Cat's Cradle (10 page)

Dan waited for Quinn to tell him about the severed arm’s so-called ability to reproduce life. Quinn said nothing about it. The stinking carcass of what had once been a living human being was covered and loaded into an ambulance. Dan did not think to check his camera when the unfamiliar medic returned it to him.

But for now, there was nothing the lawmen could do about the news. Ruger County was, within the hour, filling with more reporters. The major TV networks were represented, with everybody jockeying for position.

Thoroughly irritated, not fully knowing what was going on, Dan finally passed the buck, dropping it into the laps of the medical people.

“I’m a cop,” Dan told the reporters. “My job is law enforcement, not medicine or science. You want answers to those questions, talk to the doctors.”

“Don’t screw it up,” Dan told Quinn. “We’re sitting right on top of a general panic right now.”

Dan thought the doctor’s smile was a bit strange, touched with a mysterious quality.

But what the hell would he be covering up? And more importantly,
why
?

But the doctors, none of them, had any intention of screwing anything up. The medical people had plans of their own, and they did not include Dan. The doctors put on their best cool professional faces and met the press head on.

And lied.

Dan had one of Captain Taylor’s plain clothes troopers tape record the press conference for him. He turned it off halfway through. He was disgusted. The doctors, all of them, especially Quinn, were lying. According to them, Al had contracted some strange illness while working in South America. Something closely akin to Hansen’s Disease. No, they couldn’t explain it. It was hideous though. Produced some sort of mummy-looking effect upon the skin. Terrible thing. Certainly was. No, Mrs. Ramsey and Mrs. Harrison were being treated for shock. Better leave them alone. They’ve had a terrible time of it.

“Yeah, sure,” Dan said. He clicked the recorder off.

He went home late that afternoon. He could not recall ever being so tired, so drained, so mentally exhausted.

What pissed Dan off more than anything was the wild tale Quinn told about Al being the one who attacked Chief Hardy and Mrs. Milford. And that goddamn Dodge backed him up on it.

Dan took a long hot shower, tossing his stinking clothes in the hamper, and fixed a sandwich and a glass of milk. He fell asleep in his chair before he got halfway through eating the sandwich. Evonne spread a light blanket over him, and went on to bed, letting her husband sleep. He finally came to bed about ten o’clock.

At midnight, the phone rang. Dan jarred awake and answered it.

“Sheriff? Chuck. Sorry to wake you. I know you were asleep. So was I. We got more problems. Denise Moore is missing and so is Mickey Reynolds. And something funny is going on.”

“Funny like ha-ha? I sure could use a good laugh.”

“No. Funny like in weird. Odd. A half dozen big tractor trailer rigs have pulled in. Real secret like. Bowie reported it to me. Power crews been working out at that old truck terminal north of town, and that’s where the rigs are tucking themselves in. They’re painted like they might be military rigs. But they look like some sort of mobile labs to me, Dan. You know what I mean; you’ve seen them. I went out there. They got armed guards around the place and won’t let me in.”

Dan’s temper flared, hitting the boiling point, then bubbling over. “Well, goddamnit, they’ll let me in. Is Captain Taylor and Dodge still in town?”

“Oh, yeah, Dan. Dodge is part of it.”

It began to jell in Dan’s mind. “Federal, huh? Okay. It’s beginning to clear up for me. How about Captain Taylor?”

“Out at the motel. So is Langway.”

“How about the reporters?”

“Most of them gone. They seemed satisfied with the press conference.”

“Yeah. I just bet Quinn and Dodge put on quite a show. Get Taylor and Langway. Meet me here at the house as soon as possible.”

“Rolling.” Chuck hung up.

Dan felt eyes on him. Vonne lay wide awake, looking at him. “What is it, Dan?”

“I really don’t know, Vonne. But whatever it is, I get the feeling it stinks.”

“You’re leaving in the middle of the night?”

“Yes. Go on back to sleep. I don’t know how late I’ll be.”

* * *

Taylor and Langway rode together out to the old terminal. Chuck rode with Dan. “Bring me up to date on Mickey and Denise,” Dan said.

“Mr. Moore called the office about seven o’clock. His daughter hadn’t come home.”

