Snow Cat

by Edward Kendrick

  “They’d better,” Wynn said angrily. Then he walked slowly across the clinic parking lot and onto the sidewalk leading back to the hotel. Or I will. He knew in that instant what he had to do. He returned to the hotel and his car. Soon he was on the highway, heading in the same direction Danny had. He scanned every side road as he drove, looking for any sign that Mick’s assailant had turned off on to one of them.

  It seemed to take hours, although he knew it had only been fifteen minutes at most, before he saw what he’d been looking for—tire marks in the dirt where a car had made a sudden turn onto a barely visible side road. He wondered how the deputies had missed it, but figured it was probably because they were too far behind Danny on the sharp curves of the highway and concentrating on catching up with him.

  Turning off onto the narrow, paved road, Wynn followed it for over a mile before he saw Danny’s car. The man had pulled off into a wide place between two tall trees. Probably thought no one would see it here. Or at least not until he’d had time to get far enough away they wouldn’t catch him.

  Wynn stopped behind Danny’s car and got out.

  * * * *

  The white cat sniffed, seeking the scent of his prey, his sharp eyes looking for any trace of the man he sought.

  There.

  A disturbance in the rotted leaves, which littered the forest floor, told him something much larger than a rabbit or a chipmunk had displaced them.

  Lifting his head he caught the odor of sweat and fear that came to him as a slight breeze rustled the leaves of the trees. He stalked on padded paws, following it.

  The odor strengthened. The cat swiveled his ears, trying to pick up any noise from his prey.

  There.

  Far ahead there was the sound of short, panting breaths, as if his prey was exhausted from fighting his way through the thick underbrush that filled much of the area between the trees. Then there was a gasp of fright.

  The cat caught the scent of a cougar, mingled with the scent of fear from his prey.

  Moving quickly, he heard the man begin to run, stumbling, floundering through the shrubs. The cougar followed, snarling as it closed in on the man.

  He’s mine. Not yours.

  The cat raced forward, roaring as it leapt through the trees. The cougar spun to face him when the cat appeared, lips drawn back to reveal his fangs. The white cat stalked forward, his own fangs bared.

  Behind the cougar, the man cowered in fear against the trunk of a large pine. Small mewling noises escaped him.

  The cat sprang, his powerful jaws clamping down on the cougar’s shoulder. With a mighty shake of his head, he threw the cougar against a tree. The cougar screamed out its rage as it clambered to its feet. The cat growled low, moving in for the kill. The cougar seemed to think better of engaging again. Spinning around, it swiftly disappeared through the trees. The cat let it go, turning his gaze on the man.

  The odor of urine and sweat rose from the man who now crouched in terror at the base of the tree. The cat stalked toward him, fangs bared again.

  “Oh God, oh God,” the man whimpered, burying his face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to…I just wanted…”

  The cat paused, one ear cocked forward as he listened.

  He should die…but…

  The white cat lifted one paw, sharp claws extended.

  The man fainted.

  * * * *

  “Damn, I thought you’d taken off on your own,” John said when Wynn walked into the sheriff’s office forty minutes after Mick had been airlifted to the hospital.

  Wynn nodded. “Almost did, was half-way to the Interstate when I realized I didn’t know where I was going. Have you heard anything?”

  “It’s too early yet. I’m going down, though, if you want to ride with me.”

  “I do.” Wynn rubbed his forehead between his fingers.

  “Headache?” John asked with concern as he headed toward the back exit of the building.

  “Just worried and scared. Damn it, John, he has to make it. He has to.”

  John waited until Wynn was in the car before saying, “He’s going to. He’s strong and he’s got everyone in town praying for him. That’s got to count for something.” After pulling out of the lot onto the street, John added, “And he’s got you. Hell, that alone gives him a reason to stick around.”

  Wynn smiled sadly. “Please God that’s true.”

  They drove in silence as the sun slowly dropped down behind the mountains, each man wrapped in his own thoughts. When John’s cell rang, they both jumped. Wynn watched tensely as John answered, fearing the worst.

