Cat Pay The Devil

26

W illow and Coyote watched the two women slip quickly in among the vines that hid the old trailer. The shelter stood in such a tangle that only a cat might find it, prowling the rubble as they had, a hunting cat slipping through the heavy growth. They didn’t know how Violet had discovered it-but that man knew about it, too. More than once he had followed her there; months earlier he had watched her slip in there to hide, had waited for her to leave, and then he had pushed into the mildew-stinking trailer to see where she’d been.

The next time she went there the cats had expected him to go in and drag her out, but he didn’t. He watched her, then turned away smirking in a silent, ugly laugh. As if, once he knew her secret, he meant to wait until just the right time to sneak up on her and-what? Thinking about that made them shiver; they feared that sour, sneaky man.

Now they watched the two women disappear quickly beneath the ivy and the metal roof, escaping from the Jeep. Did they think they were safe? A voice behind Willow made her spin around.

“Did she get away?” Cotton said softly. “Did the silver-haired lady get away?”

Willow leaped at him, happily licking his ears. “Did you bring help? Did you bring the cops? There are cops all over, sitting in their dark cars. But how…?” Then behind him she saw Dulcie and Kit, and she leaped at them, too. “Quick, you have to tell them. Tell Wilma to run, that the Jeep is coming and those men know where they are. Oh please-” But Dulcie and Kit and Cotton were three streaks racing into the old, hidden trailer.

The trailer was dark inside and smelled of rot and mildew; the door Wilma had come through flopped on one hinge, hanging out into the mat of vines. Safely inside, she shielded the flashlight with her cupped hands and switched it on.

“Where’d you get that?” Violet said.

“In the glove compartment.” She shone the light around the tiny trailer, across surfaces heavy with dirt and rust and rat droppings, over damp wood spongy with rot and smelling sour; everything was thick with mold. Who knew how many varieties of lethal spores Violet breathed in here. If she came here often, no wonder she looked pale and sick-though more likely it was the stress of living in fear of her husband that left the girl so frail.

Going in ahead of Wilma, Violet had curled up at one end of a single bed that was built between a minuscule kitchen counter and a closet that held a smelly toilet. The bed was covered with a filthy spread and smelled sour. Wilma sat down on a narrow bench, one of a pair flanking a small table that had been folded out from the wall and was supported by a flimsy leg. The trailer, cooler than the outdoors, rang with the sounds of crickets, dozens of crickets hidden in the dark around them celebrating the hot, humid night. Wilma sat with her elbows on the table, her chin on her hands, trying to quiet her fear, ignoring the pain in her leg and hip, encouraging her pounding heart to settle to an easier rhythm. A demanding mewl brought her up startled, swinging around to the open door.

Dulcie stood looking in at her. The dark little striped being was hardly visible in the night, but for her lighter nose and ears and the gleam of her green eyes. Crouching, she sprang at Wilma, landing on her shoulder, clinging to her, licking and nuzzling her face. Laughing, Wilma cuddled and hugged Dulcie, kissing her ears. “You’re all right! You don’t know how I missed you, how I worried, how bad I felt for you…”

Dulcie couldn’t talk in front of Violet. She couldn’t have talked anyway, she was too choked up, all she could do was mewl. But then, getting hold of herself, she whispered faintly against Wilma’s ear, her words so soft that Wilma could hardly make out what she was saying.

“They’re back. They know about this place! Get away. Cage knows where she hides. Run! Run now!”

Wilma rose fast, holding Dulcie tight. “I hear them, Violet! The Jeep, they’re coming, headed straight here, I hear them talking…Run!” And she was out the door, clutching Dulcie, and away, letting Violet decide her own fate. In the dark behind her, the crickets had stopped. The noise of the Jeep was like thunder. Wilma ran, dodging fallen rubble, her every painful step jolting her. She could hear someone running behind her.

Violet caught up with her, they fled together as headlights veered at them, then vanished. Had they been seen? The engine roared as if goosed, roared again and died.