“Why in the hell did he wait until seven o’clock at night to report it? I’m not snapping at you, Chuck. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I feel the same way about it. I don’t spy on my kids, but I have a pretty good idea where they are most of the time. Rich folks just don’t do things like ordinary people. I never have understood them. I don’t know. About ten minutes after Moore called, Mrs. Reynolds called. Her husband was missing. Herman and Bowie checked it out. No one at the high school. No vehicles, nothing. Place is all locked up and dark. Mickey is a grown man and Denise is eighteen. Adults. You know there isn’t much we can do this soon. Moore is yelling about how he’ll have our jobs and all that crap. You know the drill.”

“Moore can’t do jack-shit. All right. All we can do is follow procedure. Chuck, I just remembered something about that terminal.”

“Yeah. And I know what it is. When that company filed for bankruptcy, there was a bunch of federal things involved. Something about payroll taxes and income taxes and SBA loans. The government seized it all. It’s federal property, now. ’Bout two hundred and fifty acres of land, plus the buildings.”

“Damnit!”
Dan said, hitting the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. He pulled over at a crossroads.

“I know the feeling,” Chuck said. “Sometimes I wish I’d gone into farming instead of police work. Too late, now. Been a cop since I got out of the Army. Hell, I was cop in there, too.”

Taylor and Langway pulled in behind Dan’s car. The men got out, shadowy figures moving about in the dust and the glare of the headlights.

Dan explained the situation

Taylor sighed in frustration. “You thinking like I’m thinking, Dan? This is a coverup?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking.”

“But what the hell are they covering up?” Langway asked.

“I don’t know,” Dan said. “Exactly.”

Taylor said, “Well, if the Feds are involved and they don’t want to let us on that property, they damn sure don’t have to. But by God, I sure would like to know what’s going on.”

A low slung sports car drove slowly by. All the men knew who it was.

Mille Smith.

She blinked her lights and honked the horn, driving on past.

“Doesn’t that female ever sleep?” Taylor asked.

“Do vampires need sleep?” Chuck asked.

The men laughed at that and stood for a moment, until Mille’s lights had faded, driving on past the turnoff to the terminal. The cops continued on, turning off the main highway on another road, staying with that for just over a mile to the old terminal. They came to a halt at the closed and locked gates. Signs had been added to the gates.

F
EDERAL
P
ROPERTY
-P
OSITIVELY
N
O
A
DMITTANCE
—A
LL TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED
.

 

Another sign, a larger one, read:
WARNING—ARMED GUARDS AND TRAINED ATTACK DOGS
PATROL THIS AREA. DO NOT ENTER.

 

“Bastards move quickly when they want to, don’t they?” Langway asked.

“Yeah,” Dan said. “You got both noun and adverb right.” He reached up and rattled the chained gates.

“Back off,” a low voice warned, coming out of the darkness.

“This is Ruger County Sheriff Dan Garrett! Goddamn you, don’t tell me what to do in this county. Get your ass out here so I can see you.”

“Easy, Dan.” They all recognized the voice of agent Dodge. “This is all the way out of your hands. Don’t push it.”

“Get out here where I can see you, Dodge. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

Dodge appeared out of the purple night, another man with him. The second man shoved a small leather ID case through the gates.

Dan opened the case and Chuck put his flashlight on the two-fold. The man’s picture was there, sealed in plastic, and beside the official seal of the United States Government read: FEDERAL OFFICE OF SPECIAL STUDIES.

Dan said, “I never heard of the Office of Special Studies.”

The man smiled. “Would you like to see one that reads Treasury Department:? Or how about Justice or I.C.C. or Secret Service? Just ask, Sheriff. I can produce it.”

“I just bet you can, too,” Dan said, sarcasm heavy in his voice.

“How about CIA?” Captain Taylor asked. “Wouldn’t that be closer to the truth?”

“Now, now, Captain Taylor,” the man said. Taylor was not surprised to learn the man knew his name. The man chuckled. “You know the Agency is not allowed to operate within the continental limits of the United States.”

Taylor’s returning chuckle held little humor.

“Go on back home, boys,” Dodge said. “It’s completely out of your hands. Besides, I understand in addition to all your other troubles, you’ve got some new disappearances to contend with.”

