“Oh, for heavens sake, Emily. They are not.”
“Alice, don’t argue with me!” Emily had seen the cats tightening the loose circle. The women’s only chance was to head into the woods.
Alice immediately began flapping her arms at the cats. “Shoo, kitty! Shoo, now! ” She looked at Emily. “Emily, why aren’t they moving?”
The cats sat on the ground and stared at the women, motionless, unblinking. Cruel-looking.
“Alice, you wanna knock it off? Goddamnit, don’t get them upset.”
“What is the matter with you, Emily? My word, they’re just cats!”
“Yeah, sure. Alice, look at the light-colored one. No, don’t stop walking. Just look at it. What do you see?”
She looked. Blinked. Her face paled. “Why . . . I . . .” She almost fainted-remembered. “They’re covered with blood. All of them are covered with blood. Do you think that the cats? ...”
“Keep walking. Yeah, Alice. I think the cats attacked the ... those people.”
“But why? Why would they do such a thing? Emily, do you think this might have something to do with the strange behavior of Quinn and Bill?”
“That’s what I’m thinking, Emily. Among other things, that is.”
The cats began steadily pacing the women as they walked, always staying about a hundred feet from them. But following them, their eyes unblinking and savage-looking. There were cats of all descriptions, from pedigree to alley cat. Big cats, little cats, large cats. They followed the women silently.
When the cats had failed to attack, Alice said, “Emily, this is ridiculous. There is no reason for house cats to attack people. Right?”
“Right, Alice. Keep walking.”
“Then why would they turn on people?”
“Keep walking. Don’t stop. Alice, I don’t feel like riddles. I don’t know why. But they did. And they look like they’re still hungry.”
Alice moved a bit faster.
“Slow down, Alice. Angle a little bit more this way. Alice? Look around. See which way I’m pointing. That way. You see that old house over there? Let’s head for it.”
“Oh, Emily! That isn’t a house.”
“Well, what the hell do you call it?”
“That’s a run down shack. And it’s all falling in.”
“Alice, I don’t care—we have no choice. I can’t shoot four or five hundred cats. Now, move!”
The women began walking faster, angling off. The cats sensed the urgency in the women’s steps, and the changing direction. They picked up speed, pulling closer to the women. The women began running, a fright scent drifting to the pursuing felines. The scent enraged them, filling them with a primitive emotion that lies just beneath the surface of any cat or hunter-dog: the german shepherd, the husky, the chow, the doberman.
“They’re getting closer, Emily!”
“Yeah, I know,” Emily panted. “Just keep going, Alice.
The cats began yowling and snarling as they ran, closing the distance rapidly. One leaped on the rotting old porch just a step behind the women. Emily whirled around and shot the cat through the body, killing it.
The gunshot was familiar to the animals. En masse, they stopped for a moment. That was all the time the women needed. They rushed into the old shack, both of them looking wildly around them for a place, any place, to hide.
“There aren’t any windows in this old shack!” Alice yelled, just a step away from hysteria.
“Hang on, Alice!” Emily yelled. “We’ll make it.”
She shoved the woman into a closet, stepping in behind her and slamming the door.
Cats filled the small shack. They crawled on the roof, covering it with small bodies. They yowled and howled and screeched their rage at their escaping prey. They flung themselves against the closed closet door, claws ripping at the old wood. One stuck its paw under the door, between the door and the floor, the paw searching for flesh. Alice lifted her foot and stomped the paw with the sole of her tennis shoe. The cat screamed in pain.
The din in and around and on top of the old shack was tremendous.
The women sank to the dusty, rat-droppings-littered floor, scared and exhausted.
“Emily? ”
“Yes, Alice?”
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. We’ll think of something.”
* * *
Carrie shook her head, stopping her friend’s repeated questions. “I can’t tell you any more than that, Linda. Daddy will explain it all when he gets home. He said he would. Okay?”
“It’s got something to do with all that monster talk around town, doesn’t it?”
Carrie nodded.
