Cat's Cradle (22 page)

June laughed and said, “Lou can’t do anything about that fellow’s government assistance. He’s simply running one of his famous bluffs and the guy bought it. Lou and the OSS are powerful, but not that powerful; not nearly as powerful as they would like people to believe. We know their power is waning. A lot of people would like to see the OSS put out of business.”

“That’s dandy,” Dan said. “So would I. But right now, Lou is not my main concern. It’s all these ... well, unexplained—but very real-supernatural occurrences that have me worried.”

Gordon and June looked at each other.

Did a signal pass between them? Dan thought. He felt it did.

Gordon looked back at Dan and said, “You’ve really seen all this, Dan?”

“I’ve seen it. Just as I described it to you.”

Gordon smiled. Funny time for a man to be smiling, Dan thought.

Pat looked both sick and doubtful at Dan’s story. “And you went along with it,” he said accusingly. He shook his head. “Sorry, Dan. I shouldn’t have said that. But I wonder how many more people this Lamotta has coerced?”

“That isn’t important,” Gordon said. He waved that aside. “The hard fact is, buddy,” he said to Dan. “You can’t
prove
any of it.”

“That’s right,” Dan said. Again, Gordon smiled. “And I’d come off looking like the world’s biggest fool if I attempted to blow the story.”

“That is correct, Sheriff,” June said. She had a small smile on her lips.

What the hell is with these two? Dan thought.

“But the citizens of this county are in danger! ” Pat protested. “Not only the people of Ruger, but the whole state. We can’t just sit here and do nothing. That is,” he qualified that, “providing I believe all this . . . monster stuff.”

“Believe it, Pat,” Dan said. “Eddie Brown and Mickey Reynolds and Jimmy and Al and Denise and Bowie are no longer a part of the human race. I’m numb. I should be running around shrieking; but it’s so horrible, I suppose my mind has blocked out part of it. I saw the cats kill Trooper Forbes. I saw Lou’s agent being devoured by that . . . that thing in the hole. I saw Lou feed the body of the man he shot into that hole; heard the body being eaten. I saw the cats attack. I saw what plain ordinary house cats did to those kids.” He touched the pocket where he had put the piece of paper Goodson had given him.

Gordon’s eyes followed the gesture. “What are you thinking, Dan?”

“About calling in some help.”

“Who?” Pat asked.

Dan decided to hedge his bets. “A priest from up in Washington.”

June laughed. And Dan didn’t like the sound of the laughter. “Mumbo-jumbo,” she said. “Superstitious hogwash.”

“I agree,” Pat said. “Dan, you’re not Catholic. You can’t believe in all that exorcism business.”

“Washington, eh?” Gordon asked.

“That’s right.”

“Called him yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, wait awhile on that, Dan. You probably won’t need him.”

“Whatever you say, Gordon.”

Dan didn’t know whom to trust.

9

“I got an idea, Kenny,” Mille said.

The young man forced a smile. “I am certainly in a position to be open to suggestion.”

They were being held in a small room at the back of the main terminal building. A very dirty room. One window, set up high, near the high ceiling. It was barred. The door was wooden, with a sheet metal covering front and back. The room had a tiny bathroom with only a ragged curtain for a door.

“I wonder what they did with our luggage?” Mille asked.

“Is that your idea?”

“No. I just was wondering. They must not be planning on keeping us for very long.”

“They’re going to kill us, Mille,” Kenny said. “Wise up and think about it. They’re not going to face kidnapping charges. And they know if we’re released, we’d sure file charges against them. They’re totally ruthless. We’ve had it.”

“All the more reason for us to be planning a way out of this place, right?”

“I’m still listening.”

“The lock on that door is weak. I’ve seen you pick better locks. Can you pick that one?”

“I’ve already thought of that. Sure, I could pick it. So what? They’ve got guards outside.”

“One guard, Kenny. And along three o’clock in the morning, I’ll give you odds he’ll be sleeping.”

“The others outside the building won’t be sleeping.”

“Do we have a choice, Kenny?”

“No. So let’s hear your plan.”

* * *

The severed arm was now covered with maggot-like worms. They were growing faster and faster, and breeding with each other as soon as they plopped to the floor. There was no place left for them to hide in the room. They covered the floor, squirming and hunching and wriggling about. Ankle deep. And still more were dropping from the infected arm, falling onto the others. The worms were a mottled white/ gray, as thick as a big man’s thumb. With very sharp little teeth.

And they were very hungry.

They had devoured their weaker brothers and sisters; eaten all the carpet; the insulation off the wiring; the plastic and leather and cloth of anything they could find in the room. But they could not escape from the room.

They began squeaking in anger.

Outside the trailer, the afternoon was waning, the sun now dipping into the western horizon. A guard stopped, not sure of what he thought he’d just heard. He took another step, then stopped and turned around. There was that sound again. A squeaking sort of sound. A lot of things squeaking. But what the hell was it?

