Cat's Eye

by William W. Johnstone

  Mark put his hand on the doorknob and began screaming and jerking, his body arching and flopping and twisting like a maddened snake. His hair stood up like the hair on an angry dog’s back.

  Sparks began shooting from the man’s mouth as his hair began to smoke. His head erupted in flames. The eyes bubbled and boiled, dissolving into liquid and running down his cheeks. Mark Hay’s head exploded, showering those in the room with hot brains and bits of bone.

  Mark fell to the floor, on his back, bubbling blood squirting from the stump on his shoulders that had once held his head.

  After a long silent moment, broken only by the gasses escaping from Mark’s dead body, Josh said, “Anybody else want to try to weasel out of the deal we made?”

  The cons looked at one another. Louis Easton sighed and shook his head. “I reckon not.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Josh said. “Let’s go.” He looked at the front door, now spattered and dripping with Mark’s blood and brains. “We’ll use the back door.”

  * * *

  Val Malone, reeking with the odors of sex and sweat and filth, looked at Nick. “Tonight,” she said. “It’s tonight. Alert the others.” She walked toward the door.

  “Where are you goin’?” Nick asked.

  “I got to go fuck some cons. He just told me so.”

  Nick did not have to ask who “he” was. “I wanna watch,” he said.

  “Bring your ass on, then. I got to get it done and get ready for tonight.”

  “What do we do first off?” Nick asked, as they walked out to the car.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think it really makes any difference anymore. I just get that feeling. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. I started gettin’ the same feelin’ early this morning.” He looked across the street. An old couple lived in the house with the closed drapes. They had complained to the cops bunches of times about the loud music and had caused Nick some grief with the law. “You go on, Val. I think I’ll have me some fun.”

  She grinned like a poisonous snake about to strike. “I think it’s anything-goes time, Nick. Have fun.”

  He glanced at her. “Anything goes?”

  “Whatever you want to do, lover.” She looked over at the old couple’s house. The drapes parted and the old man stared at them. She gave him the bird and hunched her hips obscenely at him, laughing at the expression on his face.

  A deputy chose that time to turn the corner and drive up. He stopped his unit a few feet from the young people and stared at them.

  “Cool it,” Val said. “We’re about to be hassled by the pigs.”

  The deputy noticed the butt of the pistol sticking out from behind Nick’s belt. He started to get out of his unit, and remembered the words from Jim Hunt. The chief deputy had told them that morning: “Let them start it, boys. If any of us get out of this alive, we’re gonna have a hard enough time explainin’ what went down. What we don’t need is charges that we provoked anything. Let them start it.”

  Nick noticed the deputy’s reluctance and laughed at him. “What’s the matter, pig? Things getting a little rough around town?”

  The deputy sat in his unit and looked at him. Make the first move, shithead, he silently urged the punk.

  “Back off, Nick,” Val warned him in a whisper. “It’s broad daylight and we’re out in the open.”

  “You’re the boss since Linda rolled craps. Whatever you say.”

  The deputy could see their lips moving, but could not hear what was being said. That made him both curious and slightly nervous. He got out of his unit, unsnapping as he did so and keeping his right hand close to the butt of his .357.

  “He’s gonna push it,” Val said.

  The deputy stopped at the curb, standing by his rear bumper.

  “What’s on your mind, Deputy Dawg?” Nick sneered at him.

  The deputy opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it, and walked around the car, putting his hand out to open the door.

  “Mother-fucker don’t have any balls, does he, Val?” Nick grinned. “He probably has to get another pig to screw his wife.”

  She laughed at the very sudden and ugly expression on the deputy’s face.

  The deputy walked around the car, this time coming around the front of the unit.

  “He’s got his pistol unsnapped!” Val yelled. “Look out, Nick!”

  Nick grabbed for his pistol and fired, the .38 slug, hitting the deputy in the center of the chest. The man fell back and grabbed for the bumper on his way down. He missed and fell hard, hitting his head on the pavement, cracking his skull wide open.