  “The hell you say,” John replied to whoever had called. “He’s where?” Whatever the caller said brought a smile to John’s face. “Well, get him back to town. Toss him in a cell and, hell, throw away the key as far as I’m concerned.”

  Hanging up, John told Wynn, “According to Pete, one of the troopers found Danny Rivers.”

  “You know his last name?”

  “Yeah, we got it when we ran his plates. Anyway, when Pete got there, the trooper was standing under a tree looking up at the branches. Rivers was on one of the high ones, hanging onto the tree trunk for dear life. After Pete and the trooper finally talked him down, they asked what the hell he’d thought he was doing. All Rivers said was he was about to be attacked by some large, white cat and passed out. When he came to, he was in the tree.” John snorted in derision. “I’ve heard some wild stories from people we’ve arrested but that one takes the cake.”

  Wynn smiled. “Too bad he didn’t fall out and break something. Preferably his neck.”

  “I’m with you on that one,” John agreed. “Would have saved the state the cost of a trial.”

  Chapter 14

  “It was touch and go,” Mick’s surgeon told Wynn and John when he finally appeared in the hospital waiting room. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but all indications are he’ll make it. At the moment he’s in intensive care and will remain there for at least the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. He was lucky the shooter used was a small caliber gun and close up. The bullet went through his lower chest area, penetrating and damaging the left lung, and exited.”

  The surgeon paused, smiling slightly. “I could go into all the medical details but I doubt you want those beyond knowing he came through the surgery as well as can be expected. At this point we’ll be monitoring him for possible infection and draining the chest cavity of accumulated fluids. He’s on a respirator as well, of course.”

  Wynn frowned, trying to assimilate all that the surgeon was telling them. “How soon will you know for certain he’s going to be all right?”

  “As I said, he’s in intensive care for now. He’s strong and healthy so the presumption is we can move him out of the ICU by this time tomorrow, barring complications.”

  “Can we…no, I suppose not.”

  “You’re not a family member so I’m afraid I can’t let you in to see him.”

  “Figured as much,” Wynn said. “Once he’s in his own room, will we be able to?”

  “Yes.”

  John glanced at Wynn. “Guess that means you find a hotel. I’d stick around too but—” he shrugged, “—duty calls, as they say, and everyone’s going to want a firsthand update.”

  “I’m going to stay right here, not in some hotel room,” Wynn stated adamantly.

  “Your choice and I can understand why, but—” John nodded to the chairs along one wall of the waiting room and chuckled, “—twenty to one says you change your mind in an hour. Anyway, I should get going. When you do finally see him, tell him he’d better get well fast because, umm, everyone wants him home where he belongs.”

  “I will; I promise.”

  The surgeon returned to his duties at the same time John left, leaving Wynn alone with his worries. He paced or sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs for the next two hours before deciding he was hungry. A nurse he asked suggested a restaurant a block from the hospital. On his way back, he stopped
at an all-night drugstore to pick up some basic necessities like toothpaste and a couple pair of cheap socks and underwear. As he wandered the aisles, he found one with sketchpads and pencils, adding them to his purchases. Then he returned to the hospital to wait.

  * * * *

  “Mr. Murphy.”

  Someone was gently shaking Wynn’s shoulder. It took him a minute to realize who and where he was—and why. The last had him wide awake in seconds.

  He was in the waiting room off the ICU, which was marginally better than the main one, and had been for the last almost forty hours. At least, besides the chairs, there were a couple of sofas, one of which he’d taken over since there had been only one other person in the waiting room when he’d gotten there.

  He sat up quickly, ignoring the aches from the way he’d been sleeping, and looked fearfully at the nurse. “Is something wrong? Is he…?”

  “We’re moving him to a private room in about an hour. I thought you might want to clean up a bit before visiting him. He’s awake, but very groggy still.”

  “Thank God,” Wynn whispered.

