Cat's Cradle Page 10

“That crime scene crap is unconstitutional, Sheriff,” Mille retorted. “It’s a free country, regardless of what you and the rest of your SS buddies would like to make it.”

  “That ’crime scene crap,’ Ms. Smith is not unconstitutional. Ms. Smith, don’t you realize your life is in danger here?” Other deputies pulled up. Dan told them to cordon off the neighborhood. He turned to leave just as Mille snapped two more shots.

  Susan ran up and stopped short at the sight of Mille. “How in the hell did you get past me?”

  “Easy, you sow. That is what they call female pigs, isn’t it?”

  Dan said, “Susan, take Ms. Smith’s camera and expose the film. Find out the cost of a fresh roll and reimburse the . . . lady. Do that after you escort Ms. Smith to the civilian side of the ropes.”

  Susan reached for the camera and Mille jerked away.

  “I’ll sue you, I swear!”

  Susan drew her baton.

  “I’ve been hit by bigger pigs than you,” Mille said.

  “Probably,” Susan said. “But I’ll bet you haven’t been hit any harder.”

  Mille looked into the openly hostile eyes of Susan. With a sigh of resignation, she snapped open her camera and exposed the film.

  “Take the film,” Dan ordered. “And please escort Ms. Smith out of this area.”

  Mille gone, Taylor said, “That’s iffy, Dan. Real iffy. She just might have a case against you.”

  “Mille is the very least of my worries at this point,” Dan said.

  A shout of panic and shock filled the air, followed by a shotgun blast.

  “Hold your fire,” Dan shouted, as the men ran around the side of the house. “Sheriff’s department!”

  “Hold my fire, hell!” a man yelled. “You get that thing outta my back yard.”

  The lawmen slid to a halt at the citizen’s back porch. He held a double-barrel shotgun in his hands. Fear in his eyes.

  “What was it?” Dan asked.

  “Jesus Christ, Sheriff. I don’t know. I never seen anything like it. It looked like ... don’t laugh. It looked like a mummy! He ran into my old workshop over there. He’s still in there,” the man added grimly. “Some kind of green stinking stuff is leaking out of him. It. Whatever.”

  “Did you hit it?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes, sir. But this is light bird shot. I didn’t do it much damage. Hell, I didn’t even slow it up.”

  “Is there a back door to that shed?” Dan asked.

  “No, sir. Not even a window in the back. Window on each side and that one you see right there in front. That’s all.”

  “All right. Thanks for your help. Go back inside and stay low.”

  “Yes, sir, Sheriff. I’m gone.”

  The citizen back inside the house, Taylor said, “How in the hell do you order a ... mummy to come out with his, its, hands up?”

  Chuck and Herman joined the tight knot of lawmen, both of them armed with riot guns.

  “You got some trouble out front of the house, Dan,” Chuck said.

  Dan looked at him. “Man, I got some trouble back here!”

  Chuck shook his head. “That Smith female took a swing at Susan. Susan knocked her down. I mean, knocked her flat on her butt.”

  “With her baton?”

  “No. With her fist. Those two women just don’t appear to be real fond of one another.”

  Suddenly a savage roaring came from inside the small shed. Taylor and Langway lifted their pistols. The others lifted their twelve gauge shotguns. The door of the shed shattered, pieces of wood flying about the back yard. A terrible odor drifted to the men. The mummy, aka Al the engineer, stepped out into the sunlight. Green slime leaked from its wounds. It held out its arms and roared at the men. Then it charged, holding the young cop’s bloody head in one hand.

  “Fire!” Dan shouted.

  * * *

  Anya and Pet had taken refuge in some sort of two story garage/storage building near a large brick home about three miles outside of Valentine. The place was filled with boxes and crates. The pair had eaten again, and eaten well. They would need no further nourishment for days. They were bloated with human flesh and blood. They had covered their tracks well, being careful not to disturb the dust and cobwebs of the second floor of the building. They knew from past experience that dogs could not track them, for they could change their scent, confusing the animals. Anya had changed clothes and dropped them in a hole in the ground, miles from their present location.

