Encounter, page 15
“I don’t see the point,” Neilson grunted. “What good is a cat, even if he can do what you say?”
“No a cat. Lots of cats! If one cat can impair Kiel’s power enough to act as a jammer, what could twenty cats do working together?”
“Yes!” Mac gloried in the idea. “What good would Kiel’s extra minds do him if his power lanes were jammed? I’ve got the key to Kiel’s house and we can give him a welcome-home party when he comes back from Washington.”
Getting their hands on twenty cats was no problem. Chips made one; they cut the number to sixteen with the help of one of the telepaths, then went to local catteries and bought fifteen cats. They brought six of them home and the house turned into a howling mass of felines, a Siamese setting up the loudest protests. Chips retired upstairs, determined not to mingle with the invaders.
They learned the date Kiel would return by the simple process of calling his cook and asking her when she was to report. Everything had to be ready by ten-thirty Tuesday night; the cats; the men; and the little group of telepaths Neilson insisted on holding in reserve, ready to enter the house and finish up. He phoned Washington and ordered four men sent up — men not exposed to Kiel.
The anticipation of waiting was exhilarating after the depression. Tuesday morning dawned sunny, and they made their first trip to Kiel’s house to check the setup.
The neighbors on both sides had gone to Florida to escape the nastiness of February, and that cleared the area for a length of three city blocks. They made a close check of the walls before entering the house. They didn’t want to lose any cats. It was enough to ask them to go up against Kiel.
Peter Kiel paid the taxi driver, picked up the two suitcases, and walked with Carol to the door. She bent to unlock it and they stepped inside without switching on the lights. Moonlight flooded through the windows with a white, murky gleam of its own.
“It’s good to be home again,” Carol sighed, weary in spite of the cushioned plane seats. She looked back for Kiel; but he stayed by the door, the suitcases in his hands. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” his voice was soft, his head cocked, listening. “I feel uneasy.”
“I’ll get the light,” she said, moving toward the living room. “Come on in and relax.”
His halting footsteps trailed behind her, and then a sudden noise stopped her short of the switch. It hissed out of the moon-patched darkness with a moist, windy sound. She ran the last few steps and filled the room with the yellow light of electricity.
A grey shadow disappeared around the opening. “It must be Chips,” Carol answered, curious. “How do you suppose he got here?”
Kiel dropped the suitcases with a thump and went to investigate. The kitchen light revealed a fat, grey Persian cat staring at them with menace in his eyes.
“It’s not Chips!” Carol cried, but Kiel wasn’t by her side. “Look,” he called from the living room, an edge in his voice. She found him facing two more cats who sat hunched, noses raised, as soft hissing sounds came from their mouths.
When Kiel turned, there was apprehension in his eyes; but even as he reached for Carol, she cried: “There’s another one coming out of the dining room, Peter. What’s going on? Where did — ?” Kiel jerked away, headed for the hall, unsteady on a suddenly weak leg. Carol grabbed him. “Wait. What are you doing?”
“Let me go!” He wrenched out of her grasp, ran to the front door, and twisted the knob. It didn’t give. He jerked and tugged and rattled the latch, then slammed his hand on the wood. “Did you lock this?” he cried, desperation masking his face. “I’ve got to get out, don’t you see?” He stumbled to the newel post and caught himself before he fell, his legs refusing to hold him. “They’re coming, Carol! I feel them. Help me!”
She stood frozen, confusion clouding her brain. The sound of a car whirred in from outside and doors banged shut. Kiel started to pull himself up the stairs using the rail for support. Chips appeared at the top to stare down with yellow eyes, and another cat moved in place beside him, crouching.
“Get them out of here!” Kiel yelled. “Look at them!” Carol followed his pointing finger to the foot of the stairs where four cats had gathered. They crept upward, one step at a time, keeping careful distance, but stalking the man who made reflections in their eyes.
A noise at the door, the sound of a key being thrust into the lock, whirled Kiel about, fierce concentration on his face. “It’s Ray,” he said. “Ray Harper!” His black eyes fastened on the door, his forehead creased; but the key turned in spite of him.
“Carol!” he cried, stretching out his hand to her. “Help me — please! They’ll tear me to pieces.”
