Please Help Support CTTA By
Checking Out Our Sponsers Products
Got a very large irradiated rat?
Who you gonna call? Lou
Matsumoto vs. The Atomic Rat By Tim Mulcahy The damp mist clouded
Lou Matsumoto’s white light sensor preventing him from cleanly scanning the
alley. “These sensors aren’t doing
shit,” Matsumoto said. Matsumoto was a
DOS operative and Rat Stalker team leader.
His weapon of choice was the L-239 Sniper Rifle with a white light
sensor slaved to the barrel. “Tell me about it,”
McElvey said. Dana McElvey was
Matsumoto’s second in command and DOS heavy weapons specialist. His weapon, the Dramon, high powered machine
pistol with extended barrel and slaved white light sensor. “Let’s just make sure
we make this a clean sweep,” Matsumoto said.
The two men worked
their way down the alley, McElvey on the
left, Matsumoto on the right. They moved
slowly, one foot in front of the other, one man covering while the other
advanced. Suddenly, McElvey put
up his right hand. Matsumoto
stopped. “Got something?” Matsumoto
asked. McElvey put his hand to his lips
before extending his gun and activating the sensor. Matsumoto did the same. Matsumoto heard
rustling behind the green dumpster at the end of the alley. It was the tell tale sound of claws on card
board. Slowly, he moved
forward, keeping his back to the damp brick wall as he worked his way past his
partner. They were a well oiled
team. McElvey covered the front of the
dumpster while Matsumoto worked his way around.
The sensor scanned
past the dumpster onto plastic garbage bags and loose trash. Wet, limp cardboard was every where. Matsumoto winced as he saw the loose
garbage. He just cleared the
dumpster when his sensor detected movement.
In one smooth motion he brought his weapon to bear. Three popping noises, one shot missed, two
others struck home. There was loud
squealing followed by the sound of small feet on concrete. “He’s coming to you,” Matsumoto's said. “Got him,” McElvey
said. His voice calm as he fired. Three more shots popped out. The quarry was down. McElvey put on a canvas glove and grabbed the
dead rat by its tail. The rat was three feet
long with blood oozing out if its mouth, head and stomach. “Big one,” McElvey said. “That’s my kill,”
Matsumoto said. “Bull, you just
wounded it. It would’ve got away if I
didn’t pop it.” “I had it, it was
finished.” McElvey took out a
burlap bag and stuffed the dead rat into it.
It was his first of the night.
The animal started twitching so he swung the bag a couple of times
against the wall next to him to make sure the rat was dead. Matsumoto was just
about to continue the argument when his radio came to life. “Go ahead.” “This is team two, we
finished our sweep.” “How many?” Matsumoto
asked. “I got two, Liza took
down her first.” “Good job. We got two, one a piece.” “Bullshit, I got them
both,” McElvey said. Matsumoto looked at
his partner and shook his head.
McElvey’s hands were starting to shake.
“Meet us at Luigi’s in fifteen, Matsumoto out.” The Team leader put
his radio away as McElvey pulled out a plastic bag and squeezed airplane glue
into it. The second in command put the
bag over his mouth and nose and inhaled several times before coughing. He pulled the bag away
and threw it into a dumpster as he continued to cough. A stream of clear snot ran out of nose as
McElvey looked up at Matsumoto. There
was a dumb smile on McElvey’s face. “That shit’s going to
kill you.” “Aagh,” was all
McElvey said as he exhaled an unnaturally large snot bubble. # The team hooked up at Luigi’s
Coffee House. It was an old place, brightly lit with black granite-top
tables. “Hi, Liza,” Matsumoto
said. Liza Moldonado was in
the process of stuffing an Italian dessert into her mouth when Matsumoto and
McElvey walked in. She was the newest member of the team. A former cop, Liza was out on three-quarters
after taking a shot in the leg while participating in a drug bust in
Jamaica. After that she got a job as a secretary
with the New York City Department of Environmental Protection. Between the job and the pension, Liza was the
wealthiest member of the team and by far the best looking, with long brown hair
and eyes and olive skin. Lou and Liza met at a
speed dating meeting. After getting
together a few times the subject of hobbies came up and Lou spilled the
beans. He knew he was
breaking the rules by telling her about the team but he couldn’t help it. What really surprised him was when she asked
to join. “Hi,” Moldonado said,
her voice muffled by the cylindrical pastry stuffed in her mouth. “She done real
good.” That comment came from the fourth
member of the Team. Jack Reynolds
started his adult life as a body builder.
When that didn’t pan out, he tried the ring. After twelve fights and an even record of
wins and losses, he wound up at the Department of Sanitation – the DOS. Jack still had the
muscles but they were covered by layer of fat.
His most defining feature was his face.
Jack was hideously ugly. His first nickname was
leather face, given to him when he was a teenager after acne left him so scared
that his skin looked like well chewed leather.
