by Ricky Sides
One of the men drove Mary Lou’s car away. They had found her keys with the woman’s personal affects. That man took her cell phone, which would be left in the car. They knew that, when her car was eventually found in the Birmingham area, the police would suspect that she was the victim of foul play and concentrate their investigation in that area.
It was getting dark when the moving truck pulled away from George Gainer’s front porch.
Chapter 6
The sixty-six year old homeless man sat beside his makeshift shelter on an upside down five-gallon bucket. The shelter had been pieced together from mismatched scraps of wood he had managed to accumulate over time. He was sitting beside a small fire, carefully tended so it didn’t smoke much. That would draw unwanted attention. He was roasting a rabbit he had managed to catch with a snare, and it was almost done. He stirred the rice that was boiling in a tin can he had saved from a can of beef stew he had eaten the week before. He was glad the label had burned off the can. Seeing the label just made him yearn for food he couldn’t afford.
The old man stopped stirring the rice. He slowly raised his head and looked around him in the growing darkness. He didn’t see anything, but thought he heard a faint rustle of leaves to the right. He slowly stood and turned his back on the fire so that his eyes could adjust to the night. Still, he couldn’t see anything amiss, but old Charlie Ritter knew that something was out there, and that it was hostile. He could feel it in his bones just as surely as he had felt it as a young infantryman in the army. Those instincts had served him well in his youth, and they were warning him now.
Charlie’s camp was nestled beside a hill. At the top of the hill were the railroad tracks that bisected the city of Athens, separating the east and west sides of the city. His camp was on the west side of the tracks, situated in the thin layer of woods separating them from the buildings of the city. The trees that surrounded the camp were a mixture of old trees and young saplings. Charlie had utilized one of those saplings to form a makeshift spear. He had spent a great deal of time smoothing its surface and fire hardening the tip, which he had whittled down to a tapered sharpened point.
He had made the spear to use in spear fishing in the deeper water sections of a rocky stream beneath the railroad trestle, located two hundred yards south of his camp. Now the feel of the familiar shaft of the spear in his hand comforted him as he stood staring into the deepening darkness to his north.
Charlie stood with his mouth slightly open to improve his hearing. The flickering lights of the fire behind him, backlit the clouds of water vapor as he exhaled, and that partially obscured his vision. The old man deliberately slowed his breathing, and breathed shallower in order to prevent the air he was exhaling from becoming quite so warm. This decreased the amount of visible vapor, instantly improving his vision.
Charlie stood perfectly still, staring into the impenetrable darkness and listening carefully for a few minutes, but nothing materialized to support his feeling that he was being watched. He sniffed the air and noticed that his dinner was burning.
The aged veteran returned to his seat on the bucket. He set the butt of his spear on the ground, leaning on it as he reached for the rabbit with his left hand. However, his intuition screamed in warning and he glanced up in time to see a pale form streaking out of the darkness and leaping at him. Charlie instinctively tilted the tip of his spear forward as the animal charged. He felt a violent shudder run through the shaft of his spear as his attacker impaled itself on the makeshift weapon.
The old man stared in shocked surprise at the unusually large shorthaired white cat that had impaled itself on his spear. The tip had entered the animal’s body at the chest, passing through internal organs and emerging from its side just in front of the left hind leg. The cat died almost instantly, its ears and the tip of its tail twitching spasmodically.
The old man whipped his spear to the right, flinging the dead cat from it in the process. He would bury the animal tomorrow. The ground would be thawed enough to do so before noon. He wouldn’t eat it. Charlie had eaten a lot of things to stay alive since becoming a homeless man, but a man had to draw the line somewhere. He would never eat a dog or cat. He would starve first.
He thrust the tip of his spear into the red-hot coals of his small fire to purge it of the blood that now coated the weapon, and then he sat down to retrieve his rabbit before it burned. He remembered to pull the spear from the fire before the tip was ruined, and was reaching for his rice when he saw a dark form run up to the dead cat where it lay in the outer edge of the firelight. The newcomer, a large grey cat, dragged it away into the darkness.
In the darkness near the circle of light, the old man heard what sounded like several cats fighting. That went on for a few moments, and then it grew quiet. He carefully added more fuel to his fire, which had started to burn low, and then he sat down again to try to eat his dinner.
In the darkness beyond the circle of light, a large white cat continued to eat the cat that the man had killed. The grey cat waited submissively for the white tomcat to finish. When it had satisfied its hunger, the grey queen would eat the rest.
Twenty minutes later, the two cats moved away in search of easier prey. The man was dangerous. He had already killed one of their numbers. In addition, they didn’t like the fire, and the man was making it bigger.
By the time the old veteran finished his meager evening meal, the sense of being watched, had vanished. Still, the old man continued to build up his fire beyond its normal size. He was glad he had stockpiled a supply of wood for the bad weather days when he didn’t want to venture far from his shelter. He dipped into that stockpile that night, and when he finally went inside the makeshift shelter, he slept lightly, his spear beside him.
