Cat's Cradle (26 page)

Dan leaned against the house, refusing to be sick. He lost the fight, doubling over as nausea hit him hard.

Denier looked at the carnage. He prayed and then lifted his head. “Take pictures of it all,” he said. “Including agent Dodge. We will need them in our efforts to convince the other religious leaders that Satan is alive and well in Ruger County.”

“How do we destroy the little ...” He looked around him. He pointed to the tiny glowing specks around the yard. “Those little things?”

“Burn everything,” the priest said. “Pour gasoline over the grounds, the house, the outbuildings, and destroy it.”

“But, Father? . . .” Chuck said. “Sir, we don’t have the authority to do that. The heirs? . . .”

“Burn it!” Denier shouted.

4

The three full-time members of the Valentine Fire Department stood together in the night, on the road in front of the Service house. The three men had viewed what was left of Billy, and Mr. and Mrs. Service. They had then promptly lost their suppers. They stood quietly by the two trucks, their minds numb, drained of any emotion except shock.

All of them wondered what a priest was doing out here. They knew the Services were not Catholic. And what were those tiny glowing things?

But with that grim expression on Sheriff Garrett’s face, none of the firemen were about to ask.

The firemen had worked with raw gasoline, saturating the area. Now they waited while that out-of-uniform state trooper did something.

The firemen looked up as the men walked to the road. “Burn it and stay with it until it’s safe,” Dan ordered.

“Yes, sir. Sheriff? How come the ground is so wet around here?”

“It rained,” Taylor said.

“Just
here?”
another fireman asked.

“Just here,” Taylor said flatly. “Burn it. Don’t go into the yard for any reason. Just burn it. Everything. Move out.”

Trucks in position, the firemen did as ordered. Dan radioed two deputies, Herman and Frank, to the burn site. He told them to stay with the firemen until the job was done. Dan then turned to Father Denier.

“The Old One, Father. Where is he?”

“It isn’t a he,” the priest explained. “Or a she. It is nothing and it is everything. It is evil, through and through. That is the only reason it exists.”

Dan sighed. “Thank you. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Perhaps it is unanswerable for a mortal. Oh, it is watching. Waiting. I doubt it will interfere. It knows it cannot defeat me alone. It will wait until it is joined by the other Old Ones. Your bullets did nothing to harm it; indeed, that is probably what it wanted you to do. You must order your people not to use their weapons.”

“I can’t do that,” Dan protested. “My people have a right ...”

Denier brushed that aside. “You still don’t understand. The Old Ones can turn the bullets against your people. You saw what it did to Dodge. These creatures from hell are all powerful; they are spawns of Satan. They are ... how can I explain this? They are flesh and blood, yes; but they are more energy than anything else. They are nearly immortal. Perhaps they could be killed, but I don’t know how. They can be stopped, halted for a time. But I don’t know how to kill them.”

Dan looked at the man, the priest’s face, red-hued from the flames of the burning home and grounds.

“Well then, Father. What are we going to do?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” Denier replied honestly.

* * *

The young couple sat up in bed. At first they thought the scratching they had heard was the wind pushing a branch against a window screen. But now the scratching seemed to be covering the entire roof and much of the outside walls of the two story home. They listened more intently. Whatever it was seemed to be not only outside but downstairs as well.

“Honey? ...” she said.

“I don’t know what it is,” he said, getting out of bed and pulling jeans over his pajamas. He stuck his feet into house shoes.

“You don’t suppose it’s termites?” she questioned.

He looked at her to see if she was serious. She was. “Well, if it is, I sure don’t to come face to face with one.”

“Oh, you!” she giggled.

He reached over and cupped a young breast, the scratching almost forgotten. They had been married for only six months; still honeymooning. Still playful. She hadn’t told him yet, but she thought she might be pregnant.

Then the scratching intensified.

“I’ll be right back,” he said.

“You be careful,” she cautioned him.

“It’s just the wind,” he replied. He opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall. He looked back at his wife and winked at her, then closed the door.

She sat in the middle of the king-sized bed, naked from the waist up, hugging a pillow close to her.

She waited for what seemed to her an eternity. About three minutes.

Once she thought she heard a muffled cry. But it was not repeated.

Then she heard the most hideous scream she had ever heard. She stiffened in bed. The scream came again. “Larry?” she shouted.

