Cat's Cradle

by William W. Johnstone

  “What do you want us to do?” the oldest of the Reynolds’ kids asked the grotesqueness.

  “Remain in hiding, here, until dusk of this day. If all goes well, you will know. If we fail, you will know that as well. You are all young and have reproductive abilities. That is one of the reasons you are still alive. There are others like you around this area. If by some chance we should fail, you and the others will be left to carry on. You are marked, your children will be marked. You and they are servants of the Master—forever. Do you all understand?”

  They nodded their understanding.

  “Then, goodbye. I hope to see you all in a matter of hours. If not? ...” It laughed evilly and shuffled out into the darkness.

  The Old Ones were moving. In the church, in the auditorium, the Old One looked at the trappings of Christian faith and laughed. Its eyes glowed with fury. The pulpit exploded in a mass of flame. Lifting its eyes, the cross on the wall behind the blazing pulpit melted under the heat. The communion table disintegrated under the force, bits of blazing wood flying about, landing on the carpet, the drapes. Fire leaped to fire. The Old One looked at the piano and laughed. The keys were depressed, a loud, discordant noise filling the burning church. The Old One chuckled and shuffled out into the hot night.

  In the basement of the school, the Old One stepped over the sucked bones and climbed awkwardly up the steps leading to the main hallway. At the door, the Old One’s eyes glowed. The door burst into a thousand burning pieces, the door knob shooting forward like a large bullet, white hot with heat. The door knob smashing into and through a wooden locker, setting it on fire.

  The Old One laughed, filled with new strength, the laughter echoing throughout the empty school. The lockers on both sides of the long hall were blazing as the spawn of hell shuffled out into the sweltering night.

  Another Old One walked the streets of Valentine, unafraid. The Old One set cars blazing, the gas tanks exploding under the force from its eyes. All the Old Ones were moving toward the location of Anya and Pet.

  The cats went wild. They hurled their bodies against doors and windows, yowling and shrieking in fury, trying to gain entrance into the houses. They sought blood and human flesh. They could smell the fear of those locked inside and that scent drove them crazy. A few homes were penetrated. The screaming of those trapped inside the homes ripped through the heated air. The odor of blood hung heavy.

  The cats moved, en masse, from house to house, searching, seeking, the ancient hunter’s bloodlust raging within them.

  * * *

  “Now! Mike yelled.

  Carl pushed the bedroom door open, knocking a dozen cats spinning and sprawling and howling and hissing. Mike slammed the closet door over the opening. Several cats had their heads caught between the door and the jamb. The boys stomped the heads flat with their boots. The hall carpet oozed blood and brains. Vonne began nailing boards across the new door, securing it. She hit her thumb twice and cussed. Inside the room, the cats howled and hissed their rage at being trapped. They leaped and flung themselves at the door, at the screen covering the hole. Several managed to stick their paws through the wire. Mike and Carl hacked at the paws with butcher knives; slashed at furry heads and sharp teeth with the knives. Blood spattered the walls, leaking down the door.

  “Mother!” Carl yelled. “Get Carrie. The two of you fill every container you can find with hot water. I bet that’ll get rid of them!”

  “Carrie!” she called. “Get that piece of garden hose out of the pantry. The one your father was using to repair the line from the washing machine.”

  “All right!” Mike said. “I’ll get some duct tape. I know where it is.”

  They fitted one end of the hose over the faucet and taped it tight. Vonne turned on the water, Carl began spraying the room. The pain-filled yowling of the cats increased as the steam from the hot water rose in gray-white waves, the hot water scalding the cats. The enraged cats jammed up the window trying to escape. Mike cleared the hole by sticking the muzzle of a shotgun through the wire and blowing the window free of wet, squirming cats.

  Vonne handed Carl a flashlight and he shone the beam all around the room. Linda was not in the room, alive or dead.

  “We’ve got to contact Dad,” he said.

  Then the lights went out.

  9

  The roaming hordes of cats, hundreds of them, stopped en masse as all the lights in town went out, plunging the area into darkness. The cats milled about, momentarily confused.

