Fate Loves the Fearless

“Who goes there?”

The scraping noise draws closer.

“…I knew I should have called in sick…” Rusty Naul says.

The security guard fumbles for his flashlight, which slips from his grasp, bouncing off the concrete floor.

“I said, identify yourself!”

A hiss resembling a steak sizzling on a grill follows.

Rusty reaches for the flashlight, shining it down the dimly lit tunnel.

A black cat the size of a horse bears its fangs, hissing.

Rusty draws his gun.

***

A corridor away, another security guard, Maslin Arrenado, hears the loud report of a gun.

He follows the gun’s echo as a second shot rings out.

Turning the corner, Maslin sees an enormous cat looming over Rusty, shredding his uniform with its rapier-like claws.

Maslin fires two shots at the beast.

It turns around, its red eyes gleaming in the semi-darkness.

Standing on its hind legs and baring its sharp teeth, the cat moves toward Maslin, pouncing on him.

***

Dr. Tomlin Grace exits Maslin Arrenado’s room, tearing off his mask, robe, and safety glasses in frustration.

Upton Straight, the director of the Extraordinary Bureau of Investigation (E.B.I.) in Washington, D.C., and Anton Wilder, the E.B.I.’s head researcher, anxiously await news of Maslin’s condition.

Broad-shouldered and beefy with wavy black hair and a deep booming voice, Upton is an expert strategist who's usually a step ahead of any threat. Conversely, with a strongly freckled face and dark, curly hair, Anton Wilder resembles a troubled genius willing to gamble to achieve greatness.

“The claw marks on the two guards suggest they were attacked by a feline,” Dr. Grace reports.

Upton and Anton trade troubled looks.

“A mountain lion, maybe something bigger, and we all know there aren’t any mountain lions in D.C.,” Dr. Grace continues. “And it was carrying a disease that spread faster than anything I’ve ever seen. The men have boils the size of apples on their skin. Their lymph nodes are leaking pus, and they’re coughing up blood. What in the name of Frankenstein is roaming around in those tunnels near the White House?”

Dr. Grace runs his hand through his thick shock of dark hair, glaring at Anton. “Did you expose these two poor boys to something?”

Anton purses his thin lips.

“China tried to wipe us out with COVID. The president thought it was time for us to strike back. But the contagion we developed was stolen from our lab, and the guards were exposed to it.”

“We’ll check the tapes to see who breached our security system,” Upton says.

“You’ll be wasting your time,” Anton replies. “My four-man team and I were the only ones in the lab since we created the contagion. The only other creature in the lab in the last few months was a stray black cat we adopted. It disappeared a few days ago.”

“So, what is this killer contagion you created, Anton?” Dr. Grace asks.

“A new strain of bubonic plague.”

***

Stewart leans against the panel as the security camera scans his eyeball.

“…E.B.I. Agent 52… Stewart Grainger…positive identification,” the computer announces. “Jeez, Stew, your eyes are really bloodshot.”

“Nosey A.I. Can the commentary and open the door.”

Stewart drags himself down the hallway to the elevator, pressing the button for Upton Straight’s fourth-floor office.

Stewart is the epitome of a ladies' man with a dimpled jaw, sparkling blue eyes, and a gym rat’s tight physique. He’s been told that an encounter with the Mindbenders, an alien race of mind readers, erased his memory. He has no recollection of his parents, childhood, or how he got his job with the E.B.I., but his lack of a past has little effect on his present.

Looking up at Stewart’s red-eyed appearance, Upton says, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“That never gets old, Upton.”

“Still not sleeping?”

“No. Last night, I had a dream that I was in an ancient battle. I was in a chariot, wearing armor, wielding a sword, fighting shadows. It seemed so real. And flying. I can fly in my dreams. Then I woke up, looked around my apartment, and realized I didn’t know who I was. I don’t have any pictures of friends, or vacations, no diplomas, nothing personal.”

“I know you, and you’re a good man. Don’t worry, Stewart, it’ll all come back to you.”

“So, what are we going to do to save the world today?”

“You joke, but last night there was a disturbing incident in the underground catacombs of the National Archive Building. We think it may have involved the Demon Cat.”

