Cat's Cradle Read online

  “Dan?” Nick whispered, his hand feebly reaching for the man. Life was nearly gone.

  “I’m here, Chief. Hang on.”

  “Don’t con me, young fellow.” Nick whispered. “I’m done and you know it. It was something out of hell, Dan. Its eyes were yellow and slanted. Like a cat. Dark and wrinkled, like a mummy. Body all covered with hair. It ate old lady Milford and then turned on me.”

  “Ate her!”

  But Nick would never speak again. Not in this world. His eyes rolled back in his head and he stiffened in Dan’s arms, then relaxed, free of the pain and the woes of this life.

  Dan thought: Eyes yellow and slanted like a cat? Face like a mummy?

  What in God’s name was it?

  A crashing noise came from beyond the northernmost house. Garbage cans turning over.

  A hissing, howling sound reached Dan, the sound heavy and ominous. His skin prickled with chill bumps. Nothing human made that sound. The inhuman sound was followed by a rustling, scratching, scraping noise. Dan listened. It was coming from the weed-filled empty field that bordered the block on the edge of town.

  “It’s heading for the field!” Dan yelled. “Fire into the field. Open fire!”

  Gunfire ripped the night as shotguns and pistols poured lead into the vacant field. But Dan knew the odds of them hitting anything other than air was slim.

  “Chuck!” Dan yelled. “Get on the horn. Call Sergeant Langway. Get as many troopers in here as possible. Go!” He caught his breath, then yelled, “Stay out of that field. Nobody goes into that field. Susan! Get every deputy out here, on that dirt road behind the field. Cars pointed toward the field, headlights on high. Move!”

  But Dan knew as swiftly as that . . . thing could move, it would be long gone before his people were in position.

  He went in search of what might be left of Mrs. Milford. He found very little left.

  * * *

  Red dawn found the town of Valentine swarming with heavily armed police. And a lot of confused and frightened citizens.

  And reporters.

  “I don’t give a good godddamn what you like or dislike!” Dan told the superintendent of schools and the principal of the high school. “I said the schools are closed until I say reopen them. Is that clear?”

  “I don’t take orders from you!” Mickey Reynolds, the principal of the high school said.

  “The hell you don’t!” Dan informed him.

  Mickey grabbed Dan’s arm as the sheriff turned to leave and spun him around.

  Mickey felt cold sweat pop out on his body as he looked into the flat, emotionless eyes of the sheriff. Dan said, his voice very low, “You have five seconds to get your goddamned hands off me or I’ll lock you up so far back in the jail somebody will have to pump sunlight to you.”

  Mickey removed his hand. Quickly. “You can’t keep me from going to my office.”

  “Be my guest, Mr Reynolds,” Dan said. He walked away.

  “Monster!” Mickey snorted, but not loud enough for Dan to hear. “Monsters, indeed. How ridiculous!” He walked to his car and drove away, toward the school.

  The superintendent of public schools knew there was bad blood between Dan and Mickey. Had been ever since high school. But Dan Garrett was right in this matter. The safety of the children came first.

  * * *

  The creature, AKA Eddie Brown, was so bloated it knew it must find some sort of shelter to sleep and digest its heavy meal.

  It was not confused, disoriented, or frightened. It knew, without knowing how it knew, where it was and how to get about. It headed for a cluster of buildings. Back when it was ... well, back in some other . . . life, it supposed, the rotted brain unable to form the thoughts, it used to hide in the darkness of the buildings. But which one. Then it came to the creature.

  It slipped in through an unlocked basement window and settled down among the boxes and crates and other dusty and long-forgotten materials. It snuggled up against several old wine bottles. The bottles were familiar to the creature. Somehow.

  It rested in the basement of the Valentine High School.

  9

  “It’s all wide open now, Dan,” Captain Taylor said. “The lid’s blown off the pot.”

  “And the press is gathering,” Chuck said glumly. “But I ain’t seen that goddamn libber yet,” he added. Women’s lib turned Chuck off. Completely. He saw pictures of the famous, or infamous, march in New York City years back. When he saw some of the women waving their bras, he almost swallowed his bridgework.

  “You will,” Taylor said. He looked at Dan. “She’s out to get you, Dan.”