  An hour later Wynn was pacing the hallway outside Mick’s room, waiting for permission to go in. Finally the nurse who’d spoken to him earlier came out. Smiling, she told him Mick was ‘ready for some company that wasn’t wearing hospital scrubs’.

  “Hi,” Wynn said softly as he entered the room. Mick’s eyes were closed and he didn’t want to wake him if he’d gone back to sleep already.

  “Hi yourself,” Mick replied, his voice raspy. “I bet I look like…hell ‘cause I sure…feel like it.”

  Wynn chuckled as he crossed the room, sitting in the chair beside the bed. “You look damned fine to me because you’re alive.”

  “That I am, so far, and…they say it’ll continue.”

  Looking at all the tubes and wires attached to Mick, Wynn told him, “It’s not for their not trying.”

  “Yeah. I’m like some sort of science experiment,” he replied, his voice strengthening as he talked. After a pause he said, “I’m glad you came.”

  “Of course I did. I wasn’t about to leave you alone with all the pretty nurses hanging around.”

  Mick grinned, as much as he could. “You’d better be more worried about the cute doctors.”

  Wynn’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

  “Kidding. I haven’t really been in any shape to notice anyone so far.”

  Mick’s eyes closed again and Wynn wondered if he’d gone back to sleep, figuring with all the medicines they were giving him, it was definitely a possibility.

  “Did he get away?” Mick murmured.

  “No. He’s in jail. And you’re not to think about that.”

  Opening his eyes, barely, Mick looked at Wynn. “What should I think about?”

  “Getting well, going home. Everyone misses you.”

  “Are you going…to be there?” Mick asked, his voice fading sleepily.

  “Planning on it.” Wynn took his hand, squeezing it gently. Mick barely squeezed back before falling asleep.

  * * * *

  For the next two weeks Wynn spent as much time with Mick as the hospital would allow. He found a hotel a few blocks away so he didn’t have to sleep on the waiting room sofa again. In his free time when he couldn’t be with Mick, he wandered the city, sketchpad and pencil in hand. Mick liked seeing what he’d drawn, making comments and even a suggestion or two about how Wynn could have done something differently. Since most of the sketches bordered on fantasy, Wynn took the suggestions under advisement. Mick had, he discovered, a good eye for what wasn’t quite working the way it should.

  Finally the day came when Mick’s doctor said he was well enough to go home. Looking at Mick, Wynn might have debated the fact. He was still pale, with pain lines etched on his face. But he wasn’t about to argue with anyone, especially Mick, who had wanted out of there a week ago.

  John came down to pick them up with Carly riding shotgun. Since Mick was drugged up on pain killers and antibiotics, he was fairly silent on the ride back to town. Carly made up for it by filling him in on everything that had happened while he’d been in the hospital—which, Wynn thought, wasn’t all that much, but she had a way of spinning the stories out that kept them all amused.

  It was mid-afternoon when they arrived on the main street running through town.

  “Holy shit,” Mick muttered, “no way.”

  Carly turned to grin at him. “Everyone wanted to welcome you home, but we knew you probably weren’t up for any sort of party, so this is what you get.”

  Multi-colored banners hung above the street, emblazoned with either ‘Welcome home Mick’ or ‘Welcome back Sheriff’. Townspeople lined the sides of the street, adults and children alike. When they saw John’s car, they began cheering and waving.

  “I’m going to kill whoever thought this up,” Mick growled, but from the look on his face, he was thrilled to see all of his friends really had cared enough to do that.

  It took a while for them to make it through town to Mick’s place. When they finally arrived, Mrs. Peters and Ralphie were standing on the front stoop.

  “Now what?” Mick asked as Wynn helped him out of the car.

  “Well,” John hedged, “she, umm, made a cake and so there is going to be a small party. Just us and the rest of the deputies, because she insisted.”

  “And when she insists, we do,” Carly added with a laugh.

  “If you’re not up for this,” Wynn told him quietly, “I’ll just tell them the doctor ordered you to go straight to bed when you got home.”

  “No, I’m fine. Really. At least for a while.”