  Anya and pet carefully picked their way over the boxes and crates until they reached the end of the huge building. There, feeling safe, they rested. And waited for the rebirth.

  * * *

  Mickey panted and grunted as he violated the girl. He had used his fists to hammer Denise into submission. He had plans for her when the rape was concluded. Bloody plans. Mickey’s head was filled with all sorts of confusing ancient visions and instructions in a language he was now able to understand.

  His leg was beginning to rot, but he paid no attention to the smell.

  * * *

  . 357 magnums and 12 gauge shotguns roared, the lead tearing great holes in the creature. They fired again and again, but the creature kept on coming, howling and staggering across the yard, leaking stinking slime from its many wounds. Captain Taylor took careful aim and shot the creature directly between the eyes, slamming the head back. The mummy-man fell to the earth and died. Again.

  Green slime poured from the wounds, the stench of the thick, hideous-smelling fluid almost making the men sick to their stomachs.

  “I am not believing this,” Taylor said, reloading swiftly. “I am going to wake up and find it’s all a bad dream. Everytime I fix a peanut butter, pickle, mayonnaise, and onion sandwich, on rye, I get nightmares.”

  “Yukk!” Langway said.

  “Double yukk!” Chuck said.

  Captain Taylor looked hurt.

  Doctors Ramsey and Harrison stepped through the gunsmoke, gloved and masked medics with them. Dan looked at the medics. He did not recognize any of them. He put out an arm, halting them.

  “I want pictures first,” Dan said. “Do it, Chuck.”

  Chuck nodded and ran to his car.

  “It’s beautiful,” Quinn whispered. “It’s just awe-inspiring.”

  The lawmen wondered, at the time, what in the hell the doctor was talking about. But before they could ask, Chuck was back with his camera. Quinn held up a hand in a warning gesture.

  “Better let one of the medics do it, Dan. For safety’s sake.”

  Dan nodded and the medics moved up to the body, taking pictures as Dan called out what angle he wanted.

  Another medic whom Dan did not recognize moved up to Quinn’s side and whispered to the man. Quinn smiled behind his mask. Dan could see the man’s eyes change.

  “Are you sure?” Dan heard Quinn said.

  “Yes, sir. The arm has begun growing and has showed no sign of rejection for more than an hour.”

  Dan pretended to be giving all his attention to the medics with the camera. He heard Quinn say, “The new growth. What is it?”

  “It appears to be similar to a fetus, sir.”

  12

  Dan waited for Quinn to tell him about the severed arm’s so-called ability to reproduce life. Quinn said nothing about it. The stinking carcass of what had once been a living human being was covered and loaded into an ambulance. Dan did not think to check his camera when the unfamiliar medic returned it to him.

  But for now, there was nothing the lawmen could do about the news. Ruger County was, within the hour, filling with more reporters. The major TV networks were represented, with everybody jockeying for position.

  Thoroughly irritated, not fully knowing what was going on, Dan finally passed the buck, dropping it into the laps of the medical people.

  “I’m a cop,” Dan told the reporters. “My job is law enforcement, not medicine or science. You want answers to those questions, talk to the doctors.”

  “Don’t sc
rew it up,” Dan told Quinn. “We’re sitting right on top of a general panic right now.”

  Dan thought the doctor’s smile was a bit strange, touched with a mysterious quality.

  But what the hell would he be covering up? And more importantly, why?

  But the doctors, none of them, had any intention of screwing anything up. The medical people had plans of their own, and they did not include Dan. The doctors put on their best cool professional faces and met the press head on.

  And lied.

  Dan had one of Captain Taylor’s plain clothes troopers tape record the press conference for him. He turned it off halfway through. He was disgusted. The doctors, all of them, especially Quinn, were lying. According to them, Al had contracted some strange illness while working in South America. Something closely akin to Hansen’s Disease. No, they couldn’t explain it. It was hideous though. Produced some sort of mummy-looking effect upon the skin. Terrible thing. Certainly was. No, Mrs. Ramsey and Mrs. Harrison were being treated for shock. Better leave them alone. They’ve had a terrible time of it.

