“Too bad, man. I’m gettin’ away from this place. Right now.”
“You pull out now, and I’ll contract your hide,” Lou warned him.
The man offered no reply to that.
Gasoline swooshed into fire, adding an unreal note to the happenings.
“Contract?” Mille whispered.
“Kill him,” Kenny said flatly. “I warned you about these guys.”
“Kenny, what are we going to do. I’m scared.” She sought his hand in the red-tinted night. “And why is it so hot?”
“I don’t know. But I’m scared, too. We’ll make it, Mille.” He looked around him, spotting some old crates and boxes piled against a wall. “Over there,” he said, pointing. “Outside, we might get shot. We’ll hide over there until we can make a break for it.”
The reporter and the investigator ran, hunched over, to the pile of crates and boxes and slipped behind them. They inched their way into a large packing crate. Where they sat, they could see the reflection of the fires in the compound, the images leaping and dancing on the wall that faced them.
“Looks like witches dancing,” Kenny whispered.
“God don’t say that! It looks like we traded one cell for another.”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Kenny returned the whisper. “We’ve got to be quiet, Mille. Real quiet.”
“I’ll tell you something, Kenny.”
“What?”
“I’m scared. Real scared.” This from a woman who had covered stories in countries ruled by harsh dictators; who had faced interrogation from secret police; and was known as one of the most fearless of the new, young breed of international reporters.
“We’ll make it, Mille,” he assured her. I hope, he thought.
* * *
The Old One had widened the crack in the concrete floor. Now his powerful clawed hands were jerking off chunks of concrete from the lip of the hole, widening it still further. Betty Reynolds and her kids sat on the stinking, blood-soaked floor and watched the Old One pull its horrible bulk free of the womb of the earth. It crouched on the floor, staring at those staring at it.
“Can I help you?” Betty asked.
“Now that you mention it,” the Old One said, in her voice. “Yes. Yes, you can.”
She leaned closer to it. “Tell me how.”
The Old One laughed, a high, girlish giggle. “I’d rather show you.”
“All right.”
The Old One reached out and put both clawed hands on Betty’s neck. It jerked, tearing the woman’s head off. Blood squirted as if from a garden hose, spraying the walls. The Old One peeled the flesh from the head like the skin from a grape. Cracking her skull, the Old One began eating the still warm brains. It pausing, looking at Betty’s children.
“Excuse me. I’m very hungry.” Bits of gray matter clung to its lips.
The kids shrugged. The oldest boy said, “Have it all, man.”
“Thank you.”
* * *
At the bubbling hole not far from the chainlink fence around the old terminal, a faint cracking sound ripped from the pool as the earth around it parted. The Old One leaped from the hole to stand in the darkness and snarl and shake itself, flinging blood from the foulness that it was. Its long arms touched the ground where it stood. It looked at the flames jumping from the gasoline-soaked earth around and including the trailer. It smiled as it heard the sounds of frightened screaming and yelling voices. The Old One sensed if it stayed close, there would soon be more than enough food. It smiled again as it looked at the fence surrounding the bubbling pool. It shuffled to the fence, reached up, and tore it apart, flinging the fence into the brush. The Old One moved closer to the fence around the terminal. Choosing a spot behind some brush, it squatted down and waited. And listened to something only it could hear.
There were signals in the air. But they were conflicting and confusing.
The Old One snarled softly. The signals were missives between its Master and the Master’s foe. All was not well. The Dark One was hurling oaths and curses and challenges at its lifelong enemy.
The heavens spoke with laughter, seeming to taunt the Old One’s Master.
No, all was not well.
* * *
“I do thank you for waiting,” the Old One said to Mickey Reynolds.
Mickey grunted.
The Old One laughed. The cat beside Mickey seemed to laugh along with the foul hideousness.
The Old One paused, sensed something in the air that only it could sense. Messages. Angry messages. The Master was raging his dark fury.
No matter. At this time, the messages did not concern the Old One. The Old One reached out, its big, clawed hand covering the top of Mickey’s skull. It squeezed. Mickey’s head popped as the skull shattered. Pulling the dead, once human close, the Old One sucked out the brains, smacking its lips. It then began tearing the flesh from the carcass, stuffing the bloody strips into its wide mouth.
The cat watched and waited.
* * *
The Old One listened for a moment, not fully understanding the silent signals bouncing back and forth between heaven and earth. It shook its great ugly head and looked at that which had once been Eddie Brown.
“You have no idea why you are here, do you?” it asked, in Eddie’s voice.
Eddie grunted.
“Fool!” the Old One said, then smashed a fist against the animal head of Eddie, cracking the skull with the single powerful blow. Eddie slumped to the wet floor, dead. The ugly Old One began to dine, slowly, savoring each bite. It had plenty of time—hours. But this one miserable creature would not begin to be enough to appease the Old One’s ageless hunger. But it would do for the moment.
The cat waited. And watched.
* * *
The six Old Ones were free of the damnable tomb-like womb in which God had sealed them. There had been others before them to break free, but that had been centuries before. All six had heard or were listening to the signals that raged about them. None was sure of what lay before them. They were certain of only one thing: they must obey.
