Baileigh Higgins
Cat's Eye
Book 1 Death's Children
First published by Baileigh Higgins in 2017
Copyright © Baileigh Higgins, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
First Edition
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
You're a Survivor!
Sneak Preview
About the Author
Chapter 1
“Catherine Thompson. Please pay attention in my class unless you want detention.”
The shrill peal of Mrs. Marais’ voice cut through the haze of boredom surrounding Cat, and she straightened up in her seat amidst snickers from her classmates.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she replied with a respectful, “Yes, Ma’am.” The last thing she needed on a Friday afternoon was detention.
Forty-five excruciating minutes later, the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. Benches and chairs scraped across the floor as kids ran for the exit, jostling each other in their haste to get out. Cat imagined it looked a lot like a prison break.
She took the time to fish her phone out of her bag first and checked her messages. Three from Chris, her boyfriend, one from her best friend, Nadia, and a voicemail from her mother. On auto-pilot, Cat slung her school bag over her shoulder, picked up her hockey stick and walked out of class while checking Chris’ texts. They were pretty generic. Standard stuff for a Friday.
“Hey, babes. What’s up?”
Little kissy faces.
“Wanna come over tonight?”
Cat sighed. Instead of butterflies in her stomach, all she felt was leaden dread. For her, the relationship with Chris had soured after the fifth weekend spent watching rugby with his friends.
The entire time was passed glued to the edge of the couch next to Chris and his buddies. They’d cheer and shout enthusiastically at the TV, discussing the score and players during half-time, while she sipped on the homemade lemonade his mom forced down her throat.
Her thumb flew over the keys as she replied. “Maybe next time. Got things to do.”
Next, she checked Nadia’s message. “Hey, Cat. How’s it going, girlfriend? Have you seen the stuff on YouTube? People are going crazy about it. Freaky Friday!”
Cat frowned. She hadn’t looked at her phone all day. By rights, she wasn’t even allowed to take it to school but had put it on silent and hidden it at the bottom of her bag.
Her feet carried her out of the gates of High School Kroonstad. After crossing the busy street filled with irate parents and happy kids, she set off for home. She lived only three blocks from the school, so her mom had decreed that she walk every day. Cat didn’t mind, though. She liked the solitude.
Cat sent Nadia a reply. “What stuff? Haven’t seen a thing. By the way, can you come visit this December holiday?”
“Check YouTube and Facebook. Crazy stuff! It’s all over SA and even overseas. As for a holiday, no can do, sister. My mom’s been kinda out of it lately, and Dickhead bitched about the money for the bus ride.”
Cat frowned at that bit of news. When had Nadia’s drug-addict mom not been out of it? All her life she’d watched her best friend be pushed around and mistreated by her alcoholic mom and abusive step-dad. When Nadia’s little brother Bobby drowned, that had been a new low. To top it off, six months later they moved to Upington, and Cat despaired of ever seeing her best friend again.
“Well. We’ll just have to make a plan,” she sent back. If there was one thing that could be said of Cat, it was that she was stubborn. Even if she had to bribe Nadia’s step-dad, she’d do it.
“Hope so, C. Catch you later. Branden and I’ve got a date.”
“Have fun,” Cat replied before listening to the voicemail her mother had left three hours earlier.
“Catherine, I’m going to be late tonight. We’re swamped with patients today, and the boss wants us to work in. There are leftovers in the fridge. See you later, sweetheart.”
Cat sighed and tucked her phone away, resigned to a night spent in front of the TV with a bucket of ice cream. It wasn’t unusual. Her mom worked as an admin assistant at a local doctor, and she often stayed late when it got busy.
About halfway home, Cat’s attention was caught by a man staggering down the road. He had a full head of dreadlocks, topped with a Rastafarian beanie and wore a long trench coat. At first, Cat paid him no mind and continued walking.
There was something odd about him, though. He stumbled along haphazardly, moaning in an eerie way. The front of his coat was stained with what looked like black tar. A light breeze brushed over her face, lifting the hair off her neck and carrying a sickly sweet smell with it. She gagged, pulling her shirt over her mouth. “What the hell?”
Cat eyed the man she assumed to be either homeless or stoned and quickened her pace, hoping to slip past unnoticed.
No such luck.
When he spotted her, he raised his hands towards her, growling in a way she’d ordinarily find hilarious but now didn’t seem quite so funny.
Cat stopped and backtracked, raising a hand to ward him off. “Hey, back off, buddy. I don’t have any money.”
He ignored her and kept coming. As he got closer, the smell intensified until it rolled across her senses in a tidal wave of rot. She could now make out the smaller details of his appearance through watering eyes.
His bottom lip was missing, exposing the lower teeth and jaw, pink flesh and white bone shining through clotted blood. Her stomach rolled as her eyes fixed upon the stain on his clothes. The black stuff she’d thought was oil, now looked more like old blood. Bits of hair and other things were matted into it. Her stomach heaved. “Oh, God, is that…a tooth?”
Cat screamed, stepping back as he reached for her with hands that had turned into claws, the nails crusted with dirt. She swung her hockey stick and hit him, dancing on her toes to put distance between them.