The knob moved and Carol moved with it, charging up the stairs to where she caught hold of Kiel and helped him the rest of the way. She hurried him into their bedroom, not understanding, but compelled by the panic in him. A growl met them from the satin-covered bed and a Siamese cat leaped down. With a sound like twenty babies crying, Chips and the others closed in, arching around the door.
Sharp shouts echoed from below, mingled with the growling hisses of the cats and the click of more cat feet on the hall floor.
“Why did I come up here?” Kiel hobbled to the window and peered outside. “They’re going to kill me,” he said flatly, voice dull. “They’ve found a way.”
“No!” Carol cried, clutching his shoulders.
“Help me, then.” He clutched her tight, his hands desperate. “You’re all I have. Don’t let me die!”
He was pleading, and Carol felt the futility of the trap. The cats crouched and the men ran on the floor below. The cats’ bodies were billows of fluffed fur running in ridges down their backs, and their red tongues flashed as they hissed.
New voices were added to the shouting, banging through the house, then everything hushed to silence. Dead silence.
With a whimper that was more animal than human, Kiel whirled beside her, under the impact of some invisible force. He twisted away and hobbled to the door, scattering cats before him. Carol called; but he didn’t hear, proceeding down the hall away from the stairs, grasping at the wall and window sills to hold himself erect. He went into the next room and Carol rushed the other way, dazed and hysterical, with the blind notion that she could hold the intruders off. She leaped the stairs two at a time, her feet knowing the way in the blur of panic.
She bumped headlong into a red-faced panting Ray who was all arms, clutching at her, his body strong to keep her back. She struggled and struck out with her hands, battling his stubborn face, and broke free. In the doorway she found four faces that bloomed out of a past — a past of gentleness, of her father and his experiments. They were not gentle now, but contorted with concentrated hate. She pushed at them, slapping and screaming. “Stop it! Stop it!” Then Ray caught her and shoved her into Neilson’s grip.
“Kiel’s upstairs,” Mac yelled. “Come on.”
Ray dashed after him and they ran down the deserted hall, led to the right door by the fat shapes of fur that ringed it. They leaped the cats and burst into the room.
Kiel loomed before them, hesitated, and darted sideways, half-running, half-hopping the short distance to a side door. Then he was through, slamming it shut. Ray and Mac pushed against it, but it was locked.
A new sensation caught them. Mac jumped backward. “He’s in there away from the cats,” he gasped to Ray. “He’s alone. I think he’s got hold of me. Ray!”
In a desperate chance, Ray raced into the hall, shouted: “Bring those telepaths closer,” and dashed to the front entrance of Kiel’s new fortress. The cats were already there.
Taking a good start, he hit the door full force with his shoulder, his ears full of Mac’s screams and the clamorous growls by his feet.
Urgency sent Ray battering against the wood until his shoulder was bruised to the socket and his arm was numb.
Then with a rending of hinges, the door burst open and the cats cascaded forward in a furry wave. Ray face Kiel, braced, eye to eye, ready to kill; then Mac heaved in beside him, weak but free, as the cats took over.
They advanced together and Kiel’s fists clenched, but he backed as they maneuvered him to a corner. He retreated slowly, foot by foot, his movements weakening with each step backward.
“That was close, Kiel,” Mac said, “but the closest you’ll ever get.”
“Keep away from me!” Kiel shouted. “You — stupid — animals.” His voice began to slow and thicken.
“Be careful,” Ray cautioned. “Give Marker a chance to work on him.”
“Get away,” Kiel groaned. “Away!”
He bumped against the wall, his body stiff as fright grew in his jet eyes. One hand pressed his head to fend off the hate radiating out to catch him from the animals and the telepaths below. With a tremendous effort he jerked erect and his eyes focused, shooting out at Ray. But there was only a slight tremor up Ray’s back and he knew that was the extent of the power left in Kiel.
The cats closed in with their silent barrage and Ray’s mind felt the immense forces playing on the man before him. Kiel was a cornered animal. His eyes darted back and forth, raking the room, pushed aside by the hissing cats. He started one way, then the other, trapped in one spot, pounded by invisible hands led by John Marker. His face twisted in fear and snarling hurt.
Then something broke inside him. His eyes clouded over, he shuddered, and tried to run. He stumbled four weak steps and toppled, clutching at the wall.