Silence. Wilma watched Violet warily as they crouched behind a fallen wall maybe thirty feet from the trailer, half that from the Jeep. Dulcie clung tightly to Wilma, her heart pounding against Wilma’s chest. They heard the men step out, their shoes crunching on broken stone. Wilma prayed Violet wouldn’t move-wouldn’t intentionally give them away. The girl started to rise. Wilma shoved her down and twisted her arm behind her. “Be still. Not a sound.”

Violet moaned at the pain of her twisted arm. “Let off a little! I won’t do anything! There’s someone in the back of the Jeep, they’re forcing someone out…”

Dulcie breathed one word in Wilma’s ear, turning her cold. “Charlie. They have Charlie.”

There was commotion around the Jeep, the prisoner was fighting them. Cage yelled, “Bitch! Damned bitch. Hold her, for Chrissake!” Then a dull thud and a woman’s muffled moan. But then Charlie snapped, “Go to hell!” That brought Wilma up, rigid.

Both men were facing them, they could see the pale smear of Cage’s face and shirt, his heavy shoulders against a stone wall as they dragged Charlie away from the Jeep. “Untie her feet,” Eddie grumbled. “I’m not carrying her, she’s too damn heavy.”

“Shut up and take her shoulders, I’m not untying her. Hurry the hell up!”

Wilma hugged Dulcie close and then jerked Violet up. “Come on. Now.” Pulling Violet, she slipped away fast among the broken walls. They moved as silently as they could through the scattered rubble. Wilma didn’t dare run and risk stumbling noisily over the rocks. But suddenly she was aware of small shadows running with them. Kit? Yes. And she could see Cotton, white in the blackness. No time to think what other cats there were. Intent on getting away, she forced Violet ahead, brutally prodding her, hoping the sounds of their running were drowned by Cage and Eddie’s arguing as they dragged Charlie into the trailer.

Hauled roughly out of the Jeep and across ragged stone into what appeared to be a cave, Charlie saw, high among the fallen walls, a hint of swift movement, something small and quick. And despite the men’s arguing, she caught the faint whisper of voices, distorted by Cage’s swearing and Eddie’s whining replies-but now, all was still. Could that band of feral cats still be here, in the ruins? For a moment, hope filled her.

But those shy little cats; even if they were here, how could they help? They were so wild, and so fearful of humans. They wanted nothing to do with humans except to steal food, to scavenge from the alleys and escape. They would be escaping now, running from invading humans, would have been alerted by the first sounds of the Jeep, terrified by the men’s angry voices.

She had spoken to them once, spoken as a friend to three of them. But still, she thought they were too shy and far too fearful ever to help her.

Dragging her across a hard floor, Cage dumped her on what seemed to be a dirty, rumpled cot. He flicked on a small, weak flashlight. They were in some kind of little shack, or maybe a trailer.

Yes, it was a trailer, a small old camping trailer, every surface rimed with mold and dust. She tried to picture where she was in the ruins, could only be sure it was somewhere behind the main house she had seen looming against the sky when Cage dragged her out of the Jeep. She had walked these ruins, she and Max, and they had ridden up here to picnic, as had she and Ryan, leaving their horses tied while they explored the broken rooms and cellars-but they had never discovered this trailer.

The first time she’d ever seen the ruins, she and Max and Dillon Thurwell had hidden here from another killer, hidden in one of the cellars just under or just behind the main house, a cellar with broken concrete stairs leading down to it. If she could free herself, could she find it again and hide there? She didn’t like the fact that it would be a dead end, only one way out, but it would be better than nothing. Strange that she was a prisoner here a second time. That first had been enough.

When Cage tried to tie her bound legs to the bed, she twisted and kicked him hard, her feet striking him in the chest. He grunted, sucked air, and hit her, knocking her against the wall so violently that her vision swam-hit her again and she went dizzy; fighting to stay awake, she could feel herself reeling and falling as if into a black pit.