  So with Wynn’s arm around Mick’s waist to keep him stabilized, they went inside.

  The cake was huge. “Large enough to feed an army,” Mick said under his breath. It sat in the center of the coffee table in front of the long, upholstered sofa. Chairs from the dining area and the kitchen circled it on the other sides and soon were filled with the deputies and some of their wives. Mick got the place of honor in the middle of the sofa with Wynn on one side and Mrs. Peters on the other, after she’d served everyone cake, with Carly’s help.

  Conversation was general for a while as they ate then moved on to the specifics of the shooting. Mick told them how it had happened, and why, something he’d only talked about briefly with Wynn.

  “I never realized how needy he must have been,” Mick said remorsefully as he finished. “Maybe if I had…”

  “It probably wouldn’t have made any difference, Mick,” Mrs. Peters told him, patting his leg. “From the sound of it, he thought he loved you and figured, of course, you’d return it when he showed up here.”

  Carly nodded. “When he saw you with Wynn…”

  “It set him off and my turning him down was the final trigger.” Mick sighed. “At least he was caught. Now maybe he can get the help he needs.”

  “He will,” John informed him. “He had a pre-trial hearing and on the advice of his lawyer, he pled Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity. The prosecutor accepted the plea and the judge then required he receive psychological therapy.”

  “I know who caught him,” Ralphie said excitedly from his perch on the arm of the sofa. “It was the snow cat.”

  “What?” Mick glanced quickly at Wynn then focused on Ralphie. “Why do you think that?”

  “‘Cause I heard Uncle Augie tell mom they found him up in a tree and…and…he said a cat was chasing him. Right, Uncle Augie?”

  Augie nodded. “That’s what he claimed. I think he was trying to hide so he wouldn’t be found, climbed the tree and got stuck, so he came up with a wild story to explain it.”

  “Uh-uh. It was the snow cat. Leopards can take things they kill up into trees. I learned that in school. I bet the snow cat can too ‘cause he’s pretty big and strong.”

  “Snow cat?” John asked. “What’s a snow cat?”

  “Ralphie says a big, white cat saved him when he ran away last winter,” Mick said, smiling. �
�I checked it out. There were some footprints but I’d say they belonged to a cougar. Maybe a female who sensed Ralphie wasn’t any threat and sort of steered him back toward civilization.”

  “I’ve read news reports about that happening,” Wynn put in. “Wild animals seem to know when someone needs help, especially kids.”

  “Exactly,” Mick said.

  Before the others could continue the conversation, Wynn made a point of looking Mick over and told them, “I think we should let him get to bed before he passes out right here.”

  Carly was immediately on her feet, picking up the empty plates, while Mrs. Peters carried what little remained of the cake into the kitchen. The men put the chairs back where they belonged and soon everyone was telling Mick, again, that they were glad to have him home.

  * * * *

  Finally the house was empty except for Mick and Wynn.

  “Okay, talk,” Mick said, looking sternly at Wynn when he sat down again. “Were you the one who put Danny up in that tree?”

  Wynn nodded. “I set out to find and kill him, but in the end…I couldn’t. I wanted to, for what he did to you but—”

  “You have a conscience.” Mick took his hand. “Even when you’re a jaguar, you do.”

  “I’m the same…person in either form—just more primal as a jaguar.”

  “A primal jaguar with a conscience. Interesting combination. I’m glad—” Mick yawned, “—that’s the case.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

  Mick nodded and stood with Wynn’s help. “Are you going—” he unsuccessfully tried to stop another yawn, “—going to stick around?”

  “In general or here?”

  “Both? But here for the moment because I’m not sure I can make it up the stairs on my own.”

  Wynn put one arm around Mick’s waist. “I’ll get you up there and into bed.”

  “Thanks. There’s also a, umm, yeah.” Mick frowned, biting down on his lip as Wynn helped him navigate the steps to the second floor. When they got there, he pointed to a door. “My bedroom and down there’s the other one.”

  Wynn chuckled. “That’s what you were trying to say, that there’s a guest room?”