  “I know it,” Dan admitted. “And she’ll probably succeed in doing it, too.”

  Odd thing for him to say, Taylor thought. He had just arrived from Division and had not yet seen the mangled and half eaten bodies. He was not buying Dan’s story about the creature.

  “A monster, Dan?” Taylor asked.

  “Yes,” Dan stuck to it. “I saw it and so did Susan. We both fired at it. I don’t know what it was. I know only that I have never seen anything like it. Not in my worst nightmares. But is it connected with the initial murders?”

  Captain Taylor shook his head. He ventured nothing.

  Sergeant Langway walked up. “Captain. We got a lot of good footprints. The thing was barefooted. From the depths of the depressions, it weighs about two hundred pounds. It scraped itself on several bushes, for we found lots of long dark hair. They do not appear to be human.”

  “Yeah,” Dan said. “It was covered with long hair. Had slanty yellow eyes. Like a cat.”

  Taylor looked as though he would have liked to toss a net over Dan Garrett. “The light was very bad in there, Dan.”

  “Not that bad. I know what I saw.”

  “And we found some . . . deposits,” Langway said. “The medics from the hospital have them for analysis.”

  “Deposits?” Taylor said. “Excrement?”

  “No, sir. More like drool.”

  “It was about six feet tall,” Dan said. “The trousers were ragged, with a leather belt.”

  “Six feet tall, two hundred pounds,” Taylor said. “Covered with long hair. Ragged pants and a leather belt. Cat’s eyes.” He shook his head. “Computer’s gonna blow a fuse when we put this in it.”

  Dan’s eyes were on the hills around the town. He thought: a scratch from whatever it was they had been, or were, chasing, could change a human being into a mummy. But could it make other changes in the human system? Maybe. And maybe he was really reaching on this. Whatever. It was worth a shot. Dan pointed with his finger.

  “Eddie Brown’s cabin is right up there. You can almost see it from here. Our people followed the trail we assumed Eddie made when running from those who attacked him. You with me, Captain?”

  “Yeah, so far. But I don’t know what it is you’re driving at.”

  “Bear with me, Captain. It’s wild.”

  “Any wilder than a six foot tall, two hundred pound hairy human being with cat’s eyes who eats people?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, that’s dandy. Please proceed.” The captain’s tone was very dry. Like a desert.

  “First I want to find out where that creature crossed the highway,” Dan said.

  “If it crossed the highway,” Taylor qualified that.

  “It crossed the highway,” Langway said.

  Taylor cut his eyes. He wondered if it was time for his sergeant to take a vacation. A nice long rest. “And just how did you arrive at that conclusion, Sergeant?”

  “Well, sir, the footprints were very erratic. So unless it staggered and stumbled right down the center of town, it had to have crossed the road.”

  “Uh-huh,” Taylor said. That’s what Langway needed all right. A rest. “Very well, Sergeant. I’ll accept your ... hypothesis. For the moment. Go on, Dan.”

  “When we find where the . . . thing crossed the road, I want the road closed until we can search the blacktop on both sides. Ca
refully.”

  “What are we looking for, Dan?” Taylor asked. Other than a padded room and rubber dollies for both of you. And no sharp instruments either.

  “I don’t know,” Dan said, hedging that. He knew, but he also knew the captain thought him a basket case. So he’d play it close to the vest for now. For if he told Taylor what was really on his mind, the man might very well go whooping and hollering and running up the road, screaming for a net. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  “Sheriff Garrett!” A reporter called from the crowd. “When do we get some kind of official statement from you, sir?”

  Dan looked at Captain Taylor. “Will you handle the closing of the road?”

  “All right, Dan. I’ll . . .” He started to say: Humor you. “I’ll handle it.” He glanced at Langway. Come to think of it, the sergeant’s eyes did look a little weird. “Close it off, Scott. Find out where your ... monster crossed, and start combing the area.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dan, with Taylor by his side, walked to the knot of reporters. He looked for Mille Smith. Ms. She was not there. Yet.

