Wild Cards Part 37

She got up, lifting the man off her, and walked toward the end of the tunnel. The calico accompanied her. The black stayed beside the man.

Why? Bagabond thought. Bagabond thought.

Why? the black countered. The work they had just done, as seen through the cat's eyes, played across her mind. the black countered. The work they had just done, as seen through the cat's eyes, played across her mind.

The calico looked from one to the other. She had not been invited into this conversation.

Alligator, Bagabond explained, not human not human.

In her mind the alligator became a man.

"Curiosity . . ." Bagabond spoke aloud for the first time since the rescue operation had commenced.

The black sent a picture of a black cat on its back with paws in the air.

Bagabond sat down beside the man. In a few minutes he began to move. Painfully he sat up. In the dim light filtering from above, he recognized Bagabond as the old woman he had seen the day before.

"Wha' happen? I remember running into a bunch of crazies with guns, and then things get fuzzy." He tried to focus on the crone, who kept splitting into two images. "I think maybe I've got a concussion."

Bagabond shrugged and pointed at the beams from the roof-collapse behind him. By straining his eyes, he could see what looked like hundreds of pawprints on the floor and the walls around the cave-in. In the center of the devastation, Jack also saw the imprint of a monstrous tail.

"Christ, not again." Jack turned back to Bagabond. "When you got here, what did you see?"

She turned partly away from him, still silent. He saw her mouth quirk in a partial smile beneath the stringy hair. Was she mad?

"Merde. What am I going to do?" Jack was almost bowled over by the pair of black paws that struck his chest. "Easy, boy. You're the biggest kitty I've seen since I left the swamps." The black cat's eyes stared into his with an odd intensity. "What is it?"

"He wants to know how you do it." The old woman's voice did not match her appearance. It was young and held a touch of humor. "Be careful. You're s.p.a.ced, just like you were coming out of Thorazine." She took his arm as he tried to stand.

When he was upright, she said, "You're not going to make it far like that." She began to take off her coat.

"Mon Dieu. Thanks." Feeling his skin flush, Jack shrugged into her green cloth coat and wrapped it around himself. It covered him from neck to knees, but left his arms bare from the elbows down.

"Where do you live?" Bagabond gazed at him without expression. Jack appreciated the kindness.

"Downtown. Down on Broadway near the City Hall station. Are we anywhere close to a train?" Jack was not used to being lost, and found that he disliked the feeling intensely.

In answer, Bagabond picked her way to the tunnel entrance. She didn't look back to see if he was following when she turned to the right.

"Your mistress, she is a little strange. No offense," Jack said to the black cat. It paced him as he trailed the bag lady. The cat looked up at him, sniffed, and twitched his tail.

"Who am I to talk, eh?"

Although Jack attempted to keep up with Bagabond, he quickly fell behind. Eventually, at the black's appeal, she returned and helped support the man, pulling his arm across her shoulders.

Jack finally recognized the tunnels as they came into the 57th Street station. He was amazed at the change in Bagabond as they made their way onto the platform. Even though she was still holding him up, the woman seemed to hang off him. She shuffled now instead of striding, and kept her eyes on the ground. Those waiting on the platform gave them plenty of room.

The subway pulled in, the last car covered with unusually bright graffiti. Bagabond hauled Jack toward the vividly decorated car. Jack had time to read some of the more coherent phrases covering the side.

Are you unusual?

Did you feel the fire?

Are you burning inside?

The flames devour us all, But never let us die.

It never ends, forever in flame.

Jack thought some of the phrases changed as he watched, but that had to be an effect of his concussed brain. Bagabond pulled him inside. The doors closed, leaving some very angry transit customers outside.

"Stop?" Bagabond was nothing if not economical with her words, Jack thought.

"City Hall." Jack slumped and rested his head against the back of the seat, closing his eyes as the train rolled downtown. He did not notice that the seat molded itself around his body to support it while he slept. He failed to realize that the doors never again opened until they reached his stop.

The cats were not entirely happy with this subway ride. The calico was flatly terrified. Ears laid back, tail straight and fluffed out, she leaned into Bagabond's side. The black gingerly kneaded the floor of the car. The texture was only partially familiar. He wondered at the heat and the confusing scent all around him.

Bagabond tried to focus on the interior of the dark car. There were no sharp angles here. Dim shapes seemed to change form subtly in her peripheral vision. I've felt nothing like this, she thought, since the acid trip. She extended her consciousness beyond the cats and Jack. She couldn't define the who who that she briefly contacted. But she felt the overwhelming comfort, the warmth, and the protectiveness that surrounded them here. that she briefly contacted. But she felt the overwhelming comfort, the warmth, and the protectiveness that surrounded them here.

Cautiously she settled back in her seat and stroked the calico.

"This is it," said Jack.