“The D.C.? I’ve heard the name, but I’m not up on the legend.”

“D.C. haunts our government buildings,” Upton says. “Its legend dates back to the mid-1800s, when cats were brought into the Capitol building’s basements to control the mouse and rat population. Apparently, one of these cats never left, even after death. It’s been described as a black cat the size of a tiger that can grow to ten feet tall before it strikes.”

Stewart huffs. “The Demon Cat of Washington, D.C. …Because there aren’t enough scary things about our government already. You can’t seriously believe that an oversized phantom feline is haunting the tunnels under the White House.”

“Are you forgetting who you work for? We investigate reports of alien sightings, ghosts, demons, and other paranormal phenomena. Two security guards were found this morning in one of the remote tunnels. They were torn to pieces, barely alive. Dr. Grace thought he could save them, but they were infected with bubonic plague.”

Stewart recoils in shock. “As in the Black Death? The plague that killed half of Europe?”

“This strain is immune to all known antibiotics,” Upton says. Shaking his head with disdain, he adds, “Our scientists and researchers, our most brilliant minds, still haven’t learned that they should create the antidote before manufacturing the disease. You have to find D.C. …And quickly.”

***

Stewart and Upton stand near the heliport outside of headquarters.

“I’m teaming you up with our expert in feline behavior.”

“Why me?”

“You handled the Chameleonbots well.”

“They were machines that could alter their appearance, not cats.”

“But think along those lines,” Upton replies. “D.C. can appear as a cute stray cat one moment and change into a vicious predator the size of a Volkswagen next.”

Upton checks his watch. “Our special agent is due any minute.”

“Who is it, and what’s this agent’s pedigree?”

“She goes by Freya. She’s the Norse goddess of love and beauty.”

“A goddess? This job never ceases to amaze me…”

“For all we know, she could be an alien masquerading as a goddess. She’s worked with us for the past year, and so far, she’s been a benevolent ally. She dispatched Black Cat Bones, the eighteen-foot British Shorthair cat that threatened to destroy Shetland Island. She created several juicy, giant fake mice, then stuffed them with sticks of dynamite, and lit the fuses. When Black Cat Bones bit into them… BOOM. She captured the Spittin’ Kitten, whose giant hairballs were causing wrecks on Route 66. She also captured Tomato, the vegetarian cat thief, by creating a giant litter box. The box was filled with quick-drying cement.”

“So do we capture D.C. or kill the bad kitty?” Stewart asks.

“We evacuated the White House. The President is temporarily staying at a Howard Johnson’s until we can relocate him to a safe spot in Virginia. His parting words, mixed in with colorful curses, were, “Take away all nine of its lives.’”

A crack of thunder sounds.

Stewart looks up at the cloudless blue sky.

“Strange weather we’re having.”

The helicopter landing disappears behind a cloud of smoke.

Stewart and Upton wave the smoke away from their faces.

They see a woman in a gold-trimmed chariot on the heliport. The chariot is drawn by two formidable cats the size of elephants.

Freya is a radiant figure, adorned with gold jewelry and dressed in the finest silks. Her blonde tresses, bright blue eyes, and shapely, regal posture remind Stewart of a young Good Witch Glinda.

“She really knows how to make an entrance,” Stewart comments.

Freya glides toward them.

Stewart clumsily introduces himself.

Her voice is cultured and soothing.

“With a smile like that, Mr. Grainger, I think I’m going to enjoy partnering with you…Upton, your last message said you believe the Demon Cat stole a variant of the bubonic plague.”

“We think she intends to leave her nest in the catacombs soon and spread the disease. I know you believe cats are sacred. Can you face the possibility of having to kill a kindred spirit?”

“If the Demon Cat’s death can save millions of lives, I’ll fire the first shot, the last shot, and all the ones in between.”

***

Stewart looks out of the conference room window at the two enormous cats.

“They’re impressive. Can we take them along with us?”

“I suppose I could shrink them down so they could fit in the tunnels, but Romulus is a bit claustrophobic.”

“They aren’t regular house cats. Where’d you get them?”