He stepped closer to the trailer. Coming from in there, he thought. And there wasn’t supposed to be anything in there. Not that he knew of. Just that severed arm was all, and that sure as hell wasn’t squeaking.

He unlocked the door and stepped inside. The squeaking was much louder. And . . . the sounds of something moving, he thought, sensed. Yeah, there it was. Definitely not supposed to be anything moving in this trailer. He closed the door, the door locking automatically, and began investigating all the rooms. He’d find out what it was.

* * *

By the bubbling pool that had claimed one life and the carcass of the man Lou had shot, an OSS guard squatted and stared at the foul-smelling liquid. He was a safe and respectable distance away. At least fifteen feet. No way he’d get any closer to that mess.

Whispering came softly from beneath the bubbling liquid.

The man cut his eyes.
Whispering?

The whispering became a bit louder. The agent moved a few feet closer.

“Help me,” the words came from the pool of red-colored liquid. “Please help me, Wally.”

Wally’s eyes widened in shock. That was Randall’s voice. But Randall was dead!

“No,” the voice said, louder. “No, I’m not. Wally, please help me.” The voice was stronger. “Please. I don’t have any arms, Wally.”

Wally knew that for a flat-out fact. He’d seen the arms body-bagged. He inched closer to the pleading voice of Randall.

The voice whispered again. But this time the words were too low for Wally to understand. He moved closer.

“Randall? Randall? Is that really you down there?”

“Yes.”

Wally inched closer. “Really?” Something was wrong with Wally’s mind. He couldn’t think straight. Kind of like he’d had one drink too many.

“Help me, Wally. Please get me out.”

“Get you out?” Wally said. “But, you’re
dead
!” He looked around him. Felt like a fool.

“No. Bad hurt. Please, Wally. Help me. Get me out of this awful place.”

The words got to Wally. He laid down his M-16. “Okay, Randall.” He moved to the lip of the hole. “What can I do?”

He stopped abruptly as his head suddenly cleared. He looked around him. “This must be a trick. There is no way for Randall to be alive.”

“Yes, it is,” Randall’s voice came out of the bubbling pool, a chuckling sound close behind the words. A dark, clawed hand reached out and clamped around Wally’s ankle.

Wally began screaming.

* * *

In the high school basement, Mickey Reynolds looked at the ever-widening crack in the concrete floor. The red-colored fluid now covered the entire basement floor where he squatted with his companion, the cat.

Gazing down into the crack, Mickey could see eyes staring back at him.

Mickey grunted. The eyes blinked in understanding. He grunted again.

The creature beneath the floor spoke to him. “It is almost time. Only a few more hours.”

Mickey knew that voice.

He should.

It was his.

* * *

“What a despicable place for my rebirth,” the voice rose out of the bubbling foulness.

Eddie Brown nodded his animal head. He didn’t know what the creature meant; his mind could no longer comprehend human thoughts.

“A church,” the voice spoke from the stinking blood.

Eddie grunted.

The old blood covered the basement floor. The crack had widened to about ten inches across. What had once been Eddie Brown could see eyes looking at him from out of the liquid.

“Only a few more hours,” the familiar voice spoke. “Just after noon tomorrow.”

Eddie nodded. That voice calmed him. He knew that voice. Trusted it.

It was his own.

* * *

In the old service station/motel, the Old One was now able to get its head out of the wet, slimy crack in the floor. It looked at Betty and her kids.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“No,” the voice sprang from the wide, ugly mouth. “I must do it myself. Soon it will be over. By noon of tomorrow.”

She knew that voice, oddly feminine-sounding. But she couldn’t quite place it.

It was her voice.

* * *

Anya and Pet sat by a dusty window and watched a man and a woman park their truck and get out. They went into the house, returning in a moment to carry in their suitcases. A small dog ran around the yard, barking. The man told the little dog to shut up.

“They must not know of our presence until all the Old Ones have rebirthed,” Anya said. “Warn our friends not to attack.”

The cat blinked and trotted off.

* * *

“I say we pull all our people in and plan an attack for tonight,” Dan said. “We can’t wait any longer. The public must be warned of what’s facing them. We tell the people to stay inside. We could coordinate the attack on the terminal with a charge of dynamite down that goddamned hole.”

“You haven’t been listening, Dan,” Gordon said. It had reached the point where Dan thought the man’s voice sounded oily. “I told you, we have to see this matter through. Those orders come from the top.”

Dan didn’t believe that and said as much-bluntly.

Gordon shrugged it off. “Dan, would you like to see this county grow?”

Dan blinked and stared at the man, not understanding what that had to do with their present situation. “What kind moronic question is that?”

“Would you?” Gordon said.

“As a lawman, I wouldn’t. Not without more personnel. As a citizen, of course I’d like to see it grow. What are you driving at, Gordon?”

“A large industrial complex built right outside this town. Employing up to a thousand people.”

