Cat's Cradle

by William W. Johnstone

  “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.

  “He says he’ll be here in an hour. And no, he didn’t need directions to my house. He said he knows the way. You heard me ask him if there was anything we could do until he arrived?”

  The men nodded.

  “He said try prayer.”

  10

  Wally was putting up a much stronger defense than Randall. Wary from the outset, the man had intense fear working on his side. He managed to twist, grab his M-16, and flop over onto his back. He pulled the trigger. The three round burst caught the creature in the neck and face, all that was visible sticking out of the ground. Through fearful eyes, Wally watched the slugs impact, twisting and tearing their way through the dark, wrinkled flesh. One of the slugs hit the thing in its mouth, knocking out long teeth.

  The hideous being laughed at Wally. It was Randall’s voice springing from out of that wide, fanged mouth. The head and face slick and slimy from the hole. Wally fired again and again, the slugs knocking chunks of meat from the creature. The stinking chunks fell to the earth around the hole. They lay quivering, working their way into the earth. Living still.

  Wally felt himself being pulled deeper into the hole. Almost unbearable agony ripped through the man as his leg was twisted, breaking, the bone popping, punching out of his flesh. He blacked out momentarily. When he regained consciousness, he was up to his waist, inside the hole. The heat of the liquid was worse than the pain in his leg.

  Summoning what was left of his strength, Wally twisted and hammered at the ugly creature with his rifle. Pounding on the thing’s slimy head seemed to have more effect than shooting it. Wally felt the creature’s hand relax its grip on his one good ankle. He jammed the muzzle of the M-16 into one of the thing’s eyes and pulled the trigger. The horrible being howled and screamed, releasing Wally’s ankle. Its eye exploded in a gush of fluid. The creature shook its head and roared.

  Wally found his way out of the hole and crawled and scurried like a big crippled bug over the ground. Scooting along, dragging his mangled leg, Wally made his way away from the hole. He looked back, over his shoulder. The creature was struggling to be free of the hole; but could not quite make it out. It sank back into the bubbling stench.

  Wally found his walkie-talkie and managed to call in. Then he passed out, the darkness swallowing him.

  * * *

  “Have you switched sides permanently?” Dan asked Dodge. And can I believe whatever answer you give me? he thought.

  Dodge, Taylor, and Dan stood outside the Sheriff’s Department office building. The sun was boiling red, slowly sinking over Ruger County. It was almost the color of blood, tinting the landscape an eerie hue.r />
  Dodge nodded. “I never was on the side of the OSS. I’ve been working undercover for seven years with those people. Every time I’d think I had enough to go to court, the witnesses would turn rabbit on me. I’m sorry, Dan. But I couldn’t let on to you.” He looked at Taylor. “Either of you. Now it doesn’t make any difference; Lamotta began suspecting I wasn’t who I claimed to be several months ago. They’ve been edging me out slowly. And your pal Gordon Miller-that isn’t his real name, by the way-is working both sides of the street, too. Maybe both sides and the middle. We think he’s taking Red money.”

  “Holy smokes!” Taylor said. “And Miller knows all about the OSS?”

  Dodge laughed bitterly. “Know about them? He’s been part of them for years. So is the woman with him. We think she’s a Red mole.”

  Who to trust? Dan thought. Trust? The question is: what can I do?

  “We’re all meeting the priest at your house, right, Dan?” Taylor asked.

  “Yeah. We’d better get going.”

  “I’m going to shower and change first,” the trooper said. “I got a feeling in my guts it may be a while before we get another chance.”

  “I’ll sure go along with that.”

  “One more thing,” Dodge said. “Governor Williams is working with the Bureau on this matter. He didn’t cut bait. He just didn’t have any choice in the matter. None of us knew it was going to turn out this way. I mean, come on, think about it. Monsters? Creatures? Satan? But the governor is fully prepared to shoulder the blame. He’s really a good man caught up in a hard bind. I guess, like us.”

  “Why all the goddamned cover-ups?” Taylor demanded. “Why not just come out and level with us all from the outset?”

  Dodge sighed. “Because, gentlemen, sometimes government agencies work at cross-purposes with each other. It’s usually unintentional-as in this case—but it happens. We told the governor to do one thing, another agency, without knowing we were even in on it, told him to do another. The governor said to hell with it all and went on vacation.”

  “In other words,” Taylor said. “You blew it.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Dandy,” the trooper said, disgust in his tone. “Where do you super-cops get the idea that you can handle a state’s internal problems any better than that state’s troopers?”

  Dodge had no reply to give, literally or figuratively. He knew the captain was right.

  “I’m sorry about Forbes,” Dodge said.

  “Yeah,” Taylor said, turning to leave. He called over his shoulder. “I’ll have that chiseled on his tombstone.”

  Dodge took no offense. He understood the trooper’s anger.

  “He’s a good, solid man, Dodge,” Dan said.

  “Oh, I know that. He has every reason to be angry. I don’t blame him a bit.”

  “That document Gordon had Pat sign?” Dan asked.

  Dodge laughed, his short bark void of humor. “Not worth the paper it’s printed on. The company named is non-existent. The CIA has no authority to make any such agreements.”

  “I thought as much. Come on. Follow me to my house.”

  * * *

  The only thing left of the guard was the change in his pockets, his gun and ammunition, his keys, his watch and belt buckle. Everything else had been eaten.

  They had attacked the guard’s ankles, quickly eating their way up his calves, eating the muscles, bringing the man down, unable to use his legs. More vicious than piranha, the worms wriggled and crawled and squirmed their way over the floor of the trailer; they covered the white bones of the guard.

