A young woman with long, bleached-blond hair, wearing a tight green miniskirt and a waitress’s apron, stepped out of her back door. She squinted into the sunset that baked the low brown hills—really little more than scrub-covered mounds—that began some fifty or sixty feet behind her house, stretched, sighed, and headed for her Mustang.
She heard a sound from the tangled mass of scrub growth on the nearest rise, and stopped. She heard it again, a low crying.
She shook her hair back and walked slowly toward the sound, climbing into the brush. As she dipped over the top of the little hill a minute later, there came a sudden howl, and dust.
A neighbor coming out of her house moments after saw only the dust cloud drifting away in the light breeze, and what looked like a single high-heeled shoe sitting alone at the top of the hill.
“Darned neighborhood kids,” she muttered.
Lenore sat in the front seat of the car, alongside Frank, resting her head back against a pillow. She blinked sleepily and yawned.
Frank patted her knee. “We’ll be home in just a few minutes, honey.”
“I feel better already, being out of that place. I’m not going to need any more of those shots, am I? I don’t like being made to sleep. I’m sure I’ll get along all right if they’ll just let me alone.”
“I’ve hired a nurse for you. She’ll be there every day, until this—until you’re back to strength.”
“I don’t need a nurse, I just—”
“It’s best for you, believe me.”
“It’s just that I—I don’t know about having somebody around the house, just now . . . somebody strange, staring at me.”
“No, no,” he smiled at her, “it won’t be like that. She’ll be a really good nurse, professional.”
“I’m surprised anyone would want to come to work for us, under these circumstances.”
“Dr. Norten took care of it. Underneath that stiff exterior, he’s really a nice guy. He cares about you. And listen, I’ve got a surprise.” He pulled her over gently and hugged her. “I’m going to be with you all the time too. I told Clayton that I’m going to have to take my three weeks’ vacation now. I insisted.”
“But, Frank, what about the Marcus account?”
“Buck’ll just have to take care of it himself. He needs to work on accounts more. He’s getting too dependent on me.”
“But wasn’t it important to you, to do it yourself, after all you’ve put into it?”
“Just another account. It’s all set up now, anyway. Buck can just run with it. Probably be a stack of new accounts when I get back. Bigger ones. I’ve been angling for an airline. Anyway, you’re more important than any of that.”
“Do you think Chris knows?”
“I spoke to Charley this morning. He kept him home from school. He hasn’t told him about anything, just that you’re okay. But sooner or later he’ll switch on the television. There’s only so long you can keep all this secret from him. Charley said he’d do his best.”
“I want him home right away. I want things to be normal again. Like they were before.”
“Yeah.”
She stared ahead, but reached up and touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “You know, we’ve been drifting apart the last few years, little by little. I was hoping that the baby would bring us back . . . together. Isn’t it strange that it’s doing just that? Even though it’s—it’s—”
“People get through these things, honey.” He turned into their driveway. “We’ll get through it We’re finished with it. It’s just a police matter now.”
He stopped the car and opened his door.
She stared out the windshield, unmoving. “It was so horrible at first, all those deaths, and then just twenty-four hours later you’ve adjusted to the nightmare, accepted it as being real, somehow. All that happened doesn’t seem real—or else, that part of it is real, and this is not, sitting here, with you, at our home. I don’t know which is real, anymore.”
He took her hand, which was limp. “All of it is real, sweetheart. But the bad part is over. We survived it. We both need some sleep, some rest. In a few days, we’ll be back to normal.”
“What about Chris?”
“Chris? Oh, he’ll understand, eventually. He’ll get over it too.”
“No, I mean now. Aren’t we going to pick him up?”
“Uh, not just yet, hon. Let’s get you rested up first.”
“He’ll want to come home. I want him home. To have the whole family together.”
“Soon, okay? Day or two. Maybe after the . . . the—”
“The police. After the police are finished.”
“Yes, honey. They may be done already. Or today sometime. They’ll find it.”
“Our baby.”
His teeth clamped together. But he spoke calmly. “Not our baby, Lenore. Don’t call it that.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide and dark and deep. “That’s what it is, Frank. Our baby.”
Detective Lieutenant Perkins and two other officers stood over the body of the late musician lying on a steel table in the coroner’s lab. The coroner probed at the wounds with a steel tool.
“It must have been born with quite a set of teeth,” Perkins said, working his jaws around his cigar.
“And nails, lieutenant,” the coroner said. “They probably extend to an inch and a half, judging from the depth of the wounds. He went after this poor man tooth and nail. Must have jaws as powerful as a cheetah.”
“Full set of works, right from day one.”
“I understand that a woman in the neighborhood heard a baby’s cry, right about the time this happened.”
“Yeah.”
“It must have been hungry, kills to eat. Besides being strong. It was able to climb up the wall of the delivery room and pull itself through the skylight. I think you’re going to have quite a job cornering something like that. Not to mention its size. Something that small could hide anywhere.”
“Yeah. Better watch yourself. Might be right in there on one of those slabs, when you pull it out.”
“What?” The coroner cringed.
“I’ll be at the hospital.”
