Cat's Eye

by William W. Johnstone

  Scratch. Purr.

  Dee jumped at the sound as Dingo growled. The night once more became quiet.

  “That was a warning, wasn’t it, Carl?”

  “Yes,” Carl told her, as dark shapes began materializing just a few hundred yards outside the fence. They did not make any attempt to approach the house. They stood in silence, staring.

  “Who are they, Carl?”

  “I don’t know. But I intend to find out if a bullet will stop them.” Carl walked into the house, and seconds later Dee once more jumped as rifle fire shattered the night. Carl was shooting from the rear of the house. Dee saw two of the dark shapes spin and fall to the ground. The others scattered, running toward the safety of the timber.

  Carl walked through the house, carrying the rifle. He leaned the heavy bolt-action 7-mm magnum in a corner and picked up an M-16, walking out to the porch.

  “Call Jim Hunt, Dee. Tell him we’ve had trouble here and to come on out. Tell him code three. He’ll know what you mean.”

  Jim was out in fifteen minutes, followed by an unmarked car. The two men who got out of the car were introduced as Virginia Highway Patrol detectives, and they were not happy about Carl holding the M-16.

  “Is that thing fully automatic, boy?” one asked.

  “Sure is, man,” Carl told him.

  “He has a Federal firearms permit to transport and carry automatic weapons,” Jim said, stepping in before anymore words could be exchanged. “I ran it, and it’s valid.” He looked at Carl. “Sorry about them taggin’ along, Carl. They been assigned here.”

  “How lucky for us,” Carl said, slightly sarcastic.

  “All right!” the second VHP man, who had been introduced as Lieutenant Daly, shouted. “Now look, damnit. We’ve been lied to for the past hour and a half, and I’m tired of it. The mayor has lied to us, the sheriff has lied to us, the chief deputy has lied to us, and the chief of police has lied. Now Carl, I know who you are. I was friends with your daddy. I came in shortly after the . . . incident in Ruger County. Is this going to be a repeat performance? And goddamnit, tell me the truth.”

  Carl stared at the man, finally placing him. He had been out to their home in Valentine several times, and had been very helpful in arranging the funerals and other matters.

  Carl looked at the other detective, who had been introduced as Sergeant Tolson. “What about him?”

  “What about him?”

  “What does he know about Ruger?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What’s going on?” Tolson asked. He jerked a thumb toward Carl. “I don’t like this guy’s attitude, Hugh.”

  The look that Daly gave the sergeant stated that not only did the lieutenant not like Tolson’s attitude, he wasn’t too terribly thrilled with Tolson himself at the moment. “Let’s you and me talk, Carl.”

  “Suits me.”

  “I have coffee, gentlemen,” Dee called from the porch.

  “That sounds good,” Jim said.

  Tolson walked to the gate, took one look at Dingo, and said, “If that dog comes at me, I’ll put a bullet in its head.”

  Carl turned, planted his feet, and gave Tolson a solid right to the side of the jaw. The punch knocked the trooper off his feet and landed him on the ground. When the man opened his eyes, he was staring directly into the muzzle of the M-16. He lifted his eyes to look at Carl. The muzzle and the eyes of the man holding the weapon held the same deadly message.

  “I just don’t like you, you son of a bitch!” Carl told him.

  “I certainly got that impression,” the trooper said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.” He suddenly grinned. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but if you’ll take that M-16 out of my nose, we can start all over.”

  Carl lifted the M-16 and held out his hand. Tolson took it and got to his feet. Standing up, he eyeballed Carl as he rubbed his jaw. “You ’bout twenty-five pounds heavier than I first pegged you. I haven’t been hit that hard in a long time. Truce?” He held out his hand.

  Carl shook the hand. “Truce.”

  “Tolson, go on with Jim and get some coffee. I want to talk with Garrett.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  When they were alone in the night, standing outside the chainlink fence, Daly said, “What’s going on, Carl?”

  “A repeat performance of what happened in Ruger. Only this time it’s bigger and much better organized. Do you really know what happened in Ruger?”

