Cat People (23 page)

Oliver hesitated, then he said, "I suppose I'd better." He picked up the rifle and walked out with Alice. Sergeant Brant got into the police car and took off to lead the way.

In a few minutes they arrived at the south end of the twenty-three-mile causeway across the center of Lake Pontchartrain. The near end was blocked off by a row of police vehicles just beyond the tollbooths. Their massed headlights were trained out onto the bridge, and brought the scene into bright relief. Half a mile out into the lake another row of headlights stretched across the road. Halfway between was the black leopard. It prowled from side to side on the causeway, peering first in one direction, then the other. Oliver felt a catch in his throat as he recognized the helplessness of the trapped creature.

"There it is," said Brant. "We seem to be having a regular epidemic of those babies."

Oliver turned to look at the row of flak-jacketed policemen who stood beside the flanked vehicles. They carried heavy weapons and held them at the ready.

"What do you expect the cat to do," Oliver said, "charge you with a machine gun?"

"Listen, after all the static we took about letting the last one get away, we're not about to take any chances on losing this one," Brant said.

"Couldn't we try to capture it?" Oliver suggested.

"Not this time," Brant said with finality. "The mayor isn't going to accept anything other than one dead leopard." He turned to a policeman who lay on top of one of the cars with a scope-sighted rifle. "Ready, Art?"

"Whenever you say, Sergeant."

"No!" Oliver said suddenly. He pushed his way past Sergeant Brant and started walking out along the causeway.

"Hold your fire!" Brant shouted to the man on the car. Then to Oliver, "Where the hell are you going? Come back here!"

Oliver ignored him and continued to walk. He shaded his eyes against the dazzle of the headlights at the far end.

The leopard stood motionless, watching him come. Its eyes were yellow jewels in the bulky black shadow.

Behind him a bullhorn crackled. Sergeant Brant's voice boomed through the night. "Oliver, come back here. Leave the leopard where it is. We can't protect you at this range."

Oliver walked on.

When he came to within a few feet of the cat, it tossed its head and loosed a thunderous roar. Oliver froze, waiting for the cat to make the next move. Effortlessly it sprang to the rail at the edge of the causeway.

"It's going over!" somebody shouted.

"Don't let it get away!"

There was the crack of a rifle, and a bullet sang off the rail near the spot where the cat stood balanced. Another shot came from the ranks of the policemen. Then quickly another, and another.

Oliver dropped to his stomach as the fusillade grew heavier. Bullets raised sparks where they hit, and their whining filled the night. The leopard stood poised on the rail for a moment longer, then dived gracefully into the dark water.

Oliver jumped up and ran to the rail. Several yards from the causeway he saw the head of the black leopard, ears laid back, as the animal swam powerfully toward the southwest shore. There was another burst of gunfire, pocking the surface of the lake all around the head of the swimming cat. Oliver cringed, imagining the impact of the bullets on his own body.

Suddenly the head of the cat disappeared beneath the dark water. The gunfire dwindled and stopped. Searchlights played over the surface, but there was no sign of the animal.

Alice and Sergeant Brant ran out to join Oliver at the edge of the causeway.

"Did they get her?" Alice asked.

Sergeant Brant looked at her curiously. "Her?"

"I don't know," Oliver said. "The cat went under and didn't come up again."

"As far as I'm concerned, it's a dead leopard," Brant said. "It's more than a mile to shore from here, and I don't think there's a cat in the world can swim that far. Especially if we put a couple of bullet holes in it. What about it, Oliver?"

"You're probably right for any ordinary cat," Oliver said.

Alice and Sergeant Brant looked at him questioningly, but Oliver was staring out over the dark, unbroken surface of the lake.

To Alice he said, "Would you mind riding back to town with the sergeant?"

"I suppose not, but—"

"Thanks. There's something I have to do. I'll call you as soon as I get home."

While Alice and Brant gaped after him, Oliver jogged back along the causeway past the row of police cars. He hoisted himself painfully into the truck, swung it around to face in the other direction, and roared off into the night.

Oliver pushed the truck to its limits. He wheeled along the southern shore of Lake Pontchartrain and turned off on the smaller road leading into the marshlands to the west. The road came to an end and he jammed to a stop. Seizing the rifle from the space behind the seats, he jumped out of the cab and ran toward the jetty.

He took a shortcut through the edge of the woods, but found that the low-hanging branches slowed him down. He had to keep one arm up in front of his face to fend them off.

When he was almost out of the trees he pushed one hanging limb out of the way, then snatched his hand back. He looked more closely and saw it was a human arm. Up in the tree, his body jammed head-down into a V of branches, was Yeatman Brewer.

Oliver jumped back, all his senses alert now, and looked around. Nothing moved. The little night creatures were unnaturally still. Laying the rifle aside, he wrestled Yeatman's body down out of the tree and eased it to the ground. The ragged rips in Yeatman's throat and chest told Oliver clearly how he had died.

"I'm sorry, old friend," he said softly.

Picking up the rifle again, Oliver moved on, more cautiously than before. When he reached the jetty he stopped and peered out at the dark bulk of the house he and Yeatman had built. There seemed to be a faint light inside, but no movement that he could see.

He waited until his breathing returned to normal, then gripped the rifle in one hand and ran out the jetty toward the house. He kept his body low, making as little noise as possible.

He stopped when he came to the house, and leaned against the wall for a moment. The door stood open. Inside he could see the glow of a Coleman lamp turned very low.