  “The shit’s gonna fly now, Nick,” Val said, looking up to see the old couple across the street peering at them through the drapes. “And those old fuckers over there seen you kill him.”

  “Then I guess I got to go over there and deal with them.” Nick said it with absolutely no emotion in his voice.

  “We’ll do it together. I never did like those old creeps.”

  “I thought you had to hump those cons.”

  “They can wait. I can get off listening to these creeps scream and it ain’t nearly so tiresome.”

  The young people started across the street.

  The drapes were abruptly closed, darkening the room. Soon it would be completely dark for both of them. Forever.

  Chapter 30

  “Goddamnit, Governor!” Jim lost his temper, hollering at the man over the phone. “I got to have some help in here. And don’t you tell me that a crisis situation don’t exist in this county. I’m lookin’ at it dead in the face.”

  “I am quite aware of the problem in Reeves County, Chief Deputy Hunt,” the governor replied calmly. “A similar problem existed in Ruger County a few years ago. I have spoken to the man who was governor at that time. He informed me that local elected officials in the county handled it quite well. I am fully confident in your ability to do the same.”

  Jim held the phone away from his ear and looked at the receiver, disbelief in his eyes. The governor prattled on. “I have been advised by very senior Federal Government people that what I have done thus far meets with their approval.”

  “Is that a fact?” Jim said sarcastically.

  “Yes. I have been advised that the, ah, situation must be contained within a relatively small area. I’m speaking confidentially now, Jim.”

  “Oh, I can keep a secret, Governor.” There was enough sarcasm and contempt in Jim’s voice to melt stone.

  “A ten-second delay has been placed on all calls coming out of Ruger County, Jim. That’s to prevent any news of your—our—situation from creating panic outside the perimeter of conflict.”

  “Perimeter of conflict?”

  “Yes. A general from the Pentagon is with me now. He has code-named the problem Big Bad Wolf. From now on, if you wish to consult with me, use the code name.”

  “Big Bad Wolf,” Jim said slowly, shaking his head in total disbelief. “What am I, Governor: Little Red Riding Hood?”

  “Say, now! That’s not bad, Jim. As a matter of fact, I like it! The general has just informed me that the opposition will be code-named Twinkle. You like that one, Jim?”

  Jim hung up.

  He turned to face Daly and Tolson, Father Vincent and Brother Speed, and several doctors and deputies. He pointed to the phone, and quite uncharacteristically said, “That man is a fuckin’ idiot!”

  * * *

  Marie Hunt had led the women across town, taking momentary refuge in the Baptist church parking lot. No maggots could be seen.

  “Do we go inside?” Carl asked.

  “No. I think we’re safer in our cars. At least for the time being. We’ll use our CBs to stay in contact. Go to channel . . . oh, 2. We’ll probably be picked up on scanners anyway.”

  A young girl, no more than eight or nine years old, suddenly ran screaming across the parking lot. She was naked from the waist down, with blood on her inner thighs, and being chased by several men, all of them in various
stages of undress. Marie did not hesitate. She dropped the car into gear, mashed the pedal to the floor, and pointed the nose of the car toward the men. She slammed into the men, knocking them sprawling to the blacktop parking lot. Doreen opened the door on her side and jumped out, grabbing the hysterical little girl and jerking her inside.

  “Go!” she yelled.

  Marie grabbed her CB mike. “Head for the clinic, Carol.”

  Doreen was holding the little girl, trying to calm her. She covered the child’s lower body with her jacket and silently, and with much venom in her thoughts, cursed men who would do this to a child

  “I wonder if we killed any of those men back there,” she said.

  “I certainly hope so,” Marie replied.

  * * *

  Carl had driven into town in the Jag. The friendly dogs and cats from town had completely circled the house, lying hidden just inside the timber. Carl did not think those in the A-frame were in any immediate danger.

  The town lay silent under the hot summer sun. He had not seen one living being since entering the city limits.