  Then the lights popped back on.

  “What happened?” Dan asked the crew chief.

  “Relax, Sheriff. We just had to shut it down for a couple of minutes. The power that normally flows through these lines,” he said, waving his hand, “has been diverted until we get this bypass hooked up. It won’t take us long. Power is already restored in Valentine and the outlying areas. But let me tell you something: that bypass is not going to hold for very long. It’s gonna self-destruct, like that tape recorder in that old TV show. That’s the way I rigged it; that’s the way it’s gonna stay.”

  “What happens when the bypass blows, or goes, or whatever?” Taylor asked.

  “Well, Captain, y’all are gonna have some mighty furious power company executives.”

  “Can’t you fix it afterwards?” Dan asked, thinking: If there is any afterwards for any of us to worry about, that is.

  “We won’t have to. The current will automatically start flowing normally when the bypass burns out.”

  “Well, then!” Taylor said. “What’s all the flap about?”

  “Captain,” the crew chief replied wearily, “man, we’re regulated, overseen, controlled, inspected, monitored... you name it. Look, a lot of this juice,” he said, again waving his hand, “is being sold; Florida, North Carolina, up in Pennsylvania. Disrupting the normal flow is bad enough. Let me put it this way: you boys know what a power surge is?”

  “We’re not idiots!” Dan snapped.

  “That remains to be seen, don’t it?” the crew chief popped back. “And me along with you guys for doing this,” he added. “Well, just think what’s gonna happen to transformers and relay stations when this much power goes off, and then kicks back on with one big jolt. You see what I mean? Sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

  “Get on with the bypass,” Dan said.

  The crew chief walked off, muttering highly uncomplimentary things under his breath.

  “Dan!” Chuck called. “Trouble at your house. Carl’s on the radio now. Cats got in the house. Carrie’s little friend, Linda, is gone. They don’t know where.”

  “Take over, Captain. Father Denier, come with me, would you, please.”

  Mille and Kenny watched Dan and the priest pull out. Mille said, “I can’t figure what he’s planning on doing here, can you?”

  “He’s gonna give somebody one heck of a hot foot, it looks like.”

  “But, he can’t kill a ... a spirit!”

  “Sure looks like he’s gonna give it the old college try, though, don’t it?”

  * * *

  Denise walked through the woods and meadows and pastures, a pale once human form that glided more than walked. Her companion, the cat, walked with her. Once, they stopped beside a tree as the sounds of running feet came to them. They waited, watching unnoticed as Bowie ran pass them, snarling and growling as he ran.

  They angled off, going in the direction Bowie had come. They soon found Linda, awake, scared, and struggling to be free of her bonds.

  Her eyes widened at the sight of the naked, and dead, so she thought, Denise. She jerked in fear, then fainted at the sight of the girl.

  Denise knelt beside the unconscious girl. She ran her hands over the girl’s smooth body; not scarred and marked as hers. Linda stirred. Her eyelids fluttered. She opened her eyes and stared at Denise. The cat watched.

  Denise removed the leather belt, freeing Linda’s hands.

  “You’re dead!” Linda hissed.

  Denise smile
d. “Only as you think you know death. Now we are sisters.”

  “What! ...”

  But Denise and the cat were gone, melting into the darkness.

  Then all memory of Denise and the cat left her. She could remember the rape, but no more. She sat up, pulling on the tattered remains of panty and bra. She stood up, a bit shaky. She looked around and got her bearings, then started walking toward the Garrett house. It was not that far off.

  It was odd, she thought. I feel so ... so lightheaded. Like there is something I am supposed to do, but can’t remember what it is.

  It would come to her. In time.

  * * *

  “Not a cat to be seen anywhere,” Dan spoke to Vonne. They stood on the porch of their house. “And I don’t know what, or who might have carried off Linda.”

  “I’m right here,” Linda called from the side of the house. “Please toss me a robe, Mrs. Garrett. I’m practically naked.”

  Vonne got a robe from the house and led the girl inside. There, she told her story.