  Dan waved the crowd silent. He was conscious, and self-conscious of the several mini-cams pointed at him. He cleared his throat and said, “The chief of police of Valentine, Nick Hardy, and a neighbor, Mrs. Gladys Milford, were murdered last night. Chief Hardy had gone to investigate a prowler call from Mrs. Milford. This area, as you are all well aware of, is now cordoned off by Virginia State Troopers, Ruger Country deputies, and several platoons of the local National Guard. We don’t know how many people were involved in the recent killings, or whether they have any connection with the earlier murders, which are still under investigation. Just as soon as we know more, we’ll let you know. Thank you.”

  Ignoring the shouted questions, Dan and Captain Taylor turned and walked away. Agent Dodge of the FBI fell in step with the men. He had just arrived at the confusion.

  “You’re learning, Dan,” Dodge said. “Keep it brief and then walk away—quickly.”

  “Here in Ruger, I just haven’t had much practice with the press,” Dan admitted.

  “You forgot your Bureau training so soon?” Dodge kidded him.

  “Working undercover as I did for those years, I really didn’t have much chance to put it into practice.”

  “That’s right,” Dodge said. “I forgot. You were with that . . . team, weren’t you? Tell me about the murders. The latest ones.”

  Dan brought the man up to date. Then, with a grim smile, he said to Captain Taylor, “You haven’t seen the bodies, yet, have you, Captain?”

  “Eh? No. No, I haven’t.”

  “Why don’t you and Dodge see the bodies and then I’ll meet you at the search site?” Dan suggested.

  “Good idea,” the FBI man said. “See you there, Dan. Oh, by the way. What are you boys looking for up at the road?”

  With a straight face, Taylor said, “A two hundred pound, six foot tall, hairy creature with cat’s eyes that eats people.”

  The FBI agent was still sputtering and stuttering as Dan got in his car.

  * * *

  “You asshole!” Captain Taylor said, when he joined Dan at the search point. “You might have warned me. I’ve known Nick for twenty years.”

  “I thought it best to shock you with the truth. Remember that old line about seeing is believing?”

  Taylor took several deep breaths. He slowly nodded his head. “All right, Dan. Sorry I lost my temper. Sorry I made fun of you and Langway. Accepted?”

  “Sure. We’re all in this together. Let’s go to work.”

  “Found something over here, Sheriff,” a deputy called.

  Dan looked at the small pin. It had been run over a couple of times, but the wording was still readable. He really didn’t want to look on the back for initials. He was afraid his theory might turn into fact.

  “What is it, Dan?” Taylor asked.

  “A church pin. A ten year pin.”

  “That mean anything to you?” Dodge asked.

  “Only if there are initials on the back,” Dan said slowly.

  Chuck took the pin from Dan’s hand and turned it over. “E.B.,” he said. He lifted his eyes, meeting Dan’s eyes. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin,’ Dan?”

  “Yeah,” Dan said, almost reluctantly. The pin really didn’t prove anything; but it did drive another nail in support of his theory.

  “E.B.?” Taylor said, taking the pin and looking at it. “What? ...” He cut it short and looked at Dan. “E.B. Eddie Brown. Now you just slow down, Dan. Whoa! Now I can only take so much of this before it begins to boggle the mind. You don’t think . . . You can’t mean . . . You’re not implying? ... Oh, hell, no! No way, Dan!”

  Dan shifted his eyes, looking at the FBI man. There was something . . . curious in the Bureau man’s eyes. Something Dan couldn’t pinpoint. What was he doing back here? These murders didn’t fall under federal jurisdiction. And Dodge had not returned alone. He had brought a half dozen other men with him. Suddenly Dan just didn’t trust Dodge. And for no good reason he could firm up in his mind.

  “Are you holding back from me, Dan?” Captain Taylor persisted.

  “In a way, Captain,” Dan admitted. “You see, I spoke with the medical people over at the hospital this morning. I guess while you and Dodge were over there seeing what was left of Hardy and Milford, Goodson didn’t show either of you the severed arm from the engineer, did he?”

  Dan stole a quick glance at Dodge. The man’s eyes were hooded.

  “Well, no,” Taylor said. “At least not to me. But we separated for a few minutes.” He indicated Dodge. “He went with Doctor Ramsey. What about the arm?”

  “It’s growing,” Dan said.