“Wow! This is exciting.” She leaned closer to her friend. “And just think—having two college men to protect us, too.”
Carrie looked at her brother and at Mike. “College men? If you say so, Linda.”
“I think Mike’s cute.”
Carrie sighed. Mike was like a brother to her. And brothers are okay, but not cute. At least not until Carrie had a couple more years on her. If she lived that long. If anyone in the Garrett household lived through the next few days. And nights.
“Come on, Carrie,” Linda urged. “At least tell me a little more about what’s going on.”
But Carrie knew better than to disobey her dad. She shook her head and remained mum on the subject. “Wait until Dad gets home. I told you.”
“All right. Big secrets. Oh! I meant to ask you. Is your cat still around here?”
Mike and Carl listened to the girl’s chatter more attentively with that question.
“Huh? Oh ... sure. I mean, I guess. She’s around someplace. She’s a weird cat. Doesn’t like to come inside. She’s out around the shed, I suppose. No, wait a sec. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her in a couple of days. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s probably nothing, but all the cats in our neighborhood have disappeared. Including our Nanny. They just . . . well, went away. Isn’t that weird?”
“Yeah. Now that you mention it, it is. Real strange.”
“I guess Nanny will come back home.”
“Oh, sure. She’ll come back when she’s hungry. Speaking of that, let’s fix a sandwich and go in my room. I got the new Rick Springfield album.”
The cats were forgotten. “All right!” Linda said.
The girls gone, the boys waited until the stereo was blaring.
Carl looked at Mike. “You heard that about the cats, right?”
“Yeah, I heard. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Since I’m not all omniscient, I haven’t the vaguest idea. But the odds are good that I am. I wonder if it’s just a fluke, or countywide?”
“You think we should call your father?”
Carl thought for a moment. “Yeah, I do.”
His mother stepped into the room, a puzzled look on her face. “Boys? Would you both please come look here?”
The boys rose and followed her into the kitchen. “Is it lunchtime already?” Mike joked, patting his stomach.
“You’re a bottomless pit,” Carl said.
“If nominated I will not accept. If elected I will not serve. But show me some food, and I’ll always eat.”
“You might not want to eat after seeing this,” Vonne told them. “Either of you.”
“What’s up, Ma?” Carl said, grinning at her.
She pointed toward the kitchen window. “Look out there and tell me what you make of that.”
Both young men stepped to the window over the sink. They looked out.
Both lost their grins.
“Holy cow!” Mike said. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, and looked again.
The same sight greeted him.
“Damn!” Carl whispered.
The side yard and as far in the back yard as the boys could see was filled with cats. Several hundred cats. They were on the lawn furniture, on Mike’s car, perched on tree limbs, and sitting on the roof of the shed.
/>
They were all looking at the house.
Motionless.
Unblinking.
Silently staring through cold eyes.
4
“I think you really stepped in it this time, Mille,” Kenny said. “I tell you this, I could have died when you tossed your stash on that cop’s desk.”
She smiled, recalling the look on Kenny’s face as she did so. “He’s fair,” she defended her action. “I think we’ve found us a real gem. An honest cop.”
Kenny wasn’t so sure. “Maybe. But that damn chief deputy looks freaky.”
Mille could not contain her laughter as she glanced over at Kenny.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all, Kenny. All right. Let’s assume the sheriff is leveling with us. Where do we start? And don’t tell me the beginning.”
“Let’s drive the back roads, Mille. Together. Personally, I think that monster tale is just that—nonsense. At least I hope it is. But if it isn’t? ...” He trailed that off into silence and sat looking out the window.
“Two heads are better than one,” she finished it for him.
“Something like that, Mille.”
She picked up on the flatness of his tone and again glanced at him. “Something is sure eating at you, Kenny. Want to talk about it?”
“I’m struggling with myself, Mille. Inwardly. Major decision-making time, I guess. Something that’s going to affect my whole life.” He looked at his reflection in the glass.