He had recovered sufficiently to lead their small party through the City Hall station, beyond a bewildering succession of maintenance closets, and into another labyrinth of unused tunnels. He'd rigged sections of the pa.s.sages with lights which he turned on and off as needed as they proceeded toward his home. When he opened the last door, he stood aside and waved Bagabond and the cats inside. He smiled proudly as they stared around the long room.

"Wow, man." Bagabond flinched as she took in the opulent furnishings and decor. The immediate impression was of red velvet and claw-footed divans.

"You are are younger than you look. That was my reaction too. Reminded me of Captain Nemo's stateroom . . ." younger than you look. That was my reaction too. Reminded me of Captain Nemo's stateroom . . ."

"20,000 Leagues Under the Sea."

"Yeah, right. You saw it too. One of the first movies I ever saw over to the parish theater." They walked down the crimson-carpeted stairs flanked by gold stanchions and plush velvet ropes. Both cats ran ahead of them, the calico using the Victorian armchairs as hurdles. The electric light was augmented by flickering gas flames that gave the room an atmosphere out of the last century. The black cat trotted over the Persian carpets to the edge of the platform and looked back at the two humans.

"He wants to know what this is and what's behind that door." Bagabond steadied Jack as they moved slowly down the staircase. "You need to lie down."

"Soon enough. This is my home and behind the door is my bedroom. If we could head in that direction . . ." They started across the room. "This was the first subway in New York, built by a man named Alfred Beach back after the War Between the States. It only ran for two blocks. The Boss Tweed didn't want it so he shut it down, then they forgot about it. I found it a while after I started working for the Transit Authority-one of the benefits of the job. Don't know why it held up so well, but it's a good place for me. Just took a little cleaning up, is all." They had walked to the other end of the room and Jack reached out to turn the handles on the ornate cast-bronze door. The center circle swung open. "This used to be the entrance to the pneumatic tube."

"I didn't expect this." Bagabond was surprised to find that the interior of the tunnel was spa.r.s.ely furnished. There was a homemade bed constructed out of pine boards, an equally homemade bookcase, and a plank chest.

"All the comforts of home. Even my complete collection of Pogo books." Jack looked innocently at Bagabond and she laughed, then seemed surprised at it.

"Where's your iodine?" Bagabond looked around for a first aid kit.

"Don't use that stuff. Can you get me some of those?" Jack pointed up at the spiderwebs.

"You're kidding."

"Best poultice in the world. My grandma taught me that."

When Bagabond turned back to him, he had pulled on a pair of shorts and had a shirt in his hand. She handed over the spiderwebs and helped him bandage the worst abrasions.

"So how did you you end up down here?" Jack lay back on the bed, wincing slightly, while Bagabond perched gingerly on the edge. end up down here?" Jack lay back on the bed, wincing slightly, while Bagabond perched gingerly on the edge.

"You're sure not like those social workers." Bagabond watched the cats outside the door as they chased each other around the room. She turned back to him with an appraising look. "And they they like you. like you.

"They let me out a while ago and I ended up back in the city. No place else to go. Met the black, started talking to him, and he talked back. So did a lot of the other animals, the ones that aren't human, anyway. I get along. I don't need people, don't want people around. People always mean bad luck for me. I can talk to you, too, when you're that other one, you know? Out there they call me Bagabond. I had another name once but I don't remember it much."

"They call me Sewer Jack." Jack said it bitterly, in contrast to Bagabond's flat recitation. The burst of emotion she caught held screams, bright lights, and fear, and the haven of the swamp.

"It was here-the creature. What are are you?" Bagabond was con- fused; she had never before met this mixture of man and animal, with whom she could only sometimes communicate. you?" Bagabond was con- fused; she had never before met this mixture of man and animal, with whom she could only sometimes communicate.

"Both. You saw."

"Do you control it? Can you make yourself change?"

"Did you ever see Lawrence Talbot as the wolfman? I change when I lose control or when I allow the beast to take over. I'm not cursed by the full moon; I'm cursed all the time. The loup-garou loup-garou is a legend where I come from. The Cajuns all believe in it. When I was young, I did too. I was afraid I would hurt someone, so I went as far away as I could go. New York was a foreign country; no one would know me or bother me here." is a legend where I come from. The Cajuns all believe in it. When I was young, I did too. I was afraid I would hurt someone, so I went as far away as I could go. New York was a foreign country; no one would know me or bother me here."

His eyes focused on her now instead of the past. "Why the act? You can't be over forty-five."

"Twenty-six." She looked down at Jack, wondering why it mattered. "It keeps them from bothering me so much."

Jack glanced through the open door at the railway clock on the opposite wall. "I'm getting hungry. How about you?"

Rescuing C.C. What had seemed to be a wonderful idea had turned into a nightmare. Rosemary had followed some derelicts into the steam tunnels beneath Grand Central Station. At first she tried asking anyone she met about C.C. But as she moved farther into the dank pa.s.sages, those living there scuttled away. There was only occasional light from gratings in the street above, or from the derelicts' smoky fires. Her fatigue and fear began taking their toll; she fell again and again into the muck on the tunnel floors.