From her hiding place, Wilma watched the two men drag Charlie into the trailer, swearing and arguing; she burned to get her hands on Cage. Kneeling, she felt among the rubble of fallen stones until she found a long, well-balanced rock. And she headed for the trailer.

“Wait,” Violet hissed, grabbing her arm. “They’re leaving. Look, they’re coming out. They…they’ve left her there.” She looked at Wilma. “Who is that woman?”

Wilma didn’t answer. She watched the men moving away, glimpses of their dark figures shifting against the broken stone walls; she expected that any minute they would turn back, to further hurt Charlie. But they hurried on, to the Jeep. She heard the engine start, listened to it pull away without lights, heard it head uphill, its engine whining-she felt Dulcie jump down, the little tabby gone before Wilma could grab her. “Dulcie…” She could see nothing in the blackness. Dulcie had vanished.

“The house…,” Violet said. “They’re going back to the house, and they’ll see we’re gone. They’ll be back and they’ll find us.” She rose to sprint away, but Wilma grabbed her. Violet hit her hand with a painful chop and jerked free, and ran; Wilma could hear her stumbling through the dark, toward the mansion. She stared after the girl, half hating her for not wanting to help Charlie, half glad to be rid of her. She rose and, carrying the rock, headed for the trailer and Charlie.

She daren’t switch on the flashlight. As she hurried, stumbling through the rubble, listening to the Jeep’s roar grow fainter, she felt Dulcie brush her ankle, warm and furry.

“Good riddance,” Dulcie said softly.

Wilma picked her up, glad to hold her close again. “Where did you go?” But Dulcie said nothing. Pushing in through the curtain of ivy and stepping up into the dark trailer, Wilma, meaning to rush to Charlie, switched on the flashlight.

She stopped in midstride.

Four cats were crouched on the cot, over Charlie where she lay tied up. All four were busily chewing at the ropes-like some strange, impossible fairy tale. Chewing at Charlie’s bonds just as, not long ago, Kit had chewed at similar bindings to release a younger hostage, freeing twelve-year-old Lori Reed when she had been kidnapped. Wilma watched, not knowing whether to laugh with delight or weep at the cats’ bold kindness. It had not been easy for these wild little cats to come in here, to put themselves so close to humans-but now, the minute the light flicked on, the three feral cats froze, staring up at her with eerie reflective eyes. And they were gone, dropping soundlessly from the bed and melting into the shadows.

She supposed they vanished out the door, though she saw and heard nothing. Only Kit remained on the cot, diligently chewing at Charlie’s ropes and glancing sideways up at Wilma, her golden eyes caught in the light, her tortoiseshell fur dark against Charlie’s red hair. Then Dulcie leaped from Wilma’s shoulder to help.

Quickly, Wilma removed the dirty bandanna from around Charlie’s mouth, and began to work on the half-chewed ropes, jerking them apart where the ferals had chewed almost through them. It was the look on Charlie’s face that made Wilma laugh, a look of terrible wonder and disbelief.

Charlie struggled up as Kit chewed through the rope that bound her hands. Wilma jerked the last rope off, and Charlie swung off the bed-and they ran, Charlie and Wilma, Dulcie and Kit, up across the ruins. “Where can we hide?” Wilma said. “Where are…?”

The roar of the returning Jeep barreling down the road silenced her. They stopped and turned, heard it pull up close to the trailer, Cage swearing.

“We still have the niece,” Eddie said, “and the aunt’ll come back for her. She’ll do whatever we say when she knows we have her precious niece.”

“This way,” Kit hissed, and the little cat ran, slipping past the Jeep in blackness, Charlie and Wilma stumbling behind her.

“We can’t see you,” Charlie whispered. But Kit mewled softly, then mewled again. Cage was still swearing as Kit led them away between dark and fallen walls, up four steps and into the kitchen of the ruined house, then through the kitchen and the living room, tripping over rotting furniture. “The captain,” Dulcie said, “has men down there, six units parked along the road. We can just…”

But the Jeep had pulled around the house, they heard it skid to a stop before the broken front door; they had time only to duck behind the tumbled furniture, into the deepest shadows.