Perkins chewed on his black cigar as he stared up at the damaged skylight.
“No smoking in here, lieutenant.”
“It ain’t lit, Dr. Norten. Now, according to our report, the thing was able to climb up the wall there and haul itself over the ceiling and crash through the skylight. But I don’t figure it quite that way.”
“Well, lieutenant, clearly that’s how it got out of the—”
“I know it got out through the skylight. But it didn’t crawl up there. It didn’t have to.”
“How then . . .”
“It jumped, doctor. Straight up.”
“You’re not telling me that such a little tyke could—”
“Tyke! Haw! Listen, doctor, you better get it through your head that this ain’t no regular baby we’re dealing with.”
“I know, I know. It’s just that I’m used to using certain language, you understand, in my practice. I’ve never dealt with a mutant before.”
“The trouble is, you keep imagining this thing is some sort of regular kid with extra long fingernails or something. What we’ve got here is an animal. Coyote. Hyena. Baboon. Ape. Alligator. Think more along those lines. Only worse.”
“But it came from human—”
“Don’t matter. Leave that to the science eggheads to worry about in nineteen hundred and ninety-nine. Right now we’re tracking down an animal.”
“How long do you think you’ll be able to get away with it, telling people these latest killings were done by a dog?”
“Five minutes, maybe ten. Dumber folks a little longer. It wasn’t one of my brainier ideas, but I just wanted to do whatever I could to keep things calm.”
“But the public won’t like being lied to.”
“Phooey. Folks forget all the lies if you come with the truth at the end—which we w
ill. Now, about this skylight. You see, there ain’t no way to really climb up there. That’s number one. Number two is: the way it kills, it doesn’t go climbing up folks. All the wounds have been at the throat and face. Nothing on the legs or trunk. It leaps through the air, and hits right at the throat for the quick kill. Then it doesn’t stick around. It takes off right away. That’s important.”
“Why so, lieutenant?”
“Because, see, it helps us know what we’re dealing with. Now, I think the coroner had it right, that it killed in the delivery room out of fear and panic. But he had it wrong on this second bunch.”
“How so?”
“It wasn’t hungry, not like he said. Oh, it might have been hungry—who the hell knows what its feeding schedule is? But that wasn’t why it killed. Because it just killed and left. I didn’t dispute the coroner because I just want things to stay smooth, at this point in time. And anyway, it don’t matter what the coroner says. His business is dead people. What matters to me is we catch the damn thing before he gets more business. And that means it’s important that I know why it killed.”
“And do you?”
“Maybe. Still fear and panic, I would guess. Every time. I think it cries because it wants somebody to come to it. But the people that come to it cause it to panic and strike. But then I ain’t no psychologist.”
Dr. Norten, his hands folded primly in front of him, gazed in awe at the detective. “So what does all that mean?”
Detective Perkins rubbed his chin and chewed on his cigar. “I’m not sure, doctor. Not yet. But I know this, and I haven’t told anybody until right now: it ain’t trying to leave town.”
“You mean—”
“Scared as it may be, it’s staying right here in our own backyard. And it’s gonna kill until it finds who or what it’s after. Or until we find who or what we’re after. Which is it. Let’s get outta here.”
They walked down the corridor. “I must say,” Norten commented, “it strikes me that it shouldn’t be so difficult to find this thing. I should think it would stick out like a sore thumb, wherever it is.”
“That’s why you’re a doctor and I’m a cop. But I get your point. See, this thing can really move. One day here, next day there. But always around the area. Now, a tyke it’s not. But it ain’t a big rascal either. It could hide anywhere—inside, outside, up a tree, down a hole. My original hope was that it would move only at night, and sleep during the day, when we could home in on it. It seems like it’s moving all the time, day or night. That makes our job tougher. But it makes it tougher for that son of a bitch too. Cause it’s gonna get tired and careless. And sooner or later somebody’s gonna spot it. And if that somebody is lucky, he’s gonna be able to get away long enough to drop a dime and call us.”
Dr. Norten shivered. “I’m sorry, lieutenant, but all this just makes my flesh crawl.”
“Mine too, doctor. But on the other hand, I couldn’t stand working in here with all these scalpels and broken bones and kidney stones floating around.”
“You have an interesting way of putting things, lieutenant.”
A call came over the P.A. “Telephone for Detective Perkins . . . telephone for Detective Perkins . . .”
Dr. Norten led him to a wall phone.
“Perkins here.”
“Lieutenant, we just got a call from a woman who says there’s a cat cornered up a tree. Says it looks like a mutant.”
“Tell her it is, and to call the A.S.P.C.A.”
He hung up the phone and walked with the doctor to the main entrance.
“Lieutenant, I so much wish we knew what this infant looked like.”
“Don’t worry, doctor. You see it, and you’ll know.”
Frank sat on the living-room floor, with newspapers spread all around him. In spite of his better judgment, he had been unable to resist reading everything about the case, and had bought every paper that carried a story. Oddly, there was little new information. Police were trying to pass off the latest killings as the work of a wolf-like dog.
If only it was. He would not let Lenore see any of the stories.