  Dan glanced at Father Denier. The priest was looking at the girl, his eyes hooded, giving away nothing. “I’m going to get Doctor Ramsey,” Dan said. “If I can find him.”

  “I’ll stay here,” Denier said.

  The phone rang, its shrillness startling them all. “I thought the phones were out?” Dan asked.

  “They were,” Vonne said, rising to still the ringing. She listened for a moment. Her face drained of blood, becoming chalk white. She held the phone out to Denier. Her hands were shaking so badly she almost dropped the phone. “It’s for you, Father.”

  “What’s wrong, Vonne?” Dan asked. “Who is that on the phone?”

  “He . . . he . . .” She stuttered. “. . . Said it . . . he much prefers the personal touch.”

  “Who, mother?” Carl asked.

  “Satan,” she said.

  Then fainted.

  Father Denier had not spoken a word since he took the receiver from Vonne’s pale, cold hand, listened for a moment, and then hung up. He sat in a chair, unmoving. Dan broke all speed records getting to the Ramsey’s house and piling Alice and Quinn, Emily and Bill into his car, roaring back to his house. It was only then he noticed the flames leaping into the sky from several locations around town. He tried to use his radio to contact the fire chief. It was dead. He clicked on the AM/FM car radio. Nothing. Cold. Not even static. He searched the bands. Nothing.

  And he did not see a single cat.

  Quinn checked Vonne. He shook his head. “Her pulse is normal. Her color has returned. Her blood pressure is normal. I ... can’t explain her unconsciousness. I know she’s as healthy as anyone in the county. I gave her a physical a few weeks ago. She’s just ... out. And I can’t explain it.”

  “I can,” Denier finally broke his silence. “No mortal can look upon the face of Satan and live. I suppose listening to the Dark One would have somewhat lesser effects. She will awaken and be perfectly all right once her mind is ready to accept what she heard.”

  “But listening to ... the devil didn’t knock you out,” Doctor Harrison said.

  “I have spoken with ... him before,” the priest said. “While doing God’s work in upstate New York not too long ago. I know Satan well. He hates me and I despise him.”

  Those words spoken, the heat intensified. Denier looked up, anger on his face. He waved his hand. “Oh, get away!” he shouted. “We know you’re here. Stop your bragging, you bastard!”

  The head abated slightly.

  Denier stood up. “I must go,” he said abruptly. “I’ll get my bag out of your car, Sheriff.”

  * * *

  “But . . .” Dan said.

  Denier waved him silent. “This is something I must do alone. You would only be in my way. The cats won’t bother me.” His eyes touched Vonne, on the couch. “She will be all right. She is a fine, Christian woman. Goodbye.” He turned and walked out the front door.

  “I wonder what ... Satan,” she stumbled over the word, “said to him.”

  “I’m not sure I want to know,” Dan replied.

  Linda’s eyes held a strange glow.

  “Where is Father Denier going, Daddy,” Carrie asked.

  “To fight Satan.”

  Hate glowed fiercely from Linda’s eyes.

  Dan looked at Linda. He saw the strange glow, mistook it for fever.

  Leaving the doctors and their wives at his house, Dan drove back to the terminal. The power crew was gone.

  Captain Taylor said. “They pulled out. About five minutes ago. Said they wouldn’t take any further part in this insanity. But they hooked everything up when I shoved a shotgun in the crew chief’s face.”

  “Get them back here!” Dan said. “I want them to see this.”

  Taylor yelled the orders and several of his men took off after the crew.

  “They show you how to operate the ... whatever?” Dan asked.

  “Yeah. Several of us. Simple. Come on, I’ll show you the bypass. Or rather, the switch that will cut in the bypass.”

  The first hues of silver were streaking the eastern sky. Dan explained what had happened at his house. He finished with Father Denier leaving.

  “And you let him go?”

  “How could I stop him?”

  “Good point.”

  The power company crew had run a line as far as they could from the metal grid that covered hundreds of feet inside the terminal complex. What looked like a huge breaker box was mounted on a pole.