  Mike rounded a corner, in a new unit, and waved him down.

  “We just got a report of a police officer layin’ in the street. We can’t contact R-8 by radio. You wanna tag along?”

  “Right behind you, Mike.”

  In a few minutes, Mike stood over the body of Deputy McBride and cussed. Then he got a blanket from the trunk of his car and covered the man.

  When the young deputy lifted his gaze to Carl, his eyes were filled with hate and fury.

  “Take it easy, Mike. It’s when you lose control that they nail you. You’ve got to keep your wits about you all the time. Now grab ahold of yourself and call in.”

  With an effort that was visible to Carl, Mike calmed himself and walked back to his car to call in. In only a couple of minutes, Jim drove up, Daly in the front seat with him. Jim looked at the blanket-covered body for a moment, his face hard. He knelt down and lifted the blanket and gazed into the dead face of the deputy.

  “Me and Mac go back a long ways,” Jim finally said. “He’d a had his twenty in next year. He was goin’ to pull the pin and do work in his shop. He made little wooden dolls and figures and stuff like that. He give most of his work to needy kids come Christmas time. He was good with his hands.” He looked toward the house to his right. “That punk Nick Jamison lives there. You canvassed the neighborhood, Mike?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Get to it. Daly, would you go with Mike? Good. I appreciate it. Me and Carl will work the other side of the street soon as I call in for an ambulance. I want whoever done this and I want him, or her, bad. Mac’s gun is still in leather. He was shot down deliberate.”

  Jim and Carl went from house to house. Those that would respond to the hammering on the doors were hard-eyed, sullen, and uncommunicative. And the stench from inside the homes was an insult to the nostrils of those who were standing outside.

  At the fifth house, Jim lost his temper. “Damnit, Johnny! I just lost McBride. Somebody shot him and killed him not two hundred yards from this spot. And you’re tellin’ me you didn’t see or hear anything?”

  The man’s smile was both ugly and evil. It matched the stench wafting out from inside his home. “You want me to say I’m sorry about Mac? Fuck you!”

  He slammed the door in Jim’s face.

  Jim walked back to the sidewalk in silence. There, he stopped and looked back at the house. “Johnny Pierson. I always figured him to be one of the most honorable men in the county.” He glanced at Carl. “What makes them vulnerable?”

  Carl shook his head. “I don’t know the answer to that, Jim. I don’t guess anyone . . . any mortal being does.”

  “I had to ask. Come on, let’s check the next house.”

  From inside the house they had just left, deep wild-sounding laughter drifted out to them. Then a woman’s laughter joined in, and that was followed by a girl’s giggling.

  “Does the man have a daughter?” Carl asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes. About fifteen years old. Runs with a wild crowd.”

  “She may have been the key to his going over to the other side.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that,” Jim replied, walking up to the old couple’s front door and knocking.

  He got no response.

  Carl tried to see inside, going from window to window on the front porch. The drapes were all pulled. Suddenly the drapes moved, the movement coming from the bottom, near the floor.

  “Someone or something is in there, Jim. These drapes just moved from near the floor. Do these folks have a dog or cat?”

  “No. They don’t have nobody ’cept each other.” He tried the front doorknob. It turned under his hand. He pushed the door open and the odor of blood filled his nostrils. “Damn,” he whispered, looking into the darkened death house.

  Carl looked over his shoulder. Blood splattered the walls and covered the floor with its slickness. His eyes settled on what was left of the old man and his wife. They appeared to have been hacked to death.

  “Twinkle has struck again,” Jim said.

  Carl looked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The governor informed me of that this morning. That’s the code name for the coven members. I’m Little Red Riding Hood. The, ah, entire problem has been code-named Big Bad Wolf.”

  “That’s an insult to the wolf community. They’re on our side.”

  “I know. I think. But I didn’t feel like gettin’ into that with the governor. That would have confused him. He’s a good man, but kinda slow.” Jim waved Carl out of the front door. “Go get Mike and Daly for me, will you? I’ll call the coroner from my car.”