* * *
The cat sat and watched Anya. The girl appeared to be in a trance. But Pet knew she was receiving instructions from the Master.
It was almost time.
* * *
In the house next to where Anya and Pet were hiding, the windows were down and locked, the doors closed and locked. As the sounds of the loudspeaker faded, the man looked at his wife. “I wonder what in the world is going on?”
“I don’t know.” She looked out the window. “But the number of cats outside has increased. And I don’t like it.”
“I thought you liked cats?”
“One at a time,” she corrected. “I don’t like several hundred of them hanging around. It’s . . . well, eerie.”
“Several hundred?”
“Look out the window.”
He rose from the couch and looked. “For pity’s sake!” He clicked on the outside lights for a better look.
The yard was full of cats.
One of the cats closest to the window snarled and leaped at the window, its claws digging in, shredding the screen. It clawed and howled, almost a humanlike scream of fury, unable to get at the man.
The man stepped back, startled at the violence of the attack. “I don’t like this. I don’t know what is happening, but it’s unnatural. Try the police again.”
“I just did. The phone is still dead.”
Both of them stood silent in the large den for a moment, listening as the roof of the big, two-story home seemed to come alive under the feet of hundreds of cats.
“I don’t want to alarm you,” the man said. “But I think we’d better reinforce these windows.”
The couple began working hurriedly, moving cabinets and furniture around, barricading the windows. That done, and done well, the man went to a closet and took out an old double-barreled, side hammer shotgun. Then he forgot where he’d put the shells. He remembere
d and loaded the old coach gun.
She looked at the sawed off shotgun, doubt in her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Is that the gun you got from my brother?”
“Yes.”
She arched an eyebrow dubiously.
He said, “You don’t think? ... No, he wouldn’t!”
“Yeah, he would, too.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “He would. Help me find my other shotgun.”
“Good luck. I think it’s in the attic.”
“At least these shells will work in it.”
“If they go off.”
“Why shouldn’t they?” he asked, sticking out his chin.
“Because you bought them at a rummage sale back in 1965.”
* * *
“Turn the air conditioning up,” Dan told a deputy.
“It’s wide open, Sheriff,” the deputy said, after checking the thermostat. “It’s got to be a hundred and twenty degrees outside.”
“All planned,” Denier said softly.
Everyone in the room looked at the priest. “Planned?” Taylor asked.
“People will have to open their windows after a while,” the priest replied. “Soon every air conditioner in this area will be operating at full capacity. Breakers and fuses will go; the air conditioners will break down; the load will be too much on old wiring. The people will be forced to open windows in hopes of catching a breeze for relief. But there will be no breeze to catch. With the windows open, the cats can enter.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” a local minister said.
Dan ignored the man. He said to Denier, “You’re just full of good cheer aren’t you, Father?”
“Satan is playing,” Denier said. “He knows what you’re planning. This heat is his way of telling you he knows.”
“Hogwash! the very vocal and opinionated minister said. ”Sheriff, you can’t be taking anything this man says seriously.“ He looked at Denier.
Denier smiled. He was used to this type of reaction, from that type of minister.
Dan looked at the Methodist minister. “Jerry, what do you think?”
Jerry Hallock said, “You saw the thing, didn’t you, Dan?”
“I certainly did. And you saw the Polaroids we took out there.”
“Well,” the Methodist said, “I fully believe Satan is very much alive and well. This . . .” He waved his hand toward the outside. “This is a little hard to accept. But I’ll go along with it until somebody—” He looked at Louis Foster, the doubting minister. “-can come up with a better explanation.”
Louis snorted his contempt.
“Matt?” Dan asked the Presbyterian minister.
The other ministers in the town had flatly refused to even listen to Dan and Father Denier. One, upon sighting the priest, had slammed the door closed.
That had irritated the hell out of Dan. The priest had shrugged it off.
“I’m with Jerry,” Matt Askins said. He looked around him. “But is this it? Out of all the ministers in this town, is this the sum total of all who believe in Satan? My God, if that is so, what have the others been preaching?”
“You’re both losing your grip on reality,” Louis said.
He was ignored.
“You call the power boys?” Taylor asked Dan. The trooper was getting a gutful of Louis Foster.
“Yes. They said they had no authority to do what I requested. Said they wouldn’t do it. I asked them if they’d ever spent much time in jail. After thinking that over, they said I’d have to put my request in writing, sign it, and take full responsibility for it. I told them I would be happy to do that.”
“I’ll sign it, too,” Taylor said. He met Dan’s eyes. “The other plan still Go?”
“Yes.”
The trooper nodded.
“Sheriff,” a deputy interrupted, seconds after the radio squawked. “That was Jake. He says he spotted a big fire out at the old terminal.”
“Now what?” Langway asked.
“They are free from the womb,” Denier said.
Louis looked at Denier, open, ill-concealed hostility in his eyes. “What is free? What are you babbling about now?”
“I do not babble,” Denier said, at last showing a bit of temper. “The Old Ones are free.”