“Damn women,” Cage growled, slamming the door of the Jeep. “How the hell…You take the first floor, I’ll look upstairs. How the hell did Violet get the keys to the wagon! You gave ’em to her, Eddie! I told you-”

“I never!”

“Don’t lie to me! Violet cut her loose and took the damn car keys. Why the hell did you…?”

“She wouldn’t dare, and she didn’t know where them keys were. Even if she did, she ain’t got the balls to take them.”

“You shoulda beat her before we left there the first time, made sure she couldn’t run. Come on…”

“They wouldn’t hide in here, right in the house. There’s basements and things.”

“Them black, caving-in cellars? Not Violet. Scared of spiders, scared of the dark. And where the hell’s the station wagon? You think they went on down the hills?”

“Told you, car was damn near out of gas. Running on fumes. Told you I was out of canned gas. No, they hid the wagon somewhere; could be anywhere in this mess.” The other car door slammed, and their footsteps crunched across stones, the twin beams of their torches flashing up the steps and across the porch, then blazing straight in through the front door and across the tangles of fallen furniture.

Cage stood in the doorway looking in, seeming, in the flashlight’s reflection, as big as a giant. “You go find the station wagon. I’ll take care of this bunch. Still don’t know why you left the keys in it. If you can’t find it, look for tracks, try to make yourself useful.”

“Told you I didn’t leave the keys in it!” Eddie stood on the porch behind Cage, shining his light back into the ruins as if hoping the station wagon would miraculously appear and he wouldn’t have to go searching for it in the dark.

“You didn’t leave them in it, then you gave ’ em to Violet! Or you told her where they were. I swear, sometimes-”

“There,” Eddie shouted, jumping off the porch, swinging his light and running.

Cage turned and looked. “What the hell!” then took off after Eddie. When they were gone, Wilma rose and went to the window, stood watching them.

“They found it,” she said as Charlie joined her. They could see the men’s two lights shining down the embankment, could hear their voices clearly in the still night. Eddie began to laugh. “Guess that did ’em.”

“What the hell?” Cage’s torchlight shining down silhouetted his tall bulk. “What you mean, that did ’em? Ain’t nobody in the damn wagon. Damn women got out.” As he turned, staring back toward the house, Wilma grabbed Charlie’s hand, ready to go out the back.

But Charlie pulled away and moved to the front door, staring into the night.

“Come on!” Wilma said, grabbing her. “Before they come back.” Outside, at the wreck, the men were quiet for a moment, as if looking over the damage to the old car. When Wilma tried to pull Charlie with her, Charlie jerked away roughly.

“What?” Wilma snapped.

“Look,” Charlie said softly, slipping out onto the porch. “Watch, maybe half a mile back along the tree line-where the trees part. Watch the little dip, with the sky a shade lighter behind it. Watch right there, something’s coming, I saw movement farther back…” She gripped Wilma’s hand. “Horses. Horses on the trail…Max…”

Wilma could not hear horses. This was Charlie’s wishful thinking. She had dropped Charlie’s hand and was starting to turn away when…

“There,” Charlie hissed. “There, see!”

Wilma glimpsed something moving past the little dip, then it was gone. Two riders, making for the ruins.

Terror filled Charlie’s voice. “Cage has a handgun, and there’s a shotgun in the Jeep. If he hears them…” She pulled Wilma through the front door and down the steps. “Go! Go down to Max’s men, tell them to come fast, on foot, and quietly…”

“But you can’t…”

“Go!” Charlie snapped. “Take the cats!” She snatched up Kit and shoved her at Wilma. “Go with her, both of you!” And she moved away through the blackness, toward the Jeep. Wilma wanted to drag her back, but knew she could make things worse by charging after her and alerting Cage. She could only go for help, as fast as she could go, down through the rubble and the dark road.