“My sworn enemy, Seskat, kidnapped my husband, Floki. I defeated her in battle, and when she spoke her last words, she confessed that she had changed his appearance and turned him into a vacant human. I’ve searched for centuries to try to find him. In my grief, I cried golden tears, which turned into cats. Romulus and Remus have been my faithful companions ever since.”

“D.C. doesn’t share your cat’s sense of morality.”

“I know the Demon Cat very well. We kicked her out of the Council of Immortals after she chased Woodrow Wilson through the White House’s underground tunnels. She frightened him so much that he had a heart attack. Fortunately, his wife, Edith, proved to be a better president than Woodrow. We call the Demon Cat Edith every so often to tease her.”

“Nice to see you immortals have a sense of humor…I was wondering, after all these years of living in secret, why would D.C. want to destroy humanity?

“Edith is tired of hiding in the shadows. She wants the world for herself.”

***

The pair walks down the empty street toward the Historical Archive building.

“We cleared a four-block area…in case…”

“I don’t intend to fail,” Freya says.

“Me neither. But the underground tunnels can be challenging. The main corridors that are still in use are well-maintained and well-lit. We’ll be going into an area where the light bulbs haven’t been replaced since Edison created them.”

“But we have these to protect us,” Freya says, tugging at her jumpsuit, which is reinforced with a lightweight, virtually impenetrable protective mesh.

“Well, then. Fate loves the fearless.”

“Funny, Floki used to say the same thing.”

A trio of nervous black cats cut in front of them. Looking at Stewart, they arch their backs, hissing, then scamper away.

“That was weird behavior, even for cats.”

“They could be the Demon Cat’s acolytes, part of an army she’s building,” Freya says. “She may have brainwashed a few stray cats to be her eyes above ground.”

“So, she knows we’re coming for her,” Stewart notes. “I don’t understand why she hasn’t already attacked.”

“It’s harder to defeat an army than a single soldier.”

***

Stewart and Freya cautiously move through the underground tunnels.

Stewart adjusts his backpack.

“Are we really going to need all this stuff?”

“Have you ever tried to bring down a ten-foot cat?”

“There’s a superstition that cats are supposed to have nine lives,” Stewart observes. “Does that mean we’ll have to kill D.C. over and over again?”

“Not if we leave her in pieces in the first place.”

They enter a storeroom containing representations of cats in paintings, vases, sculptures, and other artwork, most of which have been destroyed or ruined.

“Looks like we’re getting closer,” Stewart says.

“Yes. It’s the Demon Cat’s way of saying, ‘You shall have no other gods before me.’”

They continue passing through the tunnels. Freya stops short, listening.

A low guttural purr, followed by a shrill, whining yowl, sounds throughout the tunnel.

“Sounds like Yoko Ono,” Stewart jokes.

“It’s a cat in heat,” Freya replies.

“That’s bad news for the world and for us if it's been exposed to the plague.”

Stewart and Freya follow the sound, peering around a corner.

Two black cats the size of couches are lying in a corridor, alternately rolling over, scratching themselves, and yelping.

“They could be D.C.’s children,” Freya whispers.

“I wasn’t aware the Devil Cat had kids. Then again, reproducing is a cat’s main function. That means there’s a Mister D.C. somewhere down here, doesn’t it?”

“Let’s handle one problem at a time, shall we?”

Freya reaches into Stewart’s backpack, pulling out two brown objects the size of softballs.

“Are you a good bowler, Mr. Grainger?”

“I bowled a perfect score at the annual E.B.I. tournament last year.”

“Good. Then roll one of these at each of those beasts.”

Stewart rolls the ball at the first cat. Yelping and scratching, it sniffs at the air. Crawling toward the ball, it bats at it with its paw.

Stewart rolls the second brown ball at the second cat. It stops undulating around on the floor and rolls over, staring at the ball.

The two giant cats glance at each other, mewing contentedly.

They attack the objects, devouring them.

“Shouldn’t take more than a minute,” Freya says.

“What is that stuff?”

“Catnip with a kick. They won’t be reproducing, and they’ll die happy.”

***

The fluorescent lights that flicker and buzz treacherously as they proceed through the dusty, seldom-used tunnels.

