total satisfaction.

  “Who are you?” Harry asked and felt pretty dumb for being oblivious to the obvious.

  “The name is Callaghan,” the fat guy answered. “Thomas Callaghan. I’m the owner of this place and you’re trespassing.” A smile suddenly lit up his face. “I know who you are. I saw your picture on the news. You’re Harry Goldman. You’re the guy that killed all those feds in the city?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  Callaghan laughed. “Yeah, right, sure you didn’t.” He eyed Harry up and down. “Hard to believe a skinny little punk like you could cause so much damage, but I’ll tell you this much—if you screw around with me, you’re gonna be dead in less than two seconds.”

  “What do you want?” Doug asked, cowering in the far corner of the room.

  “What do I want?” Callaghan repeated. “What I want is for you to tell me who in the hell you are. Better ‘fess up quick. I got an itchy trigger finger, and you don’t look bulletproof.”

  Chapter Ten

  Out of One Frying Pan…

  Callaghan menaced them back with the gun. “You, Goldman,” he barked out. “Sit on the floor near the bed!”

  Reluctantly, Harry complied. “You’re making a mistake,” he said.

  “Am I now?” the hunter rejoined. “Who’s got the gun?”

  He quickly tied Harry’s hands behind his back with the twine. Job finished, he put the paper packages in the fridge and when done, took his time walking over to them.

  “I don’t think you’re gonna be going anywhere,” Callaghan said with satisfaction, a tiny smile on his face. He then turned his gaze on Doug. “So what’s your excuse? Are you an alien, a mutant? Tell me now and I promise not to shoot you.”

  Doug growled and started to lunge forward, but the fat man simply smashed the butt end of the weapon against his head. Doug staggered, and the owner of the rifle did it again, harder this time. “Sit, boy. Heel or get dead.”

  Doug toppled over on his side and moaned, then painfully got to his feet—on all four of them this time—and crept over to where Harry was sitting. The hunter chuckled softly, went to the sink and rinsed off his hands. He found the two empty beer bottles on the counter and turned back to them with a look of indignation crossing his features. “Who the hell drank my beer?”

  Doug belched and winced in pain. In spite of it, he grinned at the hunter. “Thanks for the drinks. Put ‘em on my tab.”

  The fat man’s eyes widened with surprise. “Boy…oh, wait, you’re not a boy, are you?” His look of surprise, though, gave way to one of menace. “Well, whatever you are, you bought yourself a pack of trouble. Now, is there a reward for your capture? I can think of a few people who’d want to talk to you.”

  “I’ve already contacted them,” Harry said, lying through his teeth and hoping the other man would buy it. “The FBI is looking for me even though I didn’t do it, but if you see a big bear creature coming in through the door then start shooting. You might just get lucky.”

  Callaghan stared at him for a moment and then began to chortle. “Kid, I gotta tell you, that is some story!” He grabbed a bottle, uncapped it, tossed it down his gullet in a second and wiped his lips. “I’ve shot bears before, along with elk and caribou on a trip to Canada. They’re about the biggest things around this continent. Never shot an elephant, though—not interested, either—but that’s some story about a bear creature.” He continued laughing.

  “Hey, don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Harry cautioned.

  The fat man’s mirth abruptly cut off. After putting down the bottle, he walked over to the desk, grabbed the chair, and sat down in front of both his captives. With an air of pride, he held out the rifle and proceeded to explain the intricacies of the weapon. Both captives witnessed a sleek, long-barreled instrument of death with a scope and a fairly heavy stock carved out of expensive-looking wood.

  “See this?” Callaghan asked. “This is the Protector, top-of-the-line model as voted by Outdoor Hunting. It’s got an accuracy level second to none. It also has a one-inch range grouping based on six shots, and it was a pretty good bargain, too. This little baby can target anything up to five hundred yards away. It’s also got infrared so I can go hunting at night.”

  “You make it sound like a game,” Harry said, still grimacing from the pain. “You also got some collection over there.” He indicated the stuffed animals with a nod of his head.

  Callaghan shrugged. “I got those from someone who lives a few miles from here. I didn’t do it myself…I just thought it would make the place better looking.”

  He then leaned forward. “And for your information, kid, it is a game. I don’t hunt people.” He cast a look at Doug. “Not yet, I don’t. You’ve seen the other rifles I carry? They’re the same as this one, just used for hunting. In case you’re wondering, I don’t get a thrill from a kill.”

  Silence ruled the air for a moment, and then the sound of rain began. Soft at first, it began with a gentle spattering of water on the roof and soon intensified to an all-out rainstorm as the raindrops smashed against the cabin. Callaghan glanced out the window and murmured, “It sometimes rains up here in the summer. Takes away the heat and it’s good for the forest.”

  Got to buy some time, Harry thought. He didn’t want his girlfriend walking in on this. Callaghan seemed calm enough, but he also knew the hunter had to be a good shot and he had a feeling his captor wouldn’t hesitate to open up on anything that looked a little out of the ordinary. Anastasia was by no means ordinary and he hoped she’d gotten away safely. “So why do you kill animals?” he asked his captor.

  Callaghan gave him a smile. “It’s my business.�
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  He reached into his breast pocket and took out a card. Holding it out for Harry to see, he recited from memory, “Thomas Callaghan of Callaghan’s Fine Meat. Caught and cured and presented for your dining pleasure.”

  He put away the card. “This is what I do for a living. I have a combination house and factory on the other side of the mountain, but I come up here to relax. I run the business with two friends of mine. We hunt fox, bobcat, rabbit and bear, and we’re pretty good at it. What we shoot, I cut it up and store some of it at my other place and some of it here. We sell the meat to the lodges and inns. That’s where I was before, butchering the meat and taking it around to my customers. I only kill what I need and no more. So before you think I’m some kind of gun nut think again.”

  “I think the case shows you’re more into power than just shooting animals,” Doug put in.

  The large man leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I’m not going to apologize for liking guns. Some people are into collecting fish and others like fine wine. Me, I enjoy the heft of a good rifle, and like I said, I’m not hunting people.” He switched his gaze over to Harry and added, “And speaking of hunters, you wanna tell about the killings in Manhattan?”

  “It’s a lie, all of it,” Harry said. He didn’t feel like repeating himself, but at the same time he resented having to defend his good name. More than that, he resented his father’s name being crapped on and dragged through the mud.

  Callaghan arched his eyebrows. “Is it now? Let’s see what the newshounds say.” He looked at Doug and chuckled. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Doug grumbled.

  Callaghan stood up, searched the bed for the remote control and switched on the television. After finding a channel, he pointed to the screen and said, “Hey, kid, this is a live feed.”

  Harry saw Agent Farrell outside FBI headquarters with his casted arm and clawed up face staring grimly into the camera. It made him feel like ripping something up. The reporter shoved a microphone in front of the agent’s mouth. “What is the FBI prepared to do?”