Shirley Murphy - Cat Pay the Devil

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.