“Jesus, Kenny. Are you going to get married? Is that it?”
“No, no. A much bigger step than that, I’m afraid.”
Then it came to her. “Oh, my God, Kenny! You’re not thinking about joining the Army are you?”
“No. Bigger than that. Mille, if I asked you something, would you give me a totally honest answer. I mean, level with me.”
“You know I would.”
“Mille—” He sighed. “What do you think about me getting a haircut?”
* * *
Suddenly, there appeared to be a shortage of dogs in the county. There were as many dogs as before, they were just not as visible as before. As some animals will show signs of concern and agitation before a violent storm, the dogs in Ruger County sensed some sort of danger all around them. And they became very wary. It was not anything tangible; just something that touched a nerve within the animals. And the animals had enough sense to pay attention to it. The dogs made themselves as inconspicuous as possible. When they did venture away from home, they traveled in small packs. Once bitter enemies became close allies. Territory meant nothing now. The dogs sensed survival was the paramount issue.
But few human residents of the county noticed the change in the animals. A few would, but it would be too late for those humans who worked outside, and usually alone.
Or for those who enjoyed the night.
* * *
“Cats?” Dan questioned the telephone call. “Like in house cats, boy?”
“House cats, Dad,” Carl said. “I’ve never seen anything like it in my life; so many of them gathered together. And there hasn’t been a fight among them. None of them. That’s why I think something is very wrong. They’re just ... watching the house. Staring at it.”
“Stay inside,” Dan told his son. “Pull all the windows down and lock them. Close the doors.” A queasy sensation was creeping into his stomach. A very uneasy emotion. Loose ends were beginning to draw together. But Dan didn’t like the knots that were forming.
Dan was conscious of Taylor watching him closely.
“Dad? You there, Dad?”
“What? Oh, yes. Yes, I’m here son. Lock it down, Carl. I’m on my way home.” He hung up.
“Now what?” Taylor asked.
Dan told him.
“Cats?” the man questioned. “Like in kitty cats?”
“I’m afraid so. Like in kitty cats. Come on. Get your shotgun.”
Dan stopped at dispatch on the way out. “Anybody calling in about bunches of cats gathering?”
Dan was conscious of Deputy Ken Pollard looking strangely at him.
Dispatch looked up. “Sir?” she asked.
“Cats?” Dan repeated. “Large bunches of cats gathering? ”
“No, sir. But it’s very odd.”
“What is?”
“My mother called this morning from Ashby. All upset. Her old cat is gone and so are her neighbors’ cats. On all sides of her. All up and down the street. Gone. And my cat is missing, too. Come to think of if, I . . .” She paused, brow wrinkling in recall. “I saw a large group of cats coming to work this morning. Maybe ... oh, fifty or sixty of them. Maybe more. Quite a bunch of them.”
“These cats,” Captain Taylor asked, “what were they doing?”
Dispatch looked at him. “Nothing, sir. They were just sitting in a vacant field. Wait ... come to think of it, they were all sitting in a straight line, staring out at, well, I don’t know what they were staring at. But they were, well, like ... soldiers.”
Dan noticed Ken listening very intently. Then Dan remembered driving home the afternoon before. All those cats he’d seen wandering about.
Dan said, “I want you to go to tach and alert all units to be on the lookout for large groups of cats. Never mind any dogs.” He paused. Hell, he couldn’t remember even seeing any dogs the past twenty-four hours.
“I haven’t even seen any dogs lately,” Taylor said.
“Come to think of it,” Chuck said. “My hounds are sure acting funny.”
“Funny how?” Dan asked.
“Nervous like. Maybe, well, scared, might be the word I’m lookin’ for. But scared of what?”
“Large groups of cats, maybe,” Dan said. He turned back to dispatch. “Have the units log the cats’ location and approximate number. I’m enroute to my house now. Captain Taylor will be with me. Get on that please.”
“Yes, sir.”
On their way out, Dan noticed Pollard on the telephone. He thought nothing of it.