He regained his footing, and she whacked him over the head again, the sound hollow to her ears. Her school bag swung like a pendulum, pulling her off balance. With a cry, she fell.
Her bare knees hit the asphalt, sharp pain flaring up her legs. She shrugged it off, rolling away when he reached for her. He tripped over her bag and fell in a tangle of limbs. Cat ripped the strap off her shoulder and scrambled away on all fours, gravel digging into her palms. Her heart banged in her chest, air whistling in and out of her lungs as her throat closed.
Not now, she prayed.
Cat lunged to her feet and whirled, brandishing her hockey stick. Like a loathsome crab, the homeless guy rose from the ground, joints cracking as he scuttled toward her.
“Leave me alone,” Cat cried, wheezing for breath.
He kept coming, teeth snapping like a rabid dog. Cat danced away like a boxer and hit him again, harder this time. His head swung, but he kept coming.
“Bugger off!” Spots danced in front of her eyes as the tightness in her chest increased. It was a feeling both familiar and unwanted, like a distant family member who overstays their welcome at Christmas.
Cat skipped sideways and swung the hockey stick like a baseball bat, putting all her strength into the blow. The edge connected with hi
s temple, and she heard the sound of cracking bone. He fell to his knees, and she hesitated. Blood streamed from the cut on his scalp, but it looked odd. Thick and sluggish. Once again, the smell that emanated from his form assaulted her senses.
“Stay down,” Cat whimpered. “Please, stay down.”
A low growl vibrated from between her attacker’s clenched teeth. He lurched forward, crawling towards her. With a wordless cry, she swung again, aiming for the same spot as before.
A hollow pop rang out. His skull collapsed and skewed his face. With his snarl frozen in place and bulging eyes, the homeless guy toppled over to lie motionless.
Cat stood, chest heaving, waiting for him to get up. A slow trickle of blood crept toward her toes, a river of black death. Her hands began to tremble. She smothered a gasp, stepping back until her heels hit the sidewalk. Her knees gave way, and she sat down with a thump, her eyes never leaving the corpse. “Oh, my God. I killed him.”
Cat wrenched her eyes away and looked up and down the street, half expecting a cop to pull up and arrest her for murder. “I killed him. I really, really killed him! Crap!”
The trees whirled around her in a dizzying blur of green. An iron fist constricted around her lungs and throat. Cat sucked in a breath, dragging oxygen into her lungs. One hand fumbled for the asthma inhaler in her pocket. She never left home without it.
Placing the mouthpiece to her lips, she pressed down. With a whoosh, the precious dosage filled her lungs. Cat wrapped her trembling arms around her knees and closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The taut feeling in her chest eased, the dizziness passed. A semblance of clarity returned. “I’ve got to phone Mom. She’ll know what to do.”
Cat dialed the number.
Her mom answered on the fifth ring. “Dr. Botha’s office.”
“Mom! Mom, I just killed a guy. He came at me, and he wouldn’t stop, and I whacked him with a stick, and now he’s just lying there, and he’s not breathing, and half his face is missing, and I don’t know what―”
“Catherine, slow down. Take a deep breath.”
Her mother’s voice had an immediate effect, and Cat obeyed. In, out, in, out.
“That’s it. Get it under control. Now tell me what happened. Take your time, sweetie.”
Cat slumped, tears spilling over her cheeks and dripping onto her school uniform. “I don’t know what happened. I was walking, and this strange guy attacked me. I screamed and hit him with my hockey stick, but he wouldn’t stop. He was acting all crazy, growling and trying to bite me.”
“Oh, no. sweetie, are you hurt?” Her mother’s voice was frantic and sparked a fresh surge of panic within Cat.
“What? No, I’m fine,” she replied, ignoring the sting in her knees.
“Are you sure? Did he bite you? Scratch you? Get any blood on you?”
“No, I’m fine. I kept hitting him in the head until he fell. I killed him, Mom!”
“Thank God. I’ve been hearing stories all morning, but I didn’t think they were real.” A siren blared in the background, shrill over the speaker of Cat’s phone. “I’m coming home. Now.”
“Stories? What stories?” Cat asked.
“From the hospitals. One of our patients was attacked, and it’s a madhouse here.”
“What do you mean attacked? What’s going on?” Confusion hijacked Cat’s thoughts. Her voice rose in pitch until it became a shrill warble.
“Sweetie, calm down. It’s going to be okay. I promise.” Cat nodded, her mother’s steady voice soothing her ragged nerves. “Now I need you to get up and run home as fast as you can. Can you do that?”
“You want me to leave? Aren’t I supposed to call the police or something?”
“There’s no time, sweetie. Just do it. Call me when you get to the house, and lock the gates and all the doors, okay?”
Cat hesitated, her mind whirling. This is crazy! What’s happening?
“Catherine. I need you to do as I say. Now.” Her mother’s tone became hard, brooking no disobedience.
“O…Okay, mom. I’m going. I’ll call you when I get there.”