  “Yeah, sure,” Dan said. He clicked the recorder off.

  He went home late that afternoon. He could not recall ever being so tired, so drained, so mentally exhausted.

  What pissed Dan off more than anything was the wild tale Quinn told about Al being the one who attacked Chief Hardy and Mrs. Milford. And that goddamn Dodge backed him up on it.

  Dan took a long hot shower, tossing his stinking clothes in the hamper, and fixed a sandwich and a glass of milk. He fell asleep in his chair before he got halfway through eating the sandwich. Evonne spread a light blanket over him, and went on to bed, letting her husband sleep. He finally came to bed about ten o’clock.

  At midnight, the phone rang. Dan jarred awake and answered it.

  “Sheriff? Chuck. Sorry to wake you. I know you were asleep. So was I. We got more problems. Denise Moore is missing and so is Mickey Reynolds. And something funny is going on.”

  “Funny like ha-ha? I sure could use a good laugh.”

  “No. Funny like in weird. Odd. A half dozen big tractor trailer rigs have pulled in. Real secret like. Bowie reported it to me. Power crews been working out at that old truck terminal north of town, and that’s where the rigs are tucking themselves in. They’re painted like they might be military rigs. But they look like some sort of mobile labs to me, Dan. You know what I mean; you’ve seen them. I went out there. They got armed guards around the place and won’t let me in.”

  Dan’s temper flared, hitting the boiling point, then bubbling over. “Well, goddamnit, they’ll let me in. Is Captain Taylor and Dodge still in town?”

  “Oh, yeah, Dan. Dodge is part of it.”

  It began to jell in Dan’s mind. “Federal, huh? Okay. It’s beginning to clear up for me. How about Captain Taylor?”

  “Out at the motel. So is Langway.”

  “How about the reporters?”

  “Most of them gone. They seemed satisfied with the press conference.”

  “Yeah. I just bet Quinn and Dodge put on quite a show. Get Taylor and Langway. Meet me here at the house as soon as possible.”

  “Rolling.” Chuck hung up.

  Dan felt eyes on him. Vonne lay wide awake, looking at him. “What is it, Dan?”

  “I really don’t know, Vonne. But whatever it is, I get the feeling it stinks.”

  “You’re leaving in the middle of the night?”

  “Yes. Go on back to sleep. I don’t know how late I’ll be.”

  * * *

  Taylor and Langway rode together out to the old terminal. Chuck rode with Dan. “Bring me up to date on Mickey and Denise,” Dan said.

  “Mr. Moore called the office about seven o’clock. His daughter hadn’t come home.”

  “Why in the hell did he wait until seven o’clock at night to report it? I’m not snapping at you, Chuck. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I feel the same way about it. I don’t spy on my kids, but I have a pretty good idea where they are most of the time. Rich folks just don’t do things like ordinary people. I never have understood them. I don’t know. About ten minutes after Moore called, Mrs. Reynolds called. Her husband was missing. Herman and Bowie checked it out. No one at the high school. No vehicles, nothing. Place is all locked up and dark. Mickey is a grown man and Denise is eighteen. Adults. You know there isn’t much we can do this soon. Moore is yelling about how he’ll have our jobs and all that crap. You know the drill.”

  “Moore can’t do jack-shit. All right. All we can do is follow procedure. Chuck, I just remembered something about that terminal.”

  “Yeah. And I know what it is. When that company filed for bankruptcy, there was a bunch of federal things involved. Something about payroll taxes and income taxes and SBA loans. The government seized it all. It’s federal property, now. ’Bout two hundred and fifty acres of land, plus the buildings.”

  “Damnit!” Dan said, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. He pulled over at a crossroads.

  “I know the feeling,” Chuck said. “Sometimes I wish I’d gone into farming instead of police work. Too late, now. Been a cop since I got out of the Army. Hell, I was cop in there, too.”

  Taylor and Langway pulled in behind Dan’s car. The men got out, shadowy figures moving about in the dust and the glare of the headlights.

  Dan explained the situation

  Taylor sighed in frustration. “You thinking like I’m thinking, Dan? This is a coverup?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

  “But what the hell are they covering up?” Langway asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dan said. “Exactly.”