  “I know bits and pieces of it, Carl. People like to talk, you know that. But I don’t know what to believe and what not to believe.”

  Carl very quickly brought him up to date, watching with some dark amusement as the man’s expression changed a dozen times during the briefing.

  “Why isn’t this . . . chanting or singing going on now?” Tolson asked.

  “They don’t want you in here either.”

  “Thanks a lot. It’s so nice to feel wanted.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I suppose. This Linda Crowley, she’s one of ... whatever these things are?”

  “We believe so.”

  “Any trace of this Ralph Geason?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. But when he does surface, he’ll be changed.”

  Daly was silent for a moment. “I liked Captain Taylor. He was one of the finest men I ever knew. These . . . things killed him, didn’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “For no other reason than revenge.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know what I have to do, Carl.”

  “Don’t call any more people in, Lieutenant. I just told you what happened in Ruger.”

  “I’ve got to make a report, Carl.”

  “When?”

  “Well . . . within the next couple of days for sure.”

  “Hold off as long as you can. Will you do that for me?”

  The trooper scratched his jaw. Sighed. “Okay, Carl. Two days, max. Then I’ve got to pull some people in here.”

  “As soon as you do that, the press will be all over us.”

  “That isn’t necessarily true. I can request they not come in convoy-style and I can also request plainclothes.”

  “Lieutenant, everything I do is not going to be legal,” Carl reminded the state cop.

  “Like what?”

  “Like those two bodies out there.” Carl pointed toward the darkness.

  The trooper’s eyes followed the pointing finger. He unwrapped a piece of gum and stuck it into his mouth, chewing for a moment. “I don’t see a damn thing out there, Carl,” he finally said. “I think either it was your imagination or you’re a terrible shot. I’ll tell Tolson about the so-called shooting . . . in a few days. Right now, I’m going to get some coffee and pleasure myself eyeballing Miss Conners. You and Jim can go stomp around out there while I keep Tolson occupied.”

  * * *

  At first glance the bodies were human-appearing. But under the flashlights’ glow Jim and Carl could make out features that definitely were not human. The heavy, protruding brow, the simian eyes and nose, the wide, leathery, apelike mouth. And the teeth: more like fangs.

  “Jesus!” Jim said, summing it up.

  “I never saw or heard of anything like this in Ruger, Jim. Something new has been added.”

  “I could have done without it. What the heck are these things?”

  “Holy shit!” The voice came from behind them.

  The men turned. Tolson stood there, his eyes bugged out and his mouth open. The trooper appeared to be in a mild form of shock.

  Tolson shook his head and cleared his throat. “I got the feeling I was being stalled. When Hugh went to the john I came out to see what was going on. Me and Hugh play the good guy-bad guy routine so often with suspects—with me always the bad guy—I sometimes can’t shake the character. So I was being stalled and you’ve leveled with Hugh. How about leveling with me?”

  “Squat down here and look at these things,” Jim told him. “Carl will bring you
up to date.”

  Tolson squatted. His squat didn’t last long. By the time Carl finished speaking, the trooper was sitting on the ground, staring unbelievingly at first Jim and then Carl. Several times he opened his mouth to speak and several times he closed it. Finally he got to his feet to stand over and point at the dead horrors.

  “These things have to be taken in for autopsy.”

  “Burn them!” Carl said.

  “No way, man. This is proof that all you’ve said is not a bunch of baloney. We’ve got to have proof or we’re all going to be labeled nuts! You know damn well the press is going to get hold of this. Sooner or later they’ll be in here.”

  “I got to agree with him, Carl,” Jim said.

  “Neither one of you understand,” Carl said, pleading with the men. “These things”—he pointed—“will rise again.”

  “Rise again!” Tolson blurted out, just as Daly walked out to join them, Dee with him. “You mean like . . . zombies or something like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I agree with that too,” Jim said. “What was left of Old Lady Barstow durn sure come out of that cooler.”

  Both troopers looked at the chief deputy with a mixture of horror and disbelief in their eyes.

