Cat Running (16 page)

But Zane was faster. Not a lot faster, but enough so that he gradually pulled out and away. As they passed the dead orchard he was a few feet ahead, and by the time they reached the ruins of the old Ferris house he was out in front by several yards.

Cat kept running, pushing her aching legs and trying to ignore the fire that had begun to burn in her lungs. Her mind, as always soothed and quieted by the running, was not yet quieted enough. The need to win was gone, but the pain in her lungs had not yet drowned the pain for Sammy. For Sammy dying of pneumonia because she, Cat Kinsey, had been too late. Had given her Lillybelle too late. She couldn’t run fast enough to forget about that.

They were almost to the last turn in the road before the high valley when she began to catch up. Zane was slowing down. His stride had become uneven, his legs wavering and wobbly. Cat drew closer and closer. The gap between them had narrowed to a few steps when Zane faltered, staggered—and fell to his knees.

Zane’s face was wet with sweat and dead white, except for a greenish tinge around his eyes and mouth. As Cat stopped beside him he began to vomit. He retched painfully over and over again but only a thin stream of whitish fluid came from his mouth. When the retching finally ended he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and looked up at Cat. “Go on,” he gasped. “Go on and get the doctor. I cain’t go no farther.”

“But—but ... Cat stammered.

“Go on, I’m tellin’ you—get out of here—I’ll be awright in a minute.”

Cat started to back away and then came back. “My house is just up around the next turn,” she said.

“Yeah.” Zane nodded, still gasping. “I know—where—you live.”

“I’m going there to phone,” Cat said. “You come there, too, soon as you can. Okay?”

“Okay,” Zane gasped.

Cat went on running.

T
HE MOMENT CAT TURNED
off old Brownwood Road into the Kinseys’ long, curving driveway she heard someone calling. And then she saw her. Mama was standing on the front porch peering out into the semidarkness and calling in her faint, childish voice, “Cathy—Catherine—Cathy.” Over and over and over again in a weak, tired way, as if she’d been standing there calling for a long time.

Cat tried to answer but only a painful rasping sound came up from her aching lungs. So she just went on running until she staggered, gasping and panting, into the rectangle of light that spilled out from the open door.

Mama ran to meet her. “Cathy, oh, thank God. Where have you been? Oh, my God, Cathy. What happened to you?”

As Cat struggled up the stairs Mama was clinging to her, holding her back. “What happened? Where have you been?” she kept repeating. Cat shoved the clinging arms away impatiently, trying to get past her and down the hall to the telephone.

It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of herself in the oval mirror of the hall tree that she began to understand why Mama seemed so horrified. For a moment the reflection in the mirror hardly looked like Cat Kinsey.

What Cat saw was a strange, outlandish creature whose red-blotched face dripped with sweat and whose mouth hung open. A creature who panted in noisy gasps like some exhausted animal, and whose face, hands, and legs were spotted, smeared, and coated with mud. “I’m all right,” she managed to gasp. “Just tired. Been running—long way.”

“But where were you?” Mama was following close behind her as she staggered down the hall and collapsed onto the bench by the phone table. “Where did you go? When I woke up you were gone and I kept thinking you’d be back, but you didn’t come, and I was so worried. You mustn’t do things like this to me, Cathy. You know I’m not well and—”

“Tell you—later. Got to phone now. Phone Dr. Wilson.”

“Phone Dr. Wilson? Cathy, are you sick? Are you hurt? Cathy, what happened ...?”

Shutting out the sound of Mama’s wailing voice Cat dialed and, as she waited for an answer, prayed, “Be there, Dr. Wilson. Dear God, please let him be there.”

The phone rang and rang and at last there was a click at the other end of the line and Dr. Wilson’s warm, familiar voice said, “Brownwood Clinic. Dr. Wilson speaking.”

“It’s Catherine Kinsey.” Fighting her still air-starved lungs and racing heart Cat began to babble. “You’ve got to come, Dr. Wilson. I mean you’ve got to go out to Okietown. Sammy’s terribly sick. Samantha Perkins. She’s a little girl. Only five years old. She’s about to die, Dr. Wilson. She can’t breathe. And there’s no car—and everybody’s gone—except the Perkinses and their car’s broken and ... She paused. “Dr. Wilson. Can you come? Right away?”