  “That’s it?” Dan asked.

  “That’s it. Just pull that handle and, to quote the crew chief, ’Get ready for the ground to tingle.’ ”

  “Get everybody clear of the grid.” Dan looked at his watch. Looked toward the east. “Full light soon. Let’s get a sandwich and get ready to move out.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Taylor said.

  Dan smiled. “I’m not either. But I know when you’re taking speed you’d better eat something. I’ve taken it before.”

  Taylor looked at him. “Dope. When?”

  Dan laughed. “Working stakeouts with the Bureau.”

  10

  “What’d you do with June?” Gordon asked the pale-eyed young man with the silenced automatic in his right hand.

  “I didn’t do anything with her. She popped a capsule before I could. Dead in thirty seconds.”

  “You look familiar to me,” Gordon said, straining his eyes to peer through the silver-streaked gloom. “Naw! He’s dead.”

  The young man said nothing.

  “I got a right to know who’s gonna burn me!” Gordon said.

  “You have no rights. You sold out your country. You’re a traitor. And you endangered a lot of innocent lives in this county.”

  “Oh, goody! I get a sermon early in the morning.”

  “No. Just a bullet.”

  The young man smiled and pulled the trigger, twice. The .22 caliber slugs hit Gordon in the face, one entered his eye, the other making a tiny hole right between his eyes.

  He picked up his brass and walked away.

  He would be eating dinner in the mess hall at Fort Lewis that evening.

  11

  “It’s a little girl,” the woman said. “She’s walking among the cats. Petting and talking to them. Where did she come from?”

  “And who or what the hell is she?” the husband asked.

  They watched as Anya looked toward the house and laughed. She pointed at the house. The cats came, leaping and snarling and hurling their bodies against the door and the windows. The windows shattered but the barricades held firm. The man picked up the double-barrel coach gun, thumbed the hammers back, and stuck the twin muzzle out through a crack in the barricade. He pulled both barrels at once, the recoil of the sawed-off knocked him backward. That window was cleared of cats. Several dozen mangled furry bodies lay in bits and pieces around the side of the house.

  Anya was down in the yard, screaming in pain and fury.

  “You hit the little g
irl,” the woman said.

  “I think she’s part of this . . . nightmare,” the husband replied.

  “The shotgun worked,” she said.

  “Will wonders never cease.” He reloaded and looked out through the crack.

  The cats were leaving, hundreds of them following the girl, who was running down the road, apparently unhurt.

  “I saw the girl knocked down,” she said. “I saw the shot hit her. But she’s running like she is not hurt at all.”

  The woman turned on the outside floodlights, the yard exploding in harsh light. The little girl turned and screamed obscenities at the house.

  There was not a mark on the girl.

  “That’s impossible!” the man said. “The shot knocked her down. It hit her. But ... what’s going on here?”

  Anya was shrieking at the cats. They turned, spitting and snarling at the house. The woman picked up the other shotgun.

  “You can’t shoot that,” her husband said.

  “You watch me. Here they come!”

  The cats came, urged on by the screaming Anya. They jumped at the windows and were blown apart by shotgun blasts. The cats behaved as insane troops in a suicide charge. Again and again they leaped into the shotgun blasts, only to be blown to bloody furry chunks.

  The girl, standing close to the house, was screaming in fury, shouting at the house.

  “What language is that?” the woman asked.

  “Sounds like Arabic,” he said. “But my hearing is shot after all this shooting.”

  “Look!” She pointed.

  The woods around the property were emptying of men, all carrying automatic weapons. They had formed a crude half circle, as if driving the girl and the cats.

  The cats left their insane charging of the house and raced toward the men. The men, obviously well-trained, dropped to one knee and opened fire, raking the charging cats with automatic weapons fire. A few cats made it through the deadly hail of lead. They were either shot down or stomped to death.

  The half circle moved closer to the girl. The man and woman in the house watched, with a mixture of fascination and horror.

  The young girl pointed her finger at the moving line. One man burst into flames, his body exploding as if hit with a howitzer round.