  From the forest that surrounded them, the enticing song of the siren began.

  “Don’t listen to it,” Carl warned. “Sing, whistle, pray—do anything except listen to that song.”

  Tolson looked toward the dark woods. “That’s my mother’s voice,” he said wistfully. “She died when I was just a boy, but I’ll never forget how pretty she was.” He took a step toward the timber. “I’m coming, Momma. Yes. I hear you.”

  Carl knee-tackled the man and brought him down.

  “Momma!” Tolson yelled, as they rolled on the cool ground. “Help me, Momma!” He began fighting Carl with the strength of ten men. He threw Carl from him.

  “Pile on!” Carl yelled, struggling to get to his feet. “Don’t let him go into those woods.”

  Everybody, including Dee, jumped on the trooper and rode him to the ground.

  Jim, Carl, and Dee pinned the man while Daly worked to get handcuffs on him.

  As soon as he was cuffed, the siren’s song stopped and the woods fell silent.

  “Hugh?” Tolson spoke. “What the hell happened? How come you got iron on me?”

  “You thought it was your mother calling you from the woods. It took all of us to stop you.”

  “I don’t remember anything. It’s all a blank.”

  Daly unlocked the cuffs and Tolson sat up on the ground.

  Dee looked at the bodies, a green, stinking slime leaking from the bullet holes in them, and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  “I’m going to override you on this one, Carl,” Daly said. “Jim, call your coroner and have him come out here and get these . . . whatever they are. Tolson, we say nothing about these bodies. I promised Carl two days. Let’s give it to him.”

  “Suits me,” the trooper replied, standing up and brushing the dust from his clothes. “We damn sure want to keep this from the press as long as possible.” He looked toward the dark timber and shook his head. “I never really believed in the Devil before. God and Jesus and the Hereafter, yeah, but not Satan.”

  “And now?” Jim asked, his voice soft.

  “You’re lookin’ at a man who has just seen the light—so to speak.”

  Dee started screaming as a cold hand closed around her bare ankle.

  Chapter 16

  Ralph Geason crouched in the shadows of a warehouse and tried to make some sense out of what he had become. He could not. His brain could no longer reason in a human fashion. He had memories of his last night as a functioning human being, but they were cloudy and rapidly fading in what was now his animal-like brain.

  He could remember Linda entering the bathroom where he was showering. He could remember the shock at her pulling back the curtains and standing there naked. He could remember the savage smile on her lips and the wild look in her eyes.

  The rest was just a jumbled-up mass of confusion in his brain.

  He knew he was being hunted and he knew he must be careful. He knew that for some reason—as yet unknown to him—he must survive for a few more days. He had become what he was for a reason, a purpose. He didn’t know what, he didn’t even know what he was, only that he was to be a part of something that was to happen very soon.

  And Ralph knew he was hungry. Not for cheeseburgers or fried chicken or pizza. He craved something else. His taste buds now desired a much more primitive meal. Blood and raw meat. He would make his kill and drag the carcass back to his lair and feast, then he would sleep.

  His lair. He looked around him at the dusty old warehouse. This was his lair. His. But something was missing. He pondered on that for a time, as he crouched naked on the floor, low growls emanating from his throat. Yes. He knew what it was. A mate. Life was not complete without a mate

  He would make his kill and then find a mate with which to share the food.

  Ralph scooted across the floor on all fours. He looked out a cobwebbed and dusty window. The night appeared safe. He pushed at the wall, seeking an exit. The wall did not move. He growled in frustration.

  He scooted along the wall until coming to a door. Ralph crouched on the floor, studying the door. He understood this—sort of. He managed the doorknob and slipped out into the night. He had two things, and only two things on his mind: food and a mate.