“Cathy?” As always Dr. Wilson’s voice was calm and slow. Maddeningly slow. “What is it, child? I can’t understand you.”

She started again. Repeating all of it, about Sammy and how sick she was. She was about to begin all over again for the third time when she suddenly realized that something had changed. Mama, who had continued to wail softly in the background, had suddenly become very quiet. Behind Cat’s back there was a listening kind of silence. When she turned around Father was standing beside Mama, and Cliff and Ellen were behind him.

“Father,” she stammered, “I was calling Dr. Wilson. I was telling him—”

Father nodded. “I heard what you were telling him, Catherine.” He stepped forward, holding out his hand for the receiver. “I don’t think—”

At that moment the front door flew open with a bang and Zane Perkins staggered into the hall. A wild-eyed, barefoot, mud-smeared Zane who burst through the door, waving his arms and gasping. He lunged forward to the foot of the stairs and, clutching the newel post to keep from falling, hung there while strange noises came from his open mouth.

Father stared at Zane and then, grabbing Cat’s arm, he took the phone away from her. Cat reached for it despairingly but Father only turned away. “Hello, John,” he said, “Charles Kinsey here.” There was a pause, then, “Yes, I heard part of it. No. I don’t know what it’s all about. At least no more than you do. I just got home a few minutes ago.” Another pause. “No. No, I don’t think so. I don’t see why you should—”

Cat grabbed Father’s arm and stared up into his face. For a long moment he looked down at her and then over to where Zane was still clutching the newel post and making strange moaning noises as he tried to say something.

“Father”—Ellen’s high-pitched voice drowned out the sound of Zane’s efforts to speak—“I don’t see why we or the doctor should get ourselves involved in these people’s lives. After all, it was their choice to ...

Father looked at Ellen and then back at Cat. Then he turned his back on Ellen and said to Dr. Wilson, “Well, I hate to ask you to but it does seem we have some kind of an emergency here.” He looked at his watch. “Right at your suppertime, too, I imagine. But it might be ...

There was another long pause while the faint buzz of Dr. Wilson’s voice could be heard talking slowly and calmly at the other end of the line. At last Father went on, “Well, it’s up to you, John. Yes. Stop by our place first. Perhaps I’ll know more by then. See you shortly, then.”

Dr. Wilson was coming. Cat felt a great lightening as if a terrible dark cloud through which she had been struggling, a cloud so thick and airless that she could hardly breathe, had suddenly floated up and away. She was turning toward Zane to see if he had heard and understood that Dr. Wilson was coming, when everything began to whirl. The hall tree and the mirror and the faces of Mama, Father, Cliff, Ellen, and Zane seemed to be drifting slowly around her in circles, and then everything went dark.

The next thing she knew she was in Father’s arms. Father was carrying her up the stairs while Mama ran beside them crying and calling her name over and over again.

Cat began to struggle. “Put me down,” she said. “I want to get down. I have to ... But the dim swirling sensation returned then and, frightened, she lay still. Father went on climbing the stairs and then down the hall to her room. As he was putting her down on her bed she tried again. Pushing herself to a sitting position she said, “Zane?”

“Cliff is looking after the boy,” Father said.

Cat nodded and allowed herself to be pushed back down. Cliff would take good care of Zane.

“Father,” she said, “we ran all the way from Okietown, Zane and I. All the way.”

“Yes,” he said, “I know.” For a moment he stood over the bed, looking down at her. As always his face was quiet, his mouth still and controlled and his eyes shadowed. But somehow the shadows weren’t as dense, and Cat sensed something different behind them. Something she’d never seen before—or ever looked for. “That’s a very long way to run,” he said. “You’re a strong young lady, Catherine. A good, strong young lady.”

Father went out then and Mama helped Cat get cleaned up and into bed. All that time, while Mama was bathing her and getting her into her nightgown, Cat’s mind seemed to be stuck like a phonograph needle on a ruined record, repeating and repeating the same thing—running, running, running. All that would stay in her head was the running. In her head and in her legs and arms too. Her muscles could still feel it, and when she closed her eyes the running went on behind her eyelids. And the same words kept whispering through her mind. “We ran all the way from Okietown. All the way.”

After a long time the voice in her mind whispered, “Zane ran faster,” but that didn’t seem to matter all that much. What mattered was—for a moment she could hardly remember, but then it came back. Sammy and pneumonia and—
Dr. Wilson was coming.
Cat sighed deeply and went to sleep.