Rolling toward his house, Dan said to Captain Taylor, “What is that line from Alice in Wonderland?”
“Eh? Oh, yeah. What was it? Yeah. Curiouser and curiouser. Sure fits this situation, doesn’t it. Oh, God, Dan. Look over there to your right.”
Dan looked and once more that sick sensation filled his stomach.
A large group of cats, perhaps fifty or sixty, filled the branches of a huge old tree. They sat perched like miniature leopards; a real life diminution of a wildlife special. All the scene lacked was a veldt and baobab tree.
“I have never seen house cats behave like that,” Taylor said.
“Yeah,” was all Dan could say.
The scene unnerved both men. They were silent the rest of the way to the Garrett house.
Dan pulled into his drive and stopped midway. Both men sat and stared.
The yard was filled with cats. Several hundred of them, at least. They sat and stared at the men, staring at them.
Dan’s radio shattered the silence. “Base to Ruger One.”
“This is One. Go.”
“Doctors Ramsey and Harrison just called in. Both their wives are missing. And Mrs. Armstrong, Miller, Bradbury, and Como have all called in, hysterical. Their kids are missing. They were in the Armstrong car, but said they were going walking out near the old truck terminal.”
“Oh, no!” Taylor gasped.
“All right,” Dan spoke into his mike. “Send someone out to the terminal, check the woods around there. I want a pair. No one lone-wolfs it. Understood?”
“Ten-four, Sheriff.”
Dan hooked the mike just as a large yellow tomcat jumped up on the hood of the car. It sat, looking through the windshield. The cat put a paw against the glass, the claws extended. It dragged the paw down the glass slowly, producing a noise much like fingernails on a blackboard.
Both Dan and Captain Taylor cringed.
The cat actually seemed to be grinning at the men. Almost as
if it knew it was taunting them.
Dan turned on the wipers. The cat studied the moving blades for a few seconds, then reached up and slapped the blades. Dan honked the horn. The noise did not bother the cat. Dan was intent on watching the cat and did not notice what the other cats were doing.
“Dan?” Taylor brought him out of his study. “The cats are moving, circling us.”
Dan looked around him. The cats were moving, slowly circling the car. Their eyes did not ... Dan struggled for a word ... did not appear normal. He had never, or could not ever recall, seeing eyes so savage-looking on a house cat.
Dan said, “I feel like I’m having a bad dream. Pretty soon, I’m going to wake up.”
“I hope I’m in that dream and we’re going to wake up fast,” Taylor said.
Dan looked up, spotting the faces of his family looking out the front windows of the house. He motioned for them to stay inside. Vonne nodded.
The men had rolled up the windows on the car after pulling in and spotting the cats. They sat and watched the cats circle them. Dan’s eyes widened as he detected a pattern in the circling.
“Look at that!” he said to Taylor. “The group closest to us is moving clockwise. The next group is going counter-clockwise. The next group clockwise, and so on. Cats just don’t do things like that.”
“It’s almost as if they ... are being controlled,” Taylor said. “But by whom? Or what?”
“Look out!” Dan yelled, even though they were protected by the heavy glass.
The cats hurled themselves against the car, throwing their bodies against the metal and glass, howling and snarling and spitting, their sharp little teeth exposed.
Their claws scratched at the paint as the cats completely covered the vehicle.
“Hang on!” Dan said. He dropped the car into gear and floorboarded it, holding the wheel in a hard left turn. He cut tight doughnuts in his drive and the front yard, knocking cats spinning and squalling and howling, the tires squashing a dozen of them.
No room to maneuver his shotgun, Taylor rolled down the window and emptied his .357 at the cats, quickly reloading and firing again.
The cats began retreating into the meadow and woods around the home, but not before Carl and Mike ran out onto the porch, shotguns in their hands. They blasted the air with shot, sending bloody bits of cats hurtling through the yard. Vonne stood on the porch beside the boys, a .22 semi-automatic rifle in her hands. She emptied the tube, each small slug impacting with a cat.
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