  But the worms were still unable to leave the trailer. They were still trapped, and still growing, producing more and more of their kind. Little spawns of the Dark One. Even Satan has a sense of humor.

  They began seeking escape from the confines of the trailer.

  * * *

  The doctors and their wives sat in silence in Alice’s lovely home. They looked at each other, none trusting their voices to speak. They had just heard the news bulletin on the TV.

  “I don’t understand it,” Emily said. “What does it mean? Is it real?”

  “I doubt it,” Quinn said. “I think if it were real, we would have been notified. We’re the only Trauma Center in the county.”

  “They? ...” Alice looked at her husband. “What does it all mean?”

  Bill answered her question. “I think it means we’re cut off. No one can get into the county, and no one can get out.”

  “Trapped,” Emily said.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  BOOK THREE

  As long as I count the votes, what are you going to do about it?

  Tweed

  1

  The man stood in the twilight, that time between light and dark, day and night. But he was no more fearful of the night than of light. He carried a small leather bag, much like a doctor’s bag, in his right hand. Although he was just past middle age, his hair was snow-white, his face lined from years of studying and combating his enemy—Satan. And Satan was here. He could feel the presence of the Dark One. There was no doubt in his mind. And Satan was not alone. The Old Ones were struggling to be free.

  The priest had been awaiting a call from this county for several weeks. Not looking forward to it, but knowing it was coming. The evil had intensified, slowly growing, the corruption building and bubbling under the earth’s surface.

  And the priest knew it was no fault of the county’s ten thousand or so residents. The young goddess and her companion had been disturbed by an unlucky slap of fate. Or perhaps Satan had directed their footsteps to this county. The priest would probably never know.

  Father Michael Denier had known he would be called. And he knew he was facing his own death by answering that call.

  He stood in the front yard, looking at the Garrett house in the now-swiftly fading light.

  “Mother,” Carrie said, looking out a window. “There is a man standing out in the front yard. He’s all dressed in black.”

  “The priest,” Dan said. He walked out onto the porch and stood, looking at the man, looking at him. “Father Denier?”

  “Yes. But please drop the Father. Call me Michael.”

  “I wouldn’t be comfortable doing that,” Dan said.

  “As you wish.”

  “Please come in, Father.”

  “In a moment. First I want to bless this house and grounds.”

  Dan didn’t know if he was allowed to watch this or not. Denier smiled. “I’m just a man, Sheriff Garrett. And all things pertaining to God can, or should be, viewed.”

  “How did you develop the power to read minds?”

  “Most people have some sort of psychic ability. I merely developed mine.”

  “I see.” The phone rang. Leaving the priest to his holy work, Dan walked back inside.

  Vonne held out the phone to him. “It’s for you. That damnable Lou Lamotta.”

  “What do you want, Lamotta?”

  “That thing in the hole got another one of my people, Garrett. But this one got away from it. He’s pretty badly chewed up. Leg’s shattered. And that hole is getting bigger. Pretty damn soon, whatever in the hell it is down there, is coming out. I put more guards out there and threw up a cyclone fence-makeshift. It’s not going to hold it in, though.”

  “Why tell me about it, Lamotta. Didn’t you tell me to stay out of your business?”

  “Because you’re just as big a jerk as you think I am, Garrett. You’re just too dumb to see it. Do you think I’m a fool, Garrett?”

  “I told you before, Lamotta. I think you’re insane. Why are you asking me these things?”

  “Come on, Sheriff. Don’t act cute with me. Are you saying you didn’t have anything to do with the rigged accident that’s closing down this county?”

  “That’s right. I didn’t even know anything about it until it was already in motion. My plan was to storm the terminal and blow the hole where that . . . thing is hiding. And hopefully, I�
�d get to shoot you in the process.”

  Lou chuckled, then sighed. “Company’s in on this then. Probably that phony IRS agent that met with you this afternoon, right?”

  “That’s right, Lou.” Why not, Dan thought. I sure don’t owe Gordon a damn thing.

  “I figured as much. I ran into a stone wall checking him out. And that broad with him is as phony as he is. You know, Sheriff,” Lou drawled. “We just might become allies before this is all over.”

  “Lamotta, I can’t think of anything any more disgusting.”

  Lou laughed at that. “Hang in there, Garrett. One thing about you, buddy-boy—you’re predictable.”

  The connection was broken.

  Dan replaced the phone in the cradle and turned, feeling eyes on him. Father Denier was standing in the open doorway.

  “Where to start, Father?”

  Denier spread his hands and shrugged.

  Taylor, Dodge, Chuck, Mike, and Dan’s family sat in the den, waiting, listening. Carrie and Linda sat on the floor, both of them looking scared.

  Dan took a deep breath. “This is going to sound awfully stupid, Father.”

  “The Old Ones are working their way out of the earth,” the priest said.

  “You know about them?” Dan asked.

  “Oh, yes.” Denier stepped into the room, placing his bag on a table. “Satan planned well. He has minions all over the world. God condemned them to the bowels of the earth and covered them, buried them under tons of rock. Thousands of years ago. Religions then formed in an attempt to call out the Old Ones. Only one succeeded. They were known as the Cat People.”

  Mike stared at the priest. “Then . . . that chapter in the book I read is true?”

  “What chapter in what book, son?” the priest asked. There was a strange smile on his face.

  Mike picked up the old book. “This book, Father.” He opened the book and turned to the chapter.

  But no such chapter existed.

  Mike practically tore the book apart in his frantic searching for the lost chapter.

  “Stop it!” Father Denier spoke sharply.

  Mike looked at the man, his face confused and scared.