Mac and Ray reached him and turned him roughly forward, stemming his weak struggles. Words streamed from his mouth — unintelligible gibberish. Mac drew a quick breath and Ray muttered: “It’s not English. Let’s get him out of here. Take his left arm, and don’t get too far from the cats.”
They lifted Kiel between them and forced him to walk, leading him along the hall. The cats followed silently. Kiel shook under Ray’s hands, trembling until it seemed he would break apart, mumbling on and on in the strange tongue.
Mac was triumphant, his hands hard on Kiel’s shoulder, taking no chance with the man’s potential. He muttered along with Kiel, “Grayson and Mason, Babcock and Betts, Jenny — This is for all of them. And Will — for Will!”
They started down the stairs and the telepaths gathered at the bottom. Kiel grew limp as they neared and Ray struggled to hold him up.
“Get Carol out of here,” Ray called to anyone who could hear.
“She fainted,” Neilson answered, his voice bristling with hate. “Bring him down. Let’s see the god-among-men now.”
The plop of furry feet echoed from behind as Ray and Mac reached the floor and hurried Kiel past the telepaths. He was gasping and panting, his black eyes glazed over, unknowing. They brought him to stand before Neilson.
“I was right,” Neilson’s words came fast. “The telepaths did the trick. He doesn’t even know his own name. Look at him. We’ve won.
Ray kept his eyes averted from the man he held. There was something indecent about seeing him this way.
“What do we do with him?” Mac asked. “Do you want him? For Washington?”
Neilson’s face hardened in deep lines. “Kill him!”
Ray stopped still, trapped by the two words. He looked at Mac, then back at the government man. “I can’t do it.”
For a brief moment, his hands fell away from Kiel’s trembling arm. His reaction repeated in Mac and Kiel broke free. He stumbled away from them, bumping into furniture, head bent and his arms before him like a blind man.
The four telepaths approached as a body. Kiel reached forward, then fell to his knees, hands clenched tight against his head. The cats crept close to ring him about with shining, tiger eyes.
Kiel swayed — back and forth and back again — the muscles in his arms straining as he pressed his temples. A deep sigh came from his chest, rending the quiet. He shouted one clear but foreign word and crumpled. He sprawled, still, on the carpet.
“He’s dead,” John Marker whispered, his voice a shadow in the stillness. “He’s all gone.”
Ray reached for Mac’s arm, and Mac searched automatically for the comfort of his pipe.
“It was like a burst of light,” Marker continued, incredulous. “He was there, and then his mind closed in — and it was like a burst of light. He just died.”
“Peter!” Carol screamed from behind them. “Peter!” She shoved by and knelt beside Kiel, lifting his head to rest against her legs. Her body shook and when she raised her face to Ray’s, there was panic and accusation there. Slowly, though, it changed, with the realization of what had happened, what had been accomplished. Ray lifted her gently and helped her to a chair.
The hall suddenly transformed itself from a place of death to a place of relief, blossoming into smiles and nervous laughter. The telepaths were surrounded by twenty purring cats. A short man picked one up, chuckling “Partner.” He looked about the room, challenging. “This one is mine. If there’s any chance of Kiel’s kind finding us again, I’m going to be prepared.”
His voice brought the rest of them to action and Neilson took charge, clearing the house methodically. The cats were collected in their carriers one by one, petted and dispatched to new homes. In minutes, the flurry was over and quiet returned.
“I’m calling for an ambulance now,” Mac told Ray softly. “You’d better take Carol home.”
Ray lifted Chips and gave him to Carol. He felt no elation. Only
relief to have it done and a new peace of mind.
“Something’s gone,” Carol muttered. “The electricity — the presence. I feel lonely.”
“It’s over, Carol.” Ray drew her into the circle of his arm. “The only way it could be over. You can learn to be yourself again.”
She nodded and walked beside him, eyes clear. Behind him, Mac whistled, “Ezekiel saw the wheel, way up in the middle of the air —”
Ray let Carol go on to the car and stopped for one last look at the covered body lying on the floor. “The little wheel turned by faith,” he muttered, “and the big wheel turned by the grace of God. And by the grace of God, it has stopped turning.”
He hurried to catch up with Carol. Chips pushed his nose against her neck to protect it from big snowflakes that cascaded around them — a soft bundle of chilly, contented cat.
THE END
J. Hunter Holly, Encounter