“Hurry. Don’t stop for anything. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“Okay.” Cat got to her feet, grabbing her hockey stick and school bag with the phone wedged between her cheek and shoulder. She kept her eyes averted from the dead guy, pretending he wasn’t there. “I’m up.”
“Love you, sweetheart. Stay safe.”
The line went dead, and Cat shoved her cell into her pocket before breaking into a sprint. She pumped her arms and legs, pushing herself as fast as she could go. The houses flew past in a blur, her bag bouncing up and down on her back. It wasn’t long before she reached her home, the familiar hunter’s green gates coming into view.
Cat stumbled to a stop, gasping for breath and fumbled with the lock and chain that held it shut. Once inside, she locked again before rushing into the house.
Running from room to room, she shut the windows and closed the curtains. Shrouded in gloom, she collapsed onto a chair at the kitchen table. Her hockey stick lay in front of her. A fresh surge of panic at the sight of the blood staining the wood sent her scrambling to the washbasin to scrub it off. Where’s Mom? I need her!
She reached for her phone, dialing her mom’s cell. It rang and rang, each ring punctuated by an empty click when her mother failed to answer. An awful sense of premonition washed over Cat when it went to voicemail. A tinny female voice told her to leave a message.
She called again.
And again.
And again.
Voicemail.
“No, no, no! Where are you, Mom?”
Cat phoned the office number.
“Dr. Botha’s office,” a harassed female voice answered.
“Aunt Sue?” Cat asked, picturing her mom’s colleague. Frizzy red hair, thick-rimmed glasses, a heart of gold, and a pocket full of sweets summed up Susan Elliot. She was always a favorite with the kids who visited Dr. Botha. “Is that you?”
“Catherine?”
“It’s me. Is my mom there? I need to talk to her.”
“I’m sorry, sugar. She left ages ago.”
Cat’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure? She’s not answering her phone. I’m worried.”
“I’m sure. She grabbed her bag and ran out of here shouting something about you needing help.” Concern tinged Sue’s voice. “Are you okay, sugar?”
“I’m fine,” Cat replied. For a moment she considered telling Aunt Sue what had happened but couldn’t face having to explain the whole story. It was too awful. “Had a tussle with some homeless man, that’s all.”
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“No, I’m okay. Look, Aunt Sue―” The line died, leaving Cat staring at the phone in her hand.
“Crap!”
Next, she dialed emergency services.
Then the police.
Nobody answered.
Cat slumped over the table, tears streaking down her face. With numb fingers, she logged onto Facebook. She scrolled down the page, horror taking hold. Shots of car crashes and riots filled the screen. One picture showed a mob swarming a bus. Further down, a girl she knew from school had posted a picture of her older brother with the title: WTF?!? There was a chunk missing from his arm.
A video of a Fourth Grade teacher attacking one of her students had gone viral. Cat stared at the grainy footage, watching in disbelief as the woman bit the boy on the shoulder, sinking her teeth in before working her jaws to loosen the flesh. Childish screams filled the kitchen. Cat pressed pause, her eyes locked on the teacher’s dead gaze that peered at the screen over the chunk of meat in her mouth.
Bile pushed up Cat’s throat. She crossed the floor to the window overlooking the gate, fixing her eyes on it in the vain hope that at any moment her mother’s battered red Ford would appear. “Come on, Mom. Where are you?”
With a frustrated growl, Cat ran to the living room and switched on the TV. She perched on the edge of the seat
and flicked through the channels. Report after report streamed in, airing live from Johannesburg, Durban, and Cape Town. Frightened news reporters ran around, their cameramen capturing footage of enormous traffic pile-ups, mobs, looters, and attacks.
Headlines ran on a loop at the bottom. They read: Mystery illness strikes population; Husband eats wife in front of witnesses; Is this the end?
After staring at the screen for half an hour, Cat switched the volume to mute. Restless, she jumped up and paced, breaking off only to spray Mercurochrome onto her skinned knees and force down a sandwich. Twice more, she stopped to use her inhaler, the constant anxiety worsening her asthma.
The minutes ticked by, each second longer than the last. The hands on the clock moved with stilted clicks across a bland white face.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Forty.
Fifty.
An hour.
Two hours, thirty-three minutes, and fifty phone calls later, Cat was forced to admit the truth. Her mother wasn’t coming home. Something terrible had happened to her. “What to do? What to do?”
She redialed emergency services and raised the phone to her ear slowly, hoping with every cell in her body somebody would answer.
“Emergency services, how can I assist you?”
“I need help! Please send someone,” Cat cried, relief making her dizzy.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but we have no vehicles available at the moment.”
“How is that possible? I need help; my mom is missing. She’s in trouble. I’m sure of it.”
“Yes, Miss, I hear you, but we are currently overwhelmed with calls. I have no available vehicles to send to your location.”
“What?” Cat’s voice rose a few decibels in pitch, matching her growing disbelief.
“Miss, I advise you to remain calm. The situation is―”
“The situation is crazy. That’s what it is. What’s going on?”
“I can’t answer you, Miss. I’m very…Carl?”
Silence.
A dull thud.
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