***
Two miles west of Athens, at the Barksdale chicken farm, three cats entered a chicken house through a door that had been left ajar by one of the family children. The cavernous building had been stocked with chicks just a few days prior to their invasion. The ravenous felines fell upon the defenseless young birds in a slaughter that lasted for over twenty minutes.
Tom Barksdale always fretted when he had a new batch of chicks. His wife, Martha, laughingly told her friends that when it came to watching over the newly hatched poultry, Tom was worse than a mother hen was. Therefore, Martha wasn’t surprised when Tom donned his coat and said, “I’m going to check on the stock. I won’t be long.”
The farmer slipped out into the frigid night air. His left knee ached as he walked toward the chicken house. He made a mental note to check the weather forecast to see if a storm was headed their way. His knee always ached when a storm was brewing.
He grew angry when he reached the door and found it ajar. He correctly suspected that one of his children had left the door unsecured when they had visited the chicks. He couldn’t seem to make his children understand just how vulnerable the young birds were to even the smallest of predators. Shaking his head in frustration, he opened the door and entered the building.
He stared at the carnage happening before his very eyes in disbelief. Three very large cats were pouncing on the chicks that were milling about in a vain effort to escape the predators. The massive cats were killing with a wild abandon, not always bothering to eat their kills. He continued to stare for another few moments, but then he rallied to the defense of his poultry.
Tom opened the door and placed a wedge under it that would hold it wide open. He grabbed a rake leaning against the wall near the door, and then he charged the cats, shouting at them as he ran. He swung the rake at one of the cats that was holding down a chick with one paw and biting its head off. The rake struck the cat a glancing blow, startling it and causing the animal to run for the open door.
One of the other cats jumped at the man, landing near his feet. Tom tried to slam the rake down on top of the animal, but he missed it by an inch. The blow did cause the animal to flee for the open door, so Tom turned his attention to the remaining cat.
That animal was eyeing Tom warily as he approached it. The feline dipped its head down, grabbing one of the chicks it had just killed. It backed away from Tom as it ate that chick. The farmer was in a bit of a quandary. He had never killed a cat, and didn’t want to start, but the animal was a threat to his livestock. Emboldened by the man’s hesitation, the cat turned and pounced on another nearby chick.
Tom was now furious at the animal. He charged it, swinging the rake at the cat’s side. The feline saw the man begin his swing and leapt onto Tom’s right leg, sinking its front claws into the sides of his thighs. Its rear claws dug in as high as the animal could reach and the cat began to make its way up Tom’s body.
The farmer was dressed for winter weather, wearing both thick pants and insulated underwear. Therefore, the claws did little damage to his leg. His unprotected left hand was another matter, so when Tom reached down to grab the cat by the back of the neck; he keenly felt the animal’s claws as they sank into his hand and wrist.
Tom dropped his rake, which was useless to him in his current predicament. He staggered toward the door with the cat dangling from his hand. He was planning to get the cat outside before he dislodged it. The farmer was almost to the threshold when the animal began to struggle violently in an attempt to dislodge its claws. The fierce struggles of the feline dug deep furrows in Tom’s hand and wrist.
The man bellowed in pain and anger. Balling up his free hand into a fist, he struck the cat a hard blow, further shredding his hand, but dislodging the vicious feline.
The big cat landed on the ground, momentarily stunned. It shook its head and turned to glare at the man, but then it darted out the nearby door.
Tom grabbed his wrist to stem the flow of blood. Turning to the door, he kicked the wedge aside and hurried out. The door closed behind him and he began to run for his house. He was almost to the door when the same cat he had just fought caught up with him and renewed its attack. He felt something slam into him from behind and begin clawing its way up his back.
Tom did the first thing that came to mind. He took off his coat and tossed it aside, cat and all. He fumbled with the doorknob, praying that he hadn’t locked the door as he sometimes did. A moment later, he was inside his kitchen, shouting for Martha.
***
Patricia watched the evening news looking for anything that could be related to the release of the Alcorn specimens, but there was nothing that stood out. The biggest news of the day was the tragic death of Johnny Miller, a seventeen-year-old male, who had died in an auto accident on his way home from a hunting trip.
She had just turned off her television set when a knock sounded at her door. “Who is it?” Patricia asked as she approached the door.
“It’s me, Jennifer. I need to talk to you!” Jennifer exclaimed.
Patricia unlocked and opened the door. “I’m surprised to see you here. Aren’t you afraid Alcorn will find out and terminate you?” she asked as she stood aside and let her former assistant come in out of the cold.
“Have you seen the news?” asked Jennifer.
“I just watched it, why?”
“The Johnny Miller accident, did you see that?”
“Yes, I did. Did you know the young man?” asked Patricia.
“Not well, but yes, I’ve met him. He was dating my cousin. I have to get to her in a few minutes, but I wanted you to know. The news reports aren’t telling everything. A cat attacked Johnny in his car. They are thinking he was fighting off an attacker when he hit the tree. The sheriff’s deputies think it was a bobcat. His body was all mangled and partially eaten. Out of respect for the feelings of the family, they are keeping that out of the news.”