One horrible moment, she was attacked by a filthy creature who clawed at her, cackling. She fought him off but her purse was gone now. Rosemary was hopelessly lost. She heard occasional sounds that seemed to be gunshots and explosions. I'm in h.e.l.l I'm in h.e.l.l.

Ahead were two glowing spots that glared at her through the darkness. They receded as she came nearer. The iridescent green lights mesmerized her.

The spots came into focus and Rosemary saw the cat crouched in the darkness. Retreating a few feet and growling, it watched as Rosemary approached a wounded cat, the comrade it guarded. Chest crushed, one leg nearly severed from its body, the injured cat was dying. The guardian would allow no more pain to be inflicted. When she heard the low crying, she ignored the eyes and knelt beside the injured cat. Rosemary realized there was nothing she could do, but she held it. The cat began to purr before it choked and died.

The guardian lifted its head and howled a eulogy before pivoting and running into the gloom.

Rosemary laid the body on the ground in front of her and placed its head and legs in comfortable positions, sat back, and began sobbing. It seemed as if she cried forever before she started walking toward the sounds of the guns, gasping from her sobs.

After raiding the refrigerator-Bagabond could understand why Con Ed never noticed the power tap, but how did he ever get the refrigerator down here?-Jack went back into his bedroom to get some sleep. Bagabond and the cats explored Jack's domain, which included making sure they could get out the door he had locked behind them.

They quickly discovered the limits. Bagabond sat down on an overstuffed horsehair sofa. The black joined her while the calico continued her game of crossing the room without touching the floor. Bagabond pondered and, for the first time in years, the black was not invited to join her. Bagabond was amazed at the way Jack lived. It made her life of moving from one temporary home, a pile of rags, to another, suddenly seem wrong and filled with discomforts she had previously ignored.

She and Jack had discussed the probability that they were both aces. What luck. The virus had ruined both their lives. She would never again be the innocent child she was before the acid and the virus flooded her mind with the alien perceptions of the animal world. She thought she she had had a miserable childhood. It was why she left home. But to grow up thinking you were something like a werewolf, a creature cursed by G.o.d. had had a miserable childhood. It was why she left home. But to grow up thinking you were something like a werewolf, a creature cursed by G.o.d.

Why had she been so open with him? There was no one still alive in the city who knew as much about her as Jack now did. It was because they were alike; they knew what it was like to be different and to have stopped looking for ways to be like everybody else.

The claws across the back of her hand drew blood before her attention came back to the real world. Her eyes met those of the black cat, and horrifying images filtered through others' eyes began pouring into her mind: rat nests destroyed by machine-gun fire; yelling men frightening an opossum, her children clinging to her back as she ran, one falling, dying; cats fleeing, being shot, murdered; a cat fighting to protect her kittens before a grenade destroyed the litter, leaving the mother with a leg nearly blown off; a woman who looked like that d.a.m.n social worker cradling a dying cat. The blood-more and more of it-of those who were her only friends.

"The kittens. They can't!" Bagabond stood up and found herself shaking.

"What's goin' on?" Jack, awakened by Bagabond's cry, emerged from his room still half-asleep.

"They're killing them! I've got to stop them." Bagabond clenched her fists, turning away from him. Flanked by the cats, she headed for the stairs.

"Not without me." Jack ducked back into his room, grabbed Bagabond's green coat, flashlights, and a pair of sneakers, and followed them up the staircase.

Slowed by tying on the sneakers as he ran, he caught up with them at the first tunnel junction.

"Not that way." Jack stopped the trio as they entered the right-hand tunnel. He thrust Bagabond's coat at her. He aimed one of the flashlights at the other pa.s.sage.

"It's how we came in." In her panic, Bagabond had lost much of her trust in Jack.

"It'll just take you to the subway. There's a faster way to get back to the park. I've got a track-car. Follow me?" Jack waited for Bagabond's nod and plunged into the lefthand tunnel at a trot.

The scenes of carnage in Bagabond's mind grew sharper as they approached Central Park and abandoned the car. As they came up on the next branching of the tunnels, Jack lifted his head and sniffed. "Whoever they are, they're using up an army's worth of gunpowder. What's the plan?"

"We need to find out who they are so we know how to stop them. Right?" Bagabond wasn't at all sure what to do.

"I bet they're mes amis mes amis with the guns, but I have no idea who's the boss." with the guns, but I have no idea who's the boss."

An image appeared of the calico walking with Jack, the black with Bagabond.

"Far out." Bagabond patted the head of the immense black cat. "Good idea."

"What idea?"

"The black thinks we should split up until we find out what is going on. If one of the cats is with each of us, we can stay, um . . ."

"In communication. Yeah. You can at least see what's going on." Jack nodded thoughtfully. "I used to love war movies, but I get lousy reception at my place. Let's go, Sarge." He spoke to the calico, who leaped ahead of him. "Bon chance."