Boxing didn’t help. Jack’s ring
career managed to get him another nick name – The Bleeder. Matsumoto and McElvey
sat down at the table. “How’s the
canoli?” McElvey asked. “Really good, you
should get one,” Moldonado said. She
finished crunching down the pastry and wiped a blemish of cream from her chin
with the back of her hand. “Can’t, I’m lactose
intolerant.” Moldonado looked
across the table at McElvey. “What are
you talking about?” “Cream, I can’t eat
it.” “There’s no cream in
this.” “Of course there is,
you called it that yourself,” McElvey said. “It's not cream like
that. It’s Ricotta cheese.” McElvey leaned back in
his chair as if he just had some sort of epiphany. He looked at Matsumoto. “You know about this?” “Sure,” Matsumoto
said. “How come you never
told me?” McElvey asked. Moldonado was shaking
her head in disbelief. “Did you know
your face was covered in snot?” She asked. “Oh shit,” McElvey
pulled a couple napkins from the dispenser and wiped his face while the rest of
the team broke up laughing. “It’s not funny,” he
said. “Sure it is,”
Moldonado said. McElvey was just about
to say something when a fat guy behind the counter piped up. “What’s in that bag?” Matsumoto looked down
at McElvey’s feet. The burlap bag was
leaking blood onto the white tile floor.
He was just about to deliver a creative lie when McElvey opened his
mouth. “Dead rats,” McElvey said. “Oh ... what, are you
serious?” the fat guy asked. Matsumoto
gave McElvey a stiff elbow to shut him up.
It was pointless. This time the
stupidity came from the other side of the table, from Reynolds. “Sure, we hunt them.” “Hunt them?” “Yeah, DOS gives us fifty
cents a piece for a bounty.” “You got dead rats
bleeding all over my floor?” “We’ll clean it up,”
Matsumoto said. “Get the fuck out of
here. You crazy or something, bringing
dead rats into my place.” “It’s okay we’ll -” “It’s not okay, get out
of here.” Matsumoto could see
disgust on the other patron’s faces. He
pulled a couple of napkins from the dispenser and dropped them over the
expanding pool of blood as he lifted the bag.
“They’re just rats,” he said. The counter guy gave
them the finger as he came around the counter with a mop and bucket. # By the time they got
back to Mott and Canal, the fog had gotten heavier and was supplemented by a
light drizzle. Matsumoto and McElvey
continued their sweep of the alleys, while Reynolds and Moldonado checked the
garbage piles on the streets. "You're never
going to believe this; guess who lives in Liza's building," Matsumoto said
as he poked a pile of garbage with the barrel of his rifle. "Who?" "Kitty
Bill." "Get out,"
McElvey said. "Nope, two floors
down." Several years ago the
City decided to finally solve its rat problem.
Dr. William H. Reston, also known as “Kitty Bill” had the solution, a
genetically engineered cat with the intelligence of a chimp and the pack behavior
of a wolf, combined with some of the more viscous traits commonly associated
with mountain lions. The cats worked great
until they decided to take over lower Manhattan. Troops had to be called in. They even brought
Kitty Bill in to see if he could tame them. The rumor was that Kitty Bill
released something that calmed them down. The cats eventually did become tame
and, for a while, very fashionable. To Matsumoto Kitty Bill was a hero. "I thought he got
assassinated or something," McElvey said. “Guess not. You
ready?” Matsumoto asked. McElvey nodded,
his hands were shaking so bad he couldn’t hold his gun straight. “You sure?” “I’m fine,” McElvey
said. He walked down the alley. After about twenty feet he took up position
next to a wet stone and brick wall. Then
he looked back at Matsumoto and moved his head side-to-side, gesturing him to
come forward. Matsumoto took out his
rifle and, pointing the barrel at the street, moved forward. Dripping water was
everywhere plunking down from dumpsters onto the street with high pitched
clicking sounds, or onto wet cardboard with dull thumps. The smell of wet rotting cabbage and spoiled
spiced meat permeated the alley.
Matsumoto almost wished his nose was clogged, like McElvey’s. Matsumoto took up
position across the alley from McElvey.
The two men looked at each other. Matsumoto nodded and McElvey moved
forward. He went another thirty feet,
then froze. McElvey raised his gun
with his right hand and waved Matsumoto forward with his left. When he got even with McElvey he
stopped. “What do you see?” Matsumoto
whispered. At first, McElvey
didn’t say anything. He waved,
indicating that he wanted Matsumoto to stand next to him. Matsumoto was reluctant. It violated standard patrol procedure. McElvey waved again. “What is it?” Matsumoto asked when he got next to McElvey. “Look.” There was a brown
object on the other side of a yellow dumpster.
Matsumoto couldn’t see the whole thing.