C
AT WOKE WITH A
start the next morning as if to the sound of a whispering voice. But the voice had been inside her head. The whisper said,
Go back to sleep. Something terrible happened. Go back where it can’t reach you.
But she ignored the warning and opened her eyes: A moment later, still in her nightgown, she was running down the stairs thinking
How could I have slept? How could I?

Mama was making coffee as Cat burst through the kitchen door. “Sammy,” she shouted. “Where’s Sammy? How is she? I have to call Dr. Wilson.”

Mama put down the coffeepot and pushed Cat into a chair. “Cathy, sit down,” she said. “You shouldn’t be out of bed. You fainted last night. You’re not well.”

“I’m fine,” Cat said, struggling to stand up. She’d almost forgotten about the fainting—but it didn’t matter. “I’m fine now,” she said. “I have to call—”

“Cathy, listen to me. Father called Dr. Wilson a few minutes ago. She’s all right. The little girl is all right.”

“Sammy’s all right?” Relief, so sharp and sudden it was almost painful, flooded over her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the chair.

“Well, not entirely perhaps,” Mama said. “The doctor said she is still very ill but she’s holding her own.”

Cat’s eyes flew open. “Holding her own? What does that mean?”

“It means she’s a fighter,” Father said. He and Cliff had come into the kitchen while Cat’s eyes were closed. “According to Dr. Wilson she’s a real fighter. She’s at the clinic and the doctor and Mrs. Wilson have been up with her most of the night. Doc says it was nip and tuck for a while but she’s doing better this morning. Responding to treatment.” Father came over and put his hand on Cat’s shoulder. “He also said that she undoubtedly would have died if he hadn’t reached her when he did. He says you saved her life, Catherine.”

Cat nodded. “And Zane too. How is Zane? He was sick too.”

“I think he’s fine,” Cliff said. “I think it was only exhaustion. And hunger, perhaps. I got him to eat a little last night. By the time Dr. Wilson arrived he seemed to be pretty much back to normal. He rode out to the camp with the doc to show him the way.”

“And where are they now—the rest of the Perkinses?”

“Well, I suppose the mother—Mrs. Perkins, is it?—is at the clinic,” Father said. “Dr. Wilson said she rode in with him and the child last night. But I gather the rest of the family are still out at the camp.”

Still at the camp. Still out there in that terrible, lonely, deserted mudhole. With no way to leave and maybe not even any food. Cat was sitting silently, her mind swamped with dark images, when she realized a new voice was talking to her. Talking and asking questions. It was Ellen.

Ellen was full of questions that morning. She wanted to know how Cat happened to know the Perkins family and how on earth she happened to be at the Okie camp last night. And what was she thinking of to go to a place like that all by herself and after dark at that? What on earth was she thinking of?

“It wasn’t after dark when I went there,” Cat said. “It just got that way later.” Then she went on and tried to explain
why
she went there by telling how she and Sammy had met because they both played in the canyon. And how they had become friends and how when she, Cat, had heard that the Perkinses were leaving she decided to go to the camp to tell them good-bye.

She made it into a very short story, leaving out most of the important details, and ignoring Ellen’s disapproving gasps. But even so the telling seemed to take a lot of energy. By the time she finished she felt exhausted and it must have shown, because Mama began to fuss about how tired she looked and how she should go right back to bed.

“I’ll bring your breakfast up later,” Mama said.

Cat tried to say she was perfectly all right but Father sided with Mama. “All right,” Cat said, “I’ll go back to bed. But someone has to go out to the camp and tell them. Someone just
has
to go out there this minute and tell the rest of the family that Sammy is still alive.”

They just stood there staring at her, all four of them, and suddenly she was angry. She wanted to scream at them and run out of the room but instead she took a deep breath and said calmly, “Well, if nobody else is going to do it I’m going to go right out that door this minute and go do it myself.”

Cliff began to laugh and that really made her angry—just for a moment. But then she looked down at herself, standing there with her hands on her hips, barefoot and still in her nightgown. She could see what Cliff was laughing about and for the tiniest moment she grinned back. But that didn’t change what had to be done. “Here I go,” she said, and headed for the door, but Father grabbed her arm. He was smiling too.