He screamed again. The sounds of running feet came to her. A thumping sound. Loud. Like a body falling. That was followed by a wild sort of screeching. It sounded like ... like cats fighting.

“No!” her husband screamed. “Oh, God, no!”

“Larry! Where are you? Answer me. This isn’t funny a bit, Larry.”

A door slammed. Was it the hall door or a hall closet door. She couldn’t be sure.

“Sylvia?” Larry called, very weakly, very faintly. “Don’t come out here. Please. Lock your bedroom door. Call the police.”

“Larry? What is it, Larry?”

But that screeching sound was all she could hear, and it was getting louder. Then it seemed to die out. A very faint dragging sound came to her. Her husband howled outside her door. She knew it was Larry. She also knew she had never heard any human being howl like that.

“Larry!” she screamed.

“Lock ... door,” he mumbled. His words were just understandable; a slurred sound.

Purring drifted through the closed door.

Sylvia reached up with a shaking hand and locked the door. That purring noise was louder, and something was scratching at the door. Through panicked eyes, she looked down at the rug beneath her feet. The carpet was changing colors, the beige changing to a deep dark red, slowly covering the bottoms of her feet.

She was standing in blood.

She began screaming.

* * *

Dan had pulled in all his deputies, with the exception of Herman and Frank. They were still at the burn site. He had called in his few auxiliary deputies and briefed them. He allowed them a few moments to call home and tell their families to lock the doors and stay inside. Don’t leave the house for any reason. Don’t let anyone in unless you’re sure who it is. No one.

“All this has to do with that engineer out there on the mountain, don’t it, Sheriff?” one of the reserve deputies asked.

“Yes. It has everything to do with it. All right, you people, listen up. I want this town, and the county, working three miles outside the city limits, covered by you people. Use the speakers on your cars to warn the people to stay inside. Lock their doors and pull down their windows. I . . .”

“Sheriff?” the dispatcher called. “Sylvia Quitman’s on the phone. Hysterical. Something about her husband being attacked. Inside their house. That’s eight-oh-eight Poplar.”

“Susan, you and Woody handle it. Stay in contact at all times. All times. Take your handy-talkies. Move out.”

Dan paused. He just could not order his people not to use their weapons if attacked. He just couldn’t. And something else was nagging at him; something he’d read, or learned at the university. But he couldn’t bring it to the fore. Father Denier had said the Old Ones were flesh and blood, but more energy than anything else. Very well, next question: what was energy? What stopped energy? What kind of energy was their make-up? Potential energy? Kinetic energy? The Old Ones for sure were not mechanical energy. All right. Fine. It was coming to him now. That left electrical, heat, atomic, and chemical. And all those forms were transmutable.

“You all right, Sheriff?” Langway broke his thoughts.

Dan looked at the sergeant. “What? Oh. Yeah. Deep in thought, that’s all.” He looked at Chuck. “Take over here, Chuck. Captain Taylor, Father Denier, let’s go into my office, please.”

In his office, the door closed, the men seated, Dan looked at Denier and said, “You said the Old Ones are flesh and blood and energy. Right?”

Danier nodded.

“What kind of energy?”

“Ageless energy,” the priest replied, not understanding where the sheriff was going with this line of questioning. “They have been here forever.”

Dan waved his hand; a gesture of impatience. He knew time was running out, the hands of the clock moving toward disaster. “No, no, Father. You’re not following me. Let me try it this way: energy, in physics, is defined as the ability to do work, right?”

“Ah!” Denier said. “Yes. All right. I’m with you, Dan. Go on.”

“We can certainly assume with some degree of accuracy the Old Ones are not mechanical, so that leaves electrical, heat, atomic, and chemical, That Old One at the Service house set Dodge afire with some sort of intense force, right?”

“It was the force of Satan, Dan. We’re not dealing with anything . . . any
power
really understood here on earth. Please bear that in mind.”

“Yes, I know that, Father. But everything has to have a source, right?”

The priest leaned back in his chair. “Yes. Perhaps even the Old Ones. Interesting concept. I’ve always used a religious angle in pursuing this. Go on, Dan.”

“Father Denier, Taylor, I have nothing to base my idea on except a gut feeling. I’m going to place the future of this county on a hunch it isn’t atomic energy. I’m betting it’s a mixture of chemical and electrical.”