“My, word gets around quickly,” Dan said. “What’s going on in there, Dodge?”

“You just do not have a need to know, Sheriff. And if you repeat that, you just might find yourself in a whole lot of trouble.”

“Now, please leave,” the OSS man said.

“Is this America or Russia?” Chuck asked.

But agent Dodge and the man from the Office of Special Studies had melted back into the night.

“Now what?” Chuck asked.

“Will you call the governor, Captain?” Dan asked. “Maybe he can shed some light on this.”

“At first light,” the trooper said grimly. “I do not like this one damn little bit.”

The cops spun around as men appeared behind them, boots crunching on the pea gravel of the driveway. The men were dressed in military field clothes, but wore no insignia of any kind. They carried M-16s.

“You gentlemen are advised to leave this area, now,” one of the men spoke. His voice was very flat-sounding. “We are closing the road leading from the highway to this facility.”

“And if we don’t choose to do so?” Dan asked.

“Oh, you will leave, Sheriff. One way or the other. The choice is yours.”

“I’ll tell you one goddamn thing, buddy,” Captain Taylor said, his voice low and menacing. “You people might have the authority to keep me out of
there
”—he pointed toward the dark outline of the terminal—“but when you put your asses on the highway system in this state, they belong to
me.
And you can read into that any goddamn thing you like.”

“Are you quite through, Captain?” the nameless man asked.

“For the moment,” Taylor replied.

“Fine. Then
you
hear
me
out. This is a matter of the highest national security. If you wish to engage in a muscle-flexing contest ... well, I don’t have to tell you who is going to win. Oh, it’s quite true you might harass us a bit on the highways-for a very short time. But you do not control the skies.”

Captain Taylor bowed up, sticking his chin out. “And just what in the hell do you mean by that?”

“That means they’ll airlift in everything they need,” Dan said.

“Those helicopters I heard about five this ... yesterday afternoon,” Chuck said.

“You’re very quick, Sheriff,” the man said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, if you will all leave? ...”

“We’re leaving,” Dan said, before Captain Taylor exploded all over the place, which would do no one any good. Dan didn’t believe the government men would actually shoot any of them, but why take chances?

Off government property, the men stopped just before reaching the highway.

“What in the hell is going on back there?” Captain Taylor questioned.

“Some sort of medical experiment, for sure,” Dan said. “But damnit, why be so hush-hush about it?”

No one could say.

“We’ll call dispatch,” Dan said. “See if they have anything new on the missing people. If not, I suggest we call it a day-or night-and try to get some sleep. Let’s meet at my office in the morning and see what else has developed.”

* * *

In the bus garage of the high school, the white Cadillac of Denise Moore was parked in between two buses that were in the process of being repaired. The naked body of Denise was spread-eagled and tied on the hood. She was alive; but just barely. Blood leaked down both fenders and across the grille. It had gathered in pools on the concrete floor. The ropes that held Denise’s ankles were stained red, tied to the bumper. The windows of the Caddy were lowered, the ropes that bound her wrists tied to the steering column. The girl had been repeatedly raped and then tortured. Strange shapes had been cut into her flesh; cuttings that depicted cats and stars and strange monuments. It had taken Mickey hours to do all that he had been instructed to do. Silently instructed in a strange language he now knew was his own. The metamorphosis of Mickey was almost complete. He had aged, his skin darkening and wrinkling. Drool leaked from his mouth. His eyes were maddened.

Mickey had hidden his car after hiding the Cadillac. He could not now use his car, for he had forgotten how to drive it. Finished with Denise, Mickey inspected his work. He was pleased. He staggered down the dark streets of town toward his home. Now Mickey was ready to surprise his wife. He had received his instructions.

* * *

That which had been Eddie Brown had staggered from the basement of the school and into a patch of woods just north of the school. From there, it had made its way to a marshy area not far from a small creek. Eddie stayed as far from the water as possible. The smell of the water infuriated him. He beat his fists on the ground, suppressing howls of fury. He ran from the smell of water, hiding in a thicket. There, it rested. As it rested, the stinking drool leaking past his lips fouled the thick pelt of new-grown hair on his chest.