  “There won’t be much left for him to look at,” Carl said, his eyes catching movement from the rear of the house. He knew what it was and pointed it out.

  Maggots. Hundreds of them, moving like one huge mottled wave toward the bloody bodies. The leading edge reached the first body and began feeding on the flesh and sucking up the blood. Carl looked at the bottom of the drapes that had moved. They were covered with maggots.

  “People changin’ into monsters wasn’t enough. Now we got this to put up with.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet, Jim. Believe me when I say that.”

  “What do you mean? Jesus God, what else is comin’ at us?”

  “The Old Ones.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Once again, from his office, Jim tried to convince the governor to send in some help.

  “We can’t have press on this, Jim,” the governor’s aide informed him. The governor was unavailable. He was meeting with the head of the tourism board. “I thought you understood all that.”

  “I’m not askin’ for a platoon of reporters. I’m askin’ for some volunteer state troopers to help us on this.”

  “Sorry, Jim. Your area is in the process of being sealed off. No one is going in there, and no one is coming out.”

  “The press is damn sure goin’ to pick up on that, partner,” Jim warned the man.

  The aide chuckled. “I don’t think so, Jim. Your county is one of the more isolated ones in the state. No industry to speak of. No tourist attractions. It is the governor’s belief that we can keep a lid on this for several days—a week even. By then, Big Bad Wolf should be winding down.”

  “The wolves are on our side.”

  “I beg your pardon, Jim? Did I hear you correctly? The wolves are on your side?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Jim, there are no wolves in your area.”

  “That’s what you think, partner.”

  The aide snorted his disbelief. “Be that as it may, Jim. The governor wishes to commend you and your men for the outstanding work you’ve done in containing this . . . ah, situation. You’ll all receive commendations when the problem has been resolved. And Jim, make certain that it is all cleaned up as quickly as possible. News of this would not be good for the state. Certainly not
when the tourist season is getting into full swing. I’m sure you understand that. Now then, the governor further stated that it is fine, brave lawmen such as yourself that makes this state so great, and that he is certain you can handle Twinkle. And furthermore, he—”

  Jim hung up.

  “No luck?” a deputy asked.

  “No. We’re all alone in this. There is no help comin’. We’ve been sealed in. No one comes in, no one goes out.” He looked at Carl. “That’s what they done in Ruger, ain’t it?”

  “Yes. But we handled it, Jim. Or rather, my dad and Father Denier did.”

  “Carl, I can’t order my people to go out and just start killin’ folks. I can’t do that and they wouldn’t do it anyways.”

  Carl took his badge out of his jeans pocket and tossed it on the desk.

  “What’s that mean?” Jim asked. “And it better not mean what I think it does.”

  “It means that I’m no longer restricted by the law.”

  “What are you goin’ to do, boy? Just go from house to house killin’ people? You try that and I’ll put your ass in the bucket. And by God, boy, I mean it!”

  Chris Speed had been standing by, listening. The man had strapped on two pistols and had a bandolier of shotgun shells across his chest. He did not look a bit foolish. “I don’t think the young man has any intention of doing anything like that, Jim. Wholesale killing is not his plan. Isn’t that right, Carl?”

  “You know it’s right, Pastor. But that isn’t to say that there won’t be some killing.”

  “You just make damn sure whatever you do will stand up in a court of law,” Jim warned him.

  “Jim,” Carl said, stepping closer to the man. “Can’t you understand there isn’t going to be any legal action once this is over? There was nothing done after the smoke cleared in Ruger. Nothing! But we’ve got to make certain that we are the ones still living. Take your legal code books and toss them out the window. We’re fighting the Devil, Jim. He doesn’t play by rules.”

  Jim walked to the coffeepot and poured a cup. Without turning around, he said, “I don’t know you, boy. I never seen you before in my life. And neither has anybody else in this room. You’re invisible.” He walked into his office.