He cradled the telephone on his shoulder as he scanned the pages. “Hi, Chris, how you doing? . . . Yes, Mom’s home . . . I’m very busy now. I’ll tell you all about everything later.”
“Dad, why can’t I go to school? Why can’t I go out, or have any of my friends come over. And most of all, why can’t I come home?”
“I can’t tell you right now. But everything’s going to be okay. Mom’s fine. You’ll just have to trust me. Do you trust me?”
“I always do, Dad, but—”
“You’ll have to stay with Charley for the rest of the week. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”
“Well, I like Charley, I really do. And he’s lots of fun. But I want to see Mom and the baby.”
“The baby’s . . . not home yet.”
“Is it sick?”
“Yeah, that’s right. The baby’s sick and everything here is a mess. Mom needs quiet and rest. It’s easier all around if you stay where you are. You don’t need to go to school—isn’t that what you always say? So just catch up on your reading or build some models or something.”
“Will you tell Charley to let me watch TV? He says kids watch it too much, or something. Will you tell him it’s okay?”
“Let me talk to him.”
“Okay.”
“Hi, Frank.”
“Charley, we’ve got a real problem, and—”
“I know. I understand. I’ll see to everything. Maybe I’ll take Chris fishing up at the lake for a couple days. Good idea?”
“Terrific.”
“All set then. You give Lenore my love.”
“Right, Charley. Listen, nobody ever had a better friend.”
“That goes both ways, Frank. Talk to you in a couple days.”
Frank sat back on the floor and rubbed his eyes. Lenore’s nurse, wearing a white uniform, walked by, carrying a tray with two pill bottles, a pitcher of water, a glass, and a folded towel.
“Is there anything I can get you, Mr. Davis?”
“No thanks. How is she?”
“Resting nicely, as usual.”
“Then does she need those pills? She says she’d rather not have them.”
“I’m only following doctor’s instructions, Mr. Davis. You know, you really should try some of these tranquilizers yourself. Dr. Norten said you—”
“Just take care of your patient, Nurse Gray.” He quickly shook his head and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that I’m better off left alone.”
“I understand, Mr. Davis. You just stay right down here and relax. I’ll see to your wife.”
Upstairs, Nurse Gray pushed the door open quietly, and, seeing that Lenore was awake, put the tray down on the bed beside her.
“How are you feeling, Mrs. Davis?”
“Fine. More pills?”
“To relax you. Dr. Norten’s prescription.”
“Okay, I guess.” She swallowed one pill from each bottle, and drank some water.
“Would it help you to talk about anything, Mrs. Davis? Anything that happened?”
“No . . . I don’t think so.”
“Sometimes it helps, you know, to talk to somebody in a professional capacity.”
“I don’t remember much, which is just as well.”
“Try, Mrs. Davis, it’ll do you good. Are you sure you didn’t see it? Even get one little look?”
“No, I’m sure. I told everyone, I passed out. I guess I did. I don’t remember anything.”
“Perhaps you’re trying to freeze it out of your mind. It must have been awful. Some people say it has teeth and claws. Did you know that?”
“Why would I know that? I haven’t heard anybody say that.”
“Did you know that it’s killed more people than just those doctors and nurses? Were you aware that it killed a musician in an alley? And a waitress behind her house? They
say it was a dog, but I believe it was your child.”
“No, I don’t believe it.” Lenore’s eyes widened, her face paled. “Why are you telling me these things?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about it, in my mind. The same kind of wounds as the poor doctors and nurses suffered in your delivery room.”
“I—I—” Lenore started to cry. “What do you want me to say?”
“Say anything you feel, Mrs. Davis, and cry too, that’s good for you. Get it all out. Tell me everything. Take your time.”
“But please, I—” She leaned toward the nurse, and in so doing put her hand on the tray, on the towel. She snapped back her hand as if burned, staring at the towel. “What have you got under there? What is that?” She ripped the towel away. A tiny tape recorder hummed with reels spinning.
Lenore sat bolt upright, trembling, pulling the covers tight around her throat. She stared in shock and confusion at the nurse. “Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want?”
“I’m your nurse, you can tell me anything.” She backed away a step.
“Who are you really working for? I want my husband—”
“Oh, I’m a registered nurse, all right,” she smoothed her dress casually, “but I also do some writing now and then, on the side. Dr. Norten—” She stopped herself.
Lenore sank deep into the covers. “You’re not writing about me! Frank! I want my husband!”
“I only wanted the woman’s angle on this,” Nurse Gray said, now showing some nervousness. “The public’s entitled to know how you feel. Don’t you want them to understand? It’s a public service.”
“Frank! FRANK!”
Lenore moved to get out of bed. Nurse Gray pushed her back, quite frightened now herself. “Will you shut up, Mrs. Davis? I was only trying to get some information. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“F-R-A-N-K!”
Frank burst through the door.
“She’s a reporter!” Lenore whimpered. “Please make her go away.”
Frank looked at his wife, then at the nurse. “What the hell’s going on?”
Nurse Gray took the tray and started marching stiffly toward the door.
“Recorder. Frank, she’s got a tape recorder.”
It's Alive! Page 6