“Go back,” a husky female voice says.

Stewart looks at Freya. “That wasn’t you throwing your voice, was it?”

“No… We hear you, EDITH.”

“Is that you, Freya, Princess of the Cats? You should know better than to call me that.”

“All bluster, just like always, EDITH.”

A disembodied, angry hiss carries through the corridors.

“In a few days, my children will have children who carry the plague. Then I will lead them to the surface, and we will spread the plague throughout the world. Then I will deal with you, Cat Princess…”

Stewart and Freya are relieved by the silence that follows.

“I can see why you kicked her out of the Council of Immortals. She’s a bit testy.”

“Demons always are.”

***

Stewart and Freya tiptoe toward the sound of an animal snoring.

They each take a Frisbee-sized disc out of the backpack. Inching quietly down the corridor, they place the discs on the floor across from each other.

They silently retreat around the corner of the corridor.

“You know what to do, right?” Freya asks.

“Sure. Act like lunch.”

Stewart looks around the corner at the Demon Cat. Half a dozen smaller, pregnant black cats surround her.

“D.C. is much larger than I thought.”

“As long as she's not quicker than she looks, you’ll be fine,” Freya replies.

“Like I said before…”

“Fate loves the fearless,” Freya concludes.

Stewart turns the corner, yelling, “HEY D.C! YOUR MOMMA EATS DOG FOOD!”

The Demon Cat wakes up, hissing at Stewart, its blood red eyes zeroing on him.

The pregnant cats struggle to their feet, hissing and spitting at Stewart.

“Stay,” D.C. commands.

Standing on its hind legs, the Demon Cat advances toward him, baring its claws.

“How about a little bubonic plague, human?”

Stewart slowly backs down the corridor.

D.C. suddenly stops, glancing at one of the discs.

“It can sense something’s up. What do we do now, Freya?”

A pair of open tin cans bounce past Stewart.

D.C. picks one of them up, digging into it.

“Mmm. Friskies!”

Stewart takes off, running down the corridor.

“NOW! PRESS THE BUTTON NOW, FREYA!”

The corridor explodes. A cloud of concrete and dust follows Stewart as he dives toward Freya.

Freya pulls him around a corner to safety. As the smoke clears, they can see that the explosion has buried the Demon Cat and its children, sealing off that section of the tunnel.

“Mission accomplished!” Stewart yells, slapping Freya five.

A loud growl, followed by an angry hiss, sounds ahead of them.

An enormous black cat glares at them from the end of the dimly lit corridor.

Stewart tenses up. “Is that?”

“The Demon Cat’s mate. Time for Plan B,” Freya says.

“I wasn’t aware there was a Plan B.”

“It consists of you running like Usain Bolt while I hold him off.”

“You’re my partner. I’m not going to leave you behind,” Stewart replies.

“I’ve got nine lives. How many have you got?”

The giant cat arches its back, running toward them.

Freya holds the cat back as it tears at her jumpsuit.

“RUN!”

Reaching into the backpack, Stewart pulls out a large ball of yarn, rolling it toward the cat.

Purring contentedly, the cat releases Freya to play with the yarn.

Stewart throws the knapsack in the direction of the cat. He picks up Freya, and they fly through the tunnels.

“I figure we’ve only got a few seconds to get out of here. Hey, look at us! We’re flying, just like in my dreams!”

Stewart carries Freya outside.

His mind begins to fill with memories.

He sees himself driving a chariot across the stars. Freya stands next to him, smiling in admiration.

Stewart reaches out, holding Freya in his arms.

“I’ve finally found you, Floki,” she says.

A massive explosion wracks the building. The Historical Archive collapses on itself, becoming nothing but rubble and thick white smoke.

***

Stewart shakes Upton's hand.

“Given the recent turn of events, I guess you understand why I’m resigning.”

“I told you your memory would come back someday,” Upton replies.

Stewart pets Romulus, then Remus. “Ready to go home, boys?”

He climbs into the chariot next to Freya.

Upton waves at Floki and Freya as the chariot fades into the clouds.

***

A pregnant cat paws at the rubble in the catacombs of the National Archive building, mewing sadly.

“Mother?”