Oliver stepped warily through the door. A floorboard creaked under his weight. He froze for ten seconds, with the rifle held ready to fire. The faint glow of the lamp was coming from behind the beaded curtain that closed off the bed. Oliver crossed the room in swift strides, reached out, and swept the curtain aside.

Irena was sitting on the edge of the bed. She wore an old pair of his jeans and a T-shirt that he kept in the jetty house. Her hair was damp. She looked up at him calmly.

"I knew you would find me," she said.

"You killed Yeatman," Oliver said.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"He died in my place, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Why him, Irena? Why not me?"

"Because I love you," she said. Her eyes filled with tears.

"God help me, I love you too," Oliver said.

"Do you really?"

"Yes, Irena. Really."

Her eyes moved down to the rifle in his hand. "Then use that. Kill me."

He did not move.

"It's the only way, Oliver. You know what I am."

He nodded.

"Then you know that I must die. You saw what I did to your friend. I will do that and worse to others. To Alice, maybe."

Sweat broke out under Oliver's arms and rolled down his sides. He shivered with a chill.

"Do it fast, Oliver. I want you to be the one."

He raised the rifle and levered a cartridge into the chamber. Irena turned her face away. He looked down the barrel at her through the sights.

Slowly he lowered the rifle.

"I can't do it."

"Please. You must."

"No. There has to be another way."

Irena stood up and faced him. "There
is
one other way."

"Yes?"

"Free me. Make love to me one more time. Then I will leave you forever and seek out others of my own kind."

Oliver shook his head. "I can't."

"You can!" Irena stripped the T-shirt off over her head. She took his hand and held it to her breast.

To his astonishment, Oliver felt himself becoming aroused.

"I know you can," Irena purred. She unzipped the jeans and skinned them down her legs. She stood up naked and came into his arms.

Oliver let the rifle slip to the floor and held her. Her skin was still cool from the lake water, but it warmed quickly to his touch. He kissed her. Irena's tongue probed deeply into his mouth. She tasted like wild blackberries.

Irena stepped back from him. "Do you have some rope?"

"Why?"

"I want you to tie me to the bed. That way I can't hurt you when I ... change."

"But afterward ...?"

"Afterward you will leave me. Don't worry, I will have no trouble getting loose when the change is complete. Do this for me, Oliver. Please."

He stood for a moment, staring at her. Then he went out through the curtain into the other room. From a cabinet under the sink he took a coil of stout nylon line and a hunting knife. He brought them back to the bed.

Irena lay on her back waiting for him. Silently he cut several pieces from the nylon line. He tied her wrists together, then lashed them to the metal bedstand above her head.

Irena watched intently as he finished the job, tying one of her ankles to each side of the metal footboard, spreading her legs. She was moist and ready for him.

"Now, my Oliver," she whispered, "make love to me for the last time ever."

He stripped off his clothes and lowered himself on top of her. She raised her head and kissed him eagerly. He slid easily into her. Irena made little mewing sounds as he withdrew a little bit, then thrust in again, withdrew, and thrust.

The bed jumped and creaked as Irena strained against the tough nylon bonds. Oliver had left enough slack for her to move her body about. He was overcome now with a raging need to have her. He pounded into her again and again, flesh slapping hard against flesh.

Irena hummed in his ear. The humming coarsened, became a growl. Without slowing his thrusts, Oliver raised his head to look down at her face. She smiled. The sharp white fangs curved out over her lips.

Oliver continued to pound into her until they erupted together in a fiery climax.

Irena raised her leopard head and roared.

Oliver walked with Alice Moore along the Big Cat path in the New Orleans Zoo. Between them walked the young man who was hired to replace Joe Creigh as handler.

"Why do you want to get into this work?" Oliver asked the young man.

"Mostly, I just like animals." He grinned at Joe and turned to include Alice.

"A zoo isn't like a pet store, you know," Alice said.

"Hey, you don't have to remind me to respect these fellas. I read in the paper what happened to the guy who worked here before me."

"Doesn't that worry you?" Oliver asked.

The young man answered gravely. "I was raised on a farm, and I never saw an animal turn on a man without the man does something to hurt or frighten him. I figure this guy must have brought it on himself. Either that or he was Godawful careless."

"You've got the right attitude for the work," Oliver said. "I hope you keep it."

They walked down the row of cages, past the slumbering lions and the pacing tigers. At the end of the row, set apart from the others, was a new cage, larger than the rest. There was a pool of fresh water and a climbing tree inside. A cavelike tunnel at the rear led to an enclosed sleeping space.

"What do you keep in there?" the new handler asked.

"This is one cage I want you to stay completely away from," Oliver said. "I take care of this one personally."

From beyond the tunnel came a soft throaty growl.

Oliver looked past the young handler to Alice. "It's getting late, and I have things to do. You two go ahead and finish the tour without me."

"Right," Alice said crisply. She took the young man by the arm. "Let's go say hello to the bears."

Oliver watched until they were out of sight, then he turned and walked down the short path to the new cage. The soft growl came again. He stopped just outside the bars.

"I'm here," he said.

In flowing slow motion a sleek, beautifully formed black leopard emerged from the tunnel. The cat glided over to the bars where Oliver stood. The raised floor of the cage put its huge amber eyes on a level with his.

For many minutes the man and the cat faced each other silently, barely moving. Then Oliver put a hand in through the bars and stroked the animal's face.

"No one will ever hurt you again," he said. "I promise you."

The shadows lengthened and evening came. In couples and in families the people left the zoo. The daytime animals slept and the night birds took up their cry, and down at the end of the Big Cat path, the man stood alone with the leopard.