“We should go to the police with the truth,” Patricia stated.
“I can’t do that,” Jennifer said, shaking her head adamantly.
“If you’re afraid Alcorn will fire you…”
“That’s not the reason,” Jennifer stated. “My God, Patricia. It’s my cousin’s boyfriend!” She sighed and added, “Look, we don’t know it wasn’t a bobcat, and I’m not about to waltz up to the police and say, ‘Pardon me, but the cats I’ve been working with were released and they killed Johnny.’” Shaking her head again, she added, “My cousin would never forgive me. She wanted to marry that young man.”
“I understand that, but we have to tell the truth. If we don’t, then we’ll be complicit in any further deaths,” Patricia pointed out.
“How? Aren’t you forgetting that the police investigated the release of the cats? It’s already been reported to the authorities.”
“Yes, but were they informed that the cats could, and probably would, turn violent?” asked Patricia.
“I’m sorry. I can’t take that risk. I have to go check on my cousin. I was told the doctor had to sedate her because she was so hysterical.” Jennifer paused and eyed her former boss. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s possible the animals are attacking people. You watch yourself. I know you like to run daily. Cats view runners as prey.”
“You mean you haven’t heard about what happened to me last night?” asked Patricia.
Shaking her head in the negative, Jennifer glanced at her watch, as she responded, “No, I haven’t. What happened?”
“I was running when one of the cats attacked a dog that came out in the street to chase me,” she explained. She now had Jennifer’s complete attention. She explained the encounter and showed her a picture of the cat.
“That’s the big white tomcat that we had in the study,” Jennifer stated. “Where did you say this picture was taken?”
“A couple of blocks from here,” Patricia responded.
“You do know they are territorial. They’ll mark out a territory and begin hunting in that region, so if he’s been spotted near here, then he’ll probably be back.”
“Yes, that’s true, and the same holds true for the area where the Miller boy was killed,” acknowledged Patricia.
“I’ve really got to go. My family is expecting me, but I want you to promise me that you won’t go running for a few days. We didn’t test the cats off the food long enough to see if the violently aggressive behavior would stop after a few days, so we’re dealing with a lot of unknown factors here.”
“I hope that proves to be the case. I suppose we’ll know soon, but we do know that we took them off the food for three days and the behavior seemed to get worse daily,” Patricia pointed out.
“Maybe it’s like withdrawal and the symptoms hit a high spot, and then they gradually taper off over a period of time,” Jennifer speculated.
Nodding her head, Patricia replied, “Let’s hope that proves to be the case, because other hunters could stumble into them, if indeed it was our animals that attacked Johnny Miller.”
Jennifer was on her way out the door when Patricia thought to ask her about George. She said, “I hear George didn’t show up for work today. Do you think he had anything to do with the release of the cats?”
“I have no idea, but it’s not like him not to call in, and the company hasn’t heard from him. Oh, by the way, Fred quit today,” she added.
“Why?” Patricia asked curiously.
“Talbot. The man was being an ass. He seemed to want to blame you for the release.”
“That’s stupid. I’d oppose their release as an insane risk!” protested Patricia.
“I told Talbot as much. But he apparently leaned too hard on Fred, and he told Talbot to shove the job up his ass. I wish I could’ve seen his face!” Jennifer said smiling.
“Gotta run, boss. You be careful,” she said as she left.
“Keep your windows up on your car!” Patricia shouted as Jennifer walked briskly toward her Toyota.
“It must be thirty degrees out here. I’m not likely to leave the windows down,” Jennifer cracked as she got into her car.
Patricia put on her coat and left to go to the Sheriff’s Department. She felt a moral obligation to report what she knew to law enforcement.
The She
riff wasn’t in his office, so Patricia was interviewed by Deputy Cook who took her statement and asked several questions, noting her responses on a piece of paper. Then the deputy laid down his pen and said, “Miss Reese, we were informed that you’d probably show up at some point today. The Alcorn company president says you have a beef with the company and are in fact a disgruntled former employee. Frankly, that calls into question your motives for telling us what you’ve just said.”
Patricia had to hand it to Talbot. It seemed he had thought of everything, including discrediting her in the eyes of law enforcement, before she had even been interviewed. Sighing, she said, “It’s true. I was fired, but I’m not making this up.” She then showed him the photograph she had made of the injured dog, the cat tracks, and the cat in the street.
The deputy examined the evidence, asking for her permission to download the photos to his computer. He assured Patricia that he would see to it that the Sheriff saw the evidence and read the report, but as she was leaving, Patricia heard the female officer at the desk ask, “Do we have some leads on the Miller case?”
“I doubt it. She seems to me to be a disgruntled former employee trying to blame everything that goes wrong on Alcorn. Nevertheless, see to it that the Sheriff is made aware of her statement. There are some pictures in a temporary file on my computer. I emailed them to the Sheriff. See to it he sees them. I’m going out on patrol.”