  * * *

  Carl beat at the arm with a surveyor’s stake he’d grabbed up from the ground, left there by one of the timber cutters. Daly dropped to the ground and was prying the fingers from Dee’s ankle. He finally had to start bending and breaking the fingers in an attempt to free her. Shouting his rage, Carl grabbed the stake like a spear and drove the sharpened end into the center of the creature’s chest. The living dead screamed as the stake penetrated flesh and pierced the heart. With a roar, the creature lumbered to its feet and staggered off into the night, the stake protruding from its chest, leaving a smear of greenish yellow slime on the ground, marking its escape into the timber.

  Daly and Tolson were busy putting handcuffs on the wrists and ankles of the second body which was so far still lifeless. Both troopers were badly shaken by what they had just witnessed.

  “I’ll call in for the coroner,” Jim said. “I got to find out if any of the escaped prisoners have been rounded up.”

  Carl put his arms around Dee and held her until she stopped trembling and crying.

  “Can you walk?” he asked.

  She nodded, her head against his chest. “Yes. I think my ankle is going to be bruised, but nothing’s broken. That thing scared the hell out of me, Carl!”

  “Lean on me. Let’s get back to the house.”

  “We’ll stay out here with this ... ugly bastard,” Daly said, looking down at the hideousness that lay on the ground.

  The creature had opened its eyes and was glaring hate at those standing around it.

  The moonlight glistened off the slime trail left by the living dead that had staggered off into the woods.

  Carl and Dee met Jim halfway back to the house.

  “The press picked up on the jailbreak,” he told them. “I figured they would. We had to teletype other departments and warn them. I guess we’d better get ready for a lot of nosy people. I hate like the dickens for this to happen, but it’s done, so we best get set.”

  “Doctor Bartlett on the way out here?”

  “Yeah. Carl? That thing had two bullet holes in it and you run a stake through its chest. It’s still alive. How the hell do you kill them?”

  “Fire. It’s the only way.”

  “But even that’s not one hundred percent sure, is it? I mean, you say this Anya and Pet have returned, right?”

  “They’re gods. I’m not sure that a god can be killed. But those things”—he turned, pointing toward the savage-looking creature on the ground—“are in the service of the gods. They�
�re minions. They can be killed.”

  “And Ralph Geason?” the question was posed softly.

  “He’s one of them, now. I saw it in Ruger County. There is no hope for him or any like him.”

  “That’s a lot of killing, Carl.”

  “There is no other way. Resign yourself to it, Jim. It’s the only way.”

  * * *

  She had been on her way back from the movies when a hard hand clamped over her mouth and strong arms jerked her into the dewy and dangerous darkness. The escaped cons grinned as they silently lined up, awaiting their perverted turn, having their brutal way with the struggling teenage girl, grunting and panting and hunching between her widespread and naked legs.

  After she passed out from mind-numbing fear, harsh pain, and total degradation, the cons tossed her naked and bruised body to one side, then continued on, searching for a safe haven in the town... and another girl to rape.

  Alice Watson slowly regained consciousness and rolled over on her stomach, pressing her face against the cool grass and sobbing hysterically for a few moments. She fought for control and gathered up her torn clothing, covering herself as best she could, then stumbled out of the darkness and into the street, where she was almost run over by Deputy Mike Randall, who was responding to an unknown-disturbance call.

  Mike hurriedly placed her in the back seat and took her to the clinic, where Doctor Perry had just arrived to look in on a patient. Doctors Bartlett and Jenkins were on their way to the Conners property, after receiving the call from Jim.

  Grim-faced, Perry took the rape kit from Mike and went to work. He had not yet been briefed on the trouble out at Dee’s.

  And Ralph Geason was stalking his prey.

  * * *

  “Big doin’s in town,” the pulpwood hauler muttered, sitting down on a bench in the schoolyard. He hauled out a pint bottle of hooch and took a deep pull. “Gawdam cops ever’where.” He had just seen a cop car speed by and had ducked for the cover of darkness, not wanting to be picked up and charged with public drunkenness.

  Champ Stinson—so called because he once fought professionally—heard a slight noise behind him. He turned around. He could see nothing in the darkness. Champ took another pull from the bottle and grimaced as the cheap bourbon burned its way down his throat and into his belly.