Captain Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “Virginia Power boys, Dan?”

“Yes.”

“All right, we’re on the same track. But what if you’re wrong?”

“We’ll only have a split second to feel sorry about it,” Dan replied.

Denier looked first at the trooper, then at Dan. “What are you two talking about?”

Dan sidestepped that with a question of his own. “Father, these Old Ones have a leader here on earth, right?”

“Well, yes, in a manner of speaking. The girl. Presuming she is actually here.”

“Let’s say she is. They—the Old Ones—would go where she goes, right?”

“I would imagine so.”

“Then we’ve got to find her. Okay, we’ve got a lot of work to do tonight, boys.” He caught himself. “Excuse me, Father.”

Denier smiled. “Just one of the boys. That’s fine with me, Sheriff.”

* * *

The Quitman house was dark except for one lighted window on the second floor. Susan and Woody got out of the car, carrying shotguns. They walked slowly up the sidewalk to the small porch and knocked on the door. Nothing. Woody tried the doorknob. Locked. A slight scratching sound from the roof caused Susan to look up.

She paled.

“Woody,” she said softly. “The roof is covered with cats.” She took a deep breath, calming herself. “Look through the glass in the door and tell me what you see in there.”

Woody looked. He swallowed hard. “The whole damned house is filled with cats, Susan. All of them are just sitting still on the floor, looking at the door.”

“Well, Woody,” Susan said, raising her voice a bit. Woody looked at her strangely. “I guess nobody is home, or else we got the wrong house. Let’s drive on up the street.”

She stepped off the porch, Woody right behind her. Susan said, “I’m about ready for a cup of coffee, Woody. How about you?”

“Yeah. Me, too, Susan.” He followed her, wondering if his partner had lost her mind?

They made it to the car and got in, closing and locking the doors. His heart racing from the sight of hundreds of cats, all staring silently and savagely at them, Woody said, “What the hell was that all about?”

She glanced at him. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Woody blinked. “You mean . . . I mean . . . you think those cats
understood
what you were saying? Come on, Susan! That’s wild!”

“Yes, I do believe it.” She reached for the mike and called in. “We’re at the Quitman house. The roof is covered with cats and the inside of the house is filled with cats. That’s probably what got Mr. Quitman. Advise calling Mrs. Quitman on the phone. Tell her to stay inside . . . whatever room she called from and to lock the door. Don’t open it for any reason.”

“Ten-four. Here’s the sheriff.”

“Susan? You and Woody stay in the car until help arrives. No heroics, now, from either of you. What? Okay. Susan, dispatch has reached Sylvia Quitman. She’s all right. She’s in their bedroom and has the door locked. Father Denier is talking with her now, trying to keep her as calm as possible. She says there is a lot of blood oozing under the door. She guesses it’s her husband’s blood.”

“Good guess, I’d say.” Susan looked up at the lighted window. “She’s looking out the window at us now, still talking on the phone.”

“I’d have Father Denier tell her you’re friendly; standing by until help arrives.”

“Sheriff? Exactly how are we going to get her out of there?”

She could hear Sheriff Garrett sigh. “I don’t know, Susan. I honest to God don’t know.”

“Sheriff, I ...” She looked up at the window of the Quitman house. Lifted her eyes. The cats were gone from the roof. They had left as silently as they had come. She put the car in gear and drove slowly up the driveway, her lights on high beam.

“Susan! What’s wrong?” Dan’s voice cracked out of the speaker.

“Everything is fine, Sheriff,” she assured him. “The cats are gone from the roof. It’s completely clean.” She looked in her rearview as lights flashed on the drive behind her.

“Backup’s here.”

“I can’t tell you how to play this, Susan,” Dan said. “I’m not on the scene. Play it by ear, but for Pete’s sake, be careful.”

“Ten-four.”

The backup consisted of Deputy Ken Pollard and Virginia Highway Patrolman Lewis. Both were armed with shotguns in addition to pistols. Susan and Woody met them in the front yard. All around them, they could hear the sounds of loudspeakers, telling the residents of Valentine to stay indoors, do not come outside, lock your doors and windows, don’t open them unless you know the person. It was repeated over and over.

All around them, in the houses nearby, they could see the frightened and confused faces of men, women, and children looking out of lighted windows.