“Drop the other shoe, Gordon,” Dan said, disgust in his voice. He knew what the other shoe would contain. Another pack of lies.

“You might not like it, Dan.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

“You see this thing through, without spilling it to the national press, or to the residents of this county, and I place in the proper hands a signed, legal document attesting to the fact that a certain high-tech industry will begin construction on a large plant immediately. Others to follow.”

“I have neither the authority nor the inclination to agree to that,” Dan said. “The lives of the people in this county are incalculable, Gordon. You’re as bad as Lamotta. I won’t agree to that offer.”

“I will,” Pat said, executing a greedy flip-flop. More people meant more businesses; more bus-sinesses meant more advertisers; more advertisers meant more money. For him. “I’m chairman of the Ruger County Industrial Inducement Committee. Let me see that document.”

“Come on, Pat!” Dan said.

June produced the document and handed it to the editor. Pat quickly scanned it. “This is legal and binding,” he said, looking up.

“We know it,” Gordon said.

“If the lives of the people of this county are physically threatened, you back off and the document still remains valid?” Pat asked.

“Of course,” Gordon said smoothly. “We don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

Dan looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head at how easily the man could lie.

Pat said, “I want a codicil included that the companies will train locals for employment.”

“That can be worked out,” Gordon assured him. “Just write it in and I’ll date it and initial it. We want to cooperate with the residents of this county.”

“In return for? ...” Pat asked.

“Your cooperation in our finding out about the aging process and what is really under the ground here.”

“That’s fair,” Pat said. He scribbled on the paper, conscious of Dan’s eyes on him as he did so.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Dan flared.

“I know what I’m doing,” Pat said. “If you had any business sense you would too.”

“May I use your phone, Dan?” Gordon asked.

“You can stick it in your ear if you want to,” Dan told him.

Gordon laughed and dialed a number. He said, “Seal it off.” He hung up. He looked at Dan, then at Pat. “All taken care of.” He smiled.

“Gordon,” Dan said. “You’re as bad as Lamotta, you know that?”

“But in a much more subtle way, ol’ buddy. Relax, Dan. Everything will be all right.”

Dan’s laugh was sour-sounding. “How do you think that lousy piece of paper is going to keep my mouth shut?”

Gordon smiled again. “Because, ol’ buddy, we are going to handle this thing so smoothly and quietly we won’t stir up a ripple. Right now, a state of emergency is being declared in Ruger County. And we don’t need your permission to do that. We’re moving against Lamotta and his people in,” he glanced at his watch, “twenty-six hours. In ten minutes, a news flash will be on the air, telling people that an SST rig containing nuclear warheads has overturned in this county. It’s a very dangerous situation. My people are on the way. The bridge on highway fifteen is closed, as are the bridges on twenty and fifty-six. Traffic on sixty heading west is being diverted down to Farmville and over. Sixty east is being blocked and diverted south on twenty-six down to four-sixty. Any traffic on fifteen north is being advised to turn back, or detoured east or west on six-thirty-six. Your county will be shut down tight in six hours, Dan. In twenty-eight hours, everything will be returned to normal and no resident of Ruger will have been hurt, or even know what has taken place here. So relax, ol’ buddy. It’s all out of your hands.”

“You’re a real pal, aren’t you, Gordon?”

“It’s for the good of the nation, Dan.”

“Yeah. Sure. Get out of my office.” He looked at Pat. Jerked his thumb at the editor. “And take that loser with you.”

“I’ll remember this with editorials come election time, Dan,” Pat said, his face flushing with anger.

“You do that.”

His office clear of Gordon, June, and Pat (Dan thought it smelled better), he waved Taylor, Dodge, and Chuck in and laid it out for them. The men sat in silence for a moment, digesting it all.

Dodge said, “There are government agencies that can come in and take over in cases of dangerous SST wrecks. Including military units. But I think they’ve been duped, being used by Gordon and his people. I guess your buddy wasn’t such a buddy after all. I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t think you’d believe me.”

“I want to pursue that, Dodge. ’Cause I don’t know which side you’re on.”

“Later,” Taylor said. “Right now, Dan, the question is: what do we do?”

“Play our only remaining hole card,” Dan said, reaching for the phone on his desk. He pulled his hand back. “Chuck, go get Ken and tell him his brother’s government assistance is safe. I thought that was iffy from the beginning.”

Chuck nodded and left the office.

Dan dialed the number. It was answered on the third ring. “Father Michael Denier? Yes. Good. My name is Garrett. Sheriff Dan Garrett of Ruger County. Oh? You what, Father?”

Dan listened and then lifted his eyes, looking at the men seated in front of his desk. “Father Denier says he’s been waiting for my call.”

Taylor crossed himself.

Dodge looked stunned.

Dan cleared his throat and spoke briefly with the priest. “I see, Father. Well, I guess that’s good. I don’t understand it, but ...”

Dan listened intently. “How do you know these things, Father?”

Dan exchanged a few more words with the priest and then hung up.