  Taylor said, “Well, if the Feds are involved and they don’t want to let us on that property, they damn sure don’t have to. But by God, I sure would like to know what’s going on.”

  A low slung sports car drove slowly by. All the men knew who it was.

  Mille Smith.

  She blinked her lights and honked the horn, driving on past.

  “Doesn’t that female ever sleep?” Taylor asked.

  “Do vampires need sleep?” Chuck asked.

  The men laughed at that and stood for a moment, until Mille’s lights had faded, driving on past the turnoff to the terminal. The cops continued on, turning off the main highway on another road, staying with that for just over a mile to the old terminal. They came to a halt at the closed and locked gates. Signs had been added to the gates.

  FEDERAL PROPERTY-POSITIVELY NO ADMITTANCE—ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

  Another sign, a larger one, read: WARNING—ARMED GUARDS AND TRAINED ATTACK DOGS PATROL THIS AREA. DO NOT ENTER.

  “Bastards move quickly when they want to, don’t they?” Langway asked.

  “Yeah,” Dan said. “You got both noun and adverb right.” He reached up and rattled the chained gates.

  “Back off,” a low voice warned, coming out of the darkness.

  “This is Ruger County Sheriff Dan Garrett! Goddamn you, don’t tell me what to do in this county. Get your ass out here so I can see you.”

  “Easy, Dan.” They all recognized the voice of agent Dodge. “This is all the way out of your hands. Don’t push it.”

  “Get out here where I can see you, Dodge. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  Dodge appeared out of the purple night, another man with him. The second man shoved a small leather ID case through the gates.

  Dan opened the case and Chuck put his flashlight on the two-fold. The man’s picture was there, sealed in plastic, and beside the official seal of the United States Government read: FEDERAL OFFICE OF SPECIAL STUDIES.

  Dan said, “I never heard of the Office of Special Studies.”

  The man smiled. “Would you like to see one that reads Treasury Department:? Or how about Justice or I.C.C. or Secret Service? Just ask, Sheriff. I can produce it.”

  “I just bet you can, too,” Dan said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

  “How ab
out CIA?” Captain Taylor asked. “Wouldn’t that be closer to the truth?”

  “Now, now, Captain Taylor,” the man said. Taylor was not surprised to learn the man knew his name. The man chuckled. “You know the Agency is not allowed to operate within the continental limits of the United States.”

  Taylor’s returning chuckle held little humor.

  “Go on back home, boys,” Dodge said. “It’s completely out of your hands. Besides, I understand in addition to all your other troubles, you’ve got some new disappearances to contend with.”

  “My, word gets around quickly,” Dan said. “What’s going on in there, Dodge?”

  “You just do not have a need to know, Sheriff. And if you repeat that, you just might find yourself in a whole lot of trouble.”

  “Now, please leave,” the OSS man said.

  “Is this America or Russia?” Chuck asked.

  But agent Dodge and the man from the Office of Special Studies had melted back into the night.

  “Now what?” Chuck asked.

  “Will you call the governor, Captain?” Dan asked. “Maybe he can shed some light on this.”

  “At first light,” the trooper said grimly. “I do not like this one damn little bit.”

  The cops spun around as men appeared behind them, boots crunching on the pea gravel of the driveway. The men were dressed in military field clothes, but wore no insignia of any kind. They carried M-16s.

  “You gentlemen are advised to leave this area, now,” one of the men spoke. His voice was very flat-sounding. “We are closing the road leading from the highway to this facility.”

  “And if we don’t choose to do so?” Dan asked.

  “Oh, you will leave, Sheriff. One way or the other. The choice is yours.”

  “I’ll tell you one goddamn thing, buddy,” Captain Taylor said, his voice low and menacing. “You people might have the authority to keep me out of there”—he pointed toward the dark outline of the terminal—“but when you put your asses on the highway system in this state, they belong to me. And you can read into that any goddamn thing you like.”

  “Are you quite through, Captain?” the nameless man asked.

  “For the moment,” Taylor replied.