“Balderdash, poppycock, and pure hogwash!” Louis said.
Methodist just about told Louis to shut his mouth.
Presbyterian was on the verge of putting his sentiments a great deal more bluntly. And crudely.
“I gather then,” Dan said, “that means you will not help us in any way?”
“Sheriff,” Louis said, his tone that of an adult speaking to a child. A not-very-bright child. “All that has happened can be explained in a logical manner. You and your men are tired. I understand that. You’ve all been working under a strain lately. Fatigue tends to cloud the mind. You’re all seeing things that aren’t there. As for the weather, well, it’s a front, that’s all. You’ll see. You’ll all laugh at your behavior later, believe me.”
Methodist now shared Presbyterian’s views. He said a silent prayer asking for forgiveness for the profanity in his mind.
Dan bit back a sharp comment and said, with great patience, “Louis, it’s well over a hundred degrees outside. That is far above the average for this time of year. The daytime average. And don’t you presume to tell me what I did or did not see.”
Susan Dodd had stood quietly against a wall, listening to the exchange. She now stepped in, telling the minister what had happened to Larry Quitman. The strange behavior of the cats in this area.
“My dear,” Louis said smugly, not knowing just how close he stood to getting a pop across the chops from “My Dear.” “It can and will all be explained. And the devil,” he chuckled, “has nothing to do with it.”
“All right then,” she challenged him. “Go ahead.”
“Go ahead—what?” Louis asked.
“Explain it!”
“Well . . . I can’t.”
“Well, then, until you can explain it,” Susan told him. “Why not shut your mouth and sit down!”
Louis Foster’s mouth closed with a snap. He sat down.
6
“That woman deputy of yours can play on my team anytime she likes,” Taylor told Dan, on the way out to the terminal. “I just might try to steal her, if I can convince her to become a highway cop.”
“She’s a good one,” Dan said. “But do you think either of us has much of a future in law enforcement after all of this?”
“Good point,” the captain agreed.
“Slow down!” Denier spoke from the back seat. Dan braked. “Pull in at that driveway.”
Dan cut to the right, almost missing the drive. His bright lights picked up the shadowy shapes of hundreds of cats.
“Holy smokes! ” Taylor said. “There must be hundreds of cats. Half the cats in the county have to be gathered around this house.”
There were cats almost anywhere the men looked. They covered the roof of the large home. The cats sprawled on the vehicles parked in the yard. They lay around the two story garage and storage area.
The men sat in the patrol car and stared.
Denier stirred on the back seat. “The girl is here,” he said. “Can either of you feel that intangible?”
“Something is making my flesh crawl,” Dan said.
“The hair on the back of my neck feels like it’s standing up,” Taylor said.
“Evil,” Denier said. “In its darkest form. Pure evil, if you like.”
“I wish Louis was here to see this,” Dan said. “And to feel it.”
“He’d probably dismiss it as cats in heat and the high humidity,” Taylor replied.
“Don’t be too harsh on the man,” Denier said. “He was voicing his convictions and is entitled to them,”
“But you don’t agree with him,” Dan said, looking at the priest, then back at the cats.
Denier
smiled. “No,” he said softly.
“A car in the drive,” the woman said, looking out through a crack in the barricade over the window. “It’s a police car.”
“I’m gonna kill your brother,” her husband said, looking at the double-barrel coach gun on the couch. “I’m gonna get him for this.”
She smiled, despite their predicament. “Nobody twisted your arm to buy it, did they?”
“Don’t remind me. He should have been a snake-oil salesman.” He looked out the window. “Car’s coming closer. Sheriff’s department, I think.”
Dan pulled in close to the house and used his PA speaker. “You folks all right in there?” He cracked his window a bit.
“Yes!” the man yelled. “Sheriff Garrett? Is that you?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s going on around here?”
Dan looked at Taylor. “I was afraid he was going to ask that.” He looked at his hood. Several cats were walking on it. He hit the siren. It did not bother the cats at all. “Can any cats get inside?” he asked.
“No,” the man yelled. “I don’t think so. We have plenty of food and water and have barricaded ourselves in the den. But it’s very hot.”
“It’s very hot all over the county. Weather front, the National Weather Service says.”
“You lie so convincingly,” Taylor said. “You missed your calling. You should have been a politician.”
“I am a politician,” Dan said.
“Sheriff?” the man yelled. “What is going on?”
“We’ve got a very dangerous situation in this county, sir. Those cats are attacking people. We’re ordering all people to stay inside and do not, repeat, do not, go outside for any reason. Keep your doors and windows locked. We’ll try to have this problem solved by late tomorrow.”
“Wonderful,” the man said to his wife.
“Can you get rid of those cats?” the woman yelled.
“I don’t know how, ma’am. But we’re working on the solution. All I can tell you is to bear with us.”
“He’s as bad as your brother,” the man said, smiling, no malice in his comment. He wiped sweat from his face. He raised his voice, “You don’t sell used shotguns, do you Sheriff?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
Cat's Cradle Page 27