  “What?” Taylor seemed stunned. “Bullshit, Dan. Dead, severed arms don’t grow! Do they?” he asked in a near whisper.

  “The engineer’s arm is growing. It went from a dead, lifeless object, to a living thing. It’s alive.”

  Taylor rubbed his face. He swallowed hard. To hell with Dan and Scott—he needed a rest. “What is the arm growing, Dan?”

  Dodge’s face was emotionless. He knew all about the arm.

  Dan said, “The doctors tell me they don’t know. It keeps growing . . . well, matter, I guess you’d call it, and then rejecting it. Goodson said it appears to be seeking some specific form that it is, as yet, unable to produce. And something else: Jimmy’s blood type is O positive. The doctors haven’t, as yet, been able to type the new blood from the severed arm. It’s not even the same color.”

  “What the hell color is it?” Taylor asked.

  “It has a greenish tint to the red.”

  “But the arm is human!” Taylor said.

  “Not any more,” Dan said. “Goodson says he doesn’t know what it is.”

  Captain Taylor looked at Dodge. The FBI man had nothing to say. He turned back to Dan. “Why do I get the feeling you have yet another shoe to drop?”

  “Chuck just brought the word to me about the dead engineer, Al.”

  “What about him? I thought he was a mummy.”

  “He is. He’s also gone.”

  10

  Mickey Reynolds unlocked the door to his office and stepped in. He leaned against the door jamb for a moment. He didn’t like it when the kids weren’t here. Place was just too quiet. Unnaturally so. The building seemed dead without the kids. Mickey liked kids. Always had. And he was a good administrator, tried hard to be a Christian and a law-abiding man.

  He just didn’t like Dan Garrett.

  Never had.

  They were the same age; went to school together, first grade all the way through the university. Different majors. It was just that Mickey had been in love with Evonne since the first grade. And then that damn Dan Garrett comes along and shoots him out of the saddle.

  He sat down in his chair, behind his desk. He smiled, and then laughed, leaning back in his chair. No, he thought, that just isn’t true. He never was in the saddle. And, he s
ighed, Dan was right in closing the schools. Don’t blame the sheriff for something that isn’t his fault. Love or life.

  Mickey closed his eyes and indulged in a few moments of reminiscing, recalling the old days. Class of ’57. God! where has the time gone?

  He opened his eyes and swiveled in his chair, looking around at the shelf behind him for his old yearbooks. He had forgotten what they all looked like back in high school. So long ago. Then he remembered that when his office had been renovated, four or five years back, the workmen had moved all the albums and took them down to the basement. Mickey wondered if anyone had cleaned up all those wine bottles he’d seen down there? Probably not. Nobody ever went into the basement.

  “Well,” Mickey said aloud, getting out of his chair. “Nothing else to do today. Might as well lose myself in nostalgia.”

  He walked out of his office and toward the stairs that led to the basement. He removed a ring of keys from his pocket.

  * * *

  “And ladies,” Alice Ramsey said to the monthly gathering of the local chapter of the Daughters of the Confederacy. She was winding the meeting up, or down, depending entirely on one’s point of view. “Remember, next month Mrs. Grace Grillingham from the Sixty-nine Club of Richmond will be here. Right here in this home. And I know none of you want to miss that!” She gushed the last. Alice was one hell of a good gusher.

  The ladies applauded.

  The Richmond 69 Club is, supposedly, comprised of descendants from the original first 69 families to settle in Virginia.

  Naturally, Alice belonged.

  Dan, one evening while he and Vonne were visiting at Quinn’s home, looked at the hundreds of applications from people wishing to join the 69 Club. He told Quinn, “I don’t see how the men ever got the time to put a crop in. With all these descendants, they must have been screwing morning, noon, and night.”

  Alice had overheard the remark. She didn’t speak to Dan for a year.

  Emily Harrison, wife of Doctor Harrison, was a marginal member of the Daughters of the Confederacy. It was a little dubious as to just exactly which side her great grandpappy fought on. He was found hanging by his neck from a tree limb on the side of the road. The top half of the body was dressed in Union blue, the bottom half wearing the Rebel gray. But the DOC gave Emily the benefit of the doubt and let her in anyway. Doctor’s wife, you know?