Just the rear-end and a hairless fleshy tail. Between the drips, Matsumoto
could hear the sound of teeth tearing meat and occasionally gnawing on
something hard. “It can’t be a rat,”
Matsumoto said. “Must be at least
eight feet long.” “Whatever it is, it’s
eating something.” Their voices must have
distracted the animal. It backed out
from behind the dumpster, pulling its food with it. “It’s a rat,”
Matsumoto said. The creature sat back on
its hind legs. It was holding a man,
gnawing down his leg. It had just
reached the knee. “Is that Chin?”
McElvey asked. “The dishwasher?” “Yeah.” “Isn’t he an illegal?”
Matsumoto asked. “What’s that have to
do with anything?” “I don’t’ know,
nothing I guess.” The two men stood
mesmerized as the rat chewed on the dead dishwasher. It seemed content to stare back at them, it’s
long whiskers twitching as its mouth moved, is bulbous black eyes,
expressionless as it manipulated its prey with its front legs. “What do we do?”
McElvey asked. Matsumoto brought up
his weapon and fired. “Aim for the
eyes.” Matsumoto's first shot
hit the rat in the forehead and bounced off.
McElvey fired also. His aim
wasn’t nearly as good but most of his shots hit the animal somewhere. For an instant, the
rat sat there taking fire, continuing to chew.
Then one of Matsumoto’s shots hit it in the eye. The rat squealed, dropped Chin and
charged. “Run,” Matsumoto
said. McElvey was already running. “Cover fire, cover fire,” Matsumoto shouted
as he ran. McElvey stopped,
turned and squeezed off a couple of shots. After another few steps, Matsumoto
turned and fired. He saw another shot
hit the rat in the eye. The animal stopped
briefly and ran its front paw over its eye before resuming the chase. It was incredibly fast. Matsumoto sensed its whiskers and hot breath
on his neck as he got to the edge of the alley.
Just when he thought
he was done for he heard the popping sound from McElvey’s gun. The shots distracted the creature just long
enough for Matsumoto to clear the alley.
When he turned, he saw the rat bounding in the other direction. Matsumoto leaned
against the wall. His hands were shaking
as bad as McElvey’s. “What was that?” “I think I shit
myself,” McElvey said just before bending over and vomiting against the wall of
a building. # Matsumoto and McElvey
got to the corner and sat down on the curb while they tried to recover. “What
happened to you?” Matsumoto looked up
and saw Reynolds. “What you got all
over your shirt?” Reynolds asked. “Puke, I guess,”
McElvey said. Moldonado was standing
behind Reynolds. The look on her face
indicated she was having second thoughts about becoming a member of the
team. “We need to find a cop,” Matsumoto said. “What for?” Moldonado
asked. “Chin’s dead, we saw
his body back in the alley.” “Jesus, why didn’t you
say so.” Moldonado pulled out her cell
phone. “And make sure you
tell them about the giant rat,” McElvey said. Moldonado pulled the
phone away from her ear. “Giant what?” “Rat,” Matsumoto
said. “Like how giant?”
Moldonado asked. Matsumoto looked at
McElvey. His partner was shaking,
covered in puke and smelled like shit.
As if on cue, McElvey pulled a tube of glue from his pocket and a
plastic sandwich bag. “Lay off that
shit. We’ve got a problem here,”
Matsumoto said. “Can’t.” McElvey put the bag over his mouth and nose
and inhaled. “I’d say at least
eight feet,” Matsumoto said. “Impossible,”
Moldonado said. “Look I’m telling you
-” McElvey took off down
the street. He was staggering and
laughing at the same time. “Oh Christ,
get him,” Matsumoto said. They caught up to
McElvey about halfway up alley off Mott Street.
Matsumoto heard movement. All at
once, their guns came up and their sensors came to life. Even McElvey managed to bring his weapon up. Two figures were
bathed in light. One was standing. The other figure was kneeling. Both wore the uniforms of New York’s
finest. The cops were
quick. The standing figure spun and drew
his nine millimeter. The kneeling figure
stood and did the same. “Hold it,” one
of the figures said. He was in a combat
stance with his pistol clutched in two hands.
Matsumoto knew “he” was a “he” by what was protruding out of his fly. The man’s eyes followed Matsumoto’s down to
his crotch. The scene demanded
attention. The other figure was
apparently female. Her blouse was unbuttoned revealing a non-regulation pink
lace bra. “We need to report a
murder,” Matsumoto said. “Lower your weapons,”
the male officer said. Matsumoto nodded
and the team lowered their guns. “And
turn off those fucking lights,” the female officer said. “Sensors off,”
Matsumoto said. In the shadows of the
street lights, Matsumoto watched as the male officer did up his trousers while
his apparent partner buttoned her blouse.
“Who are you
assholes?” “There’s no time for
that, there’s a dead guy over on Mott Street,” Matsumoto said. “What dead guy?” “He was killed by a
giant rat.” The two cops looked at
McElvey. Matsumoto could almost
guess what the cops where thinking.
McElvey was rocking back and forth.
He didn’t come off as credible. “A giant rat?” the
male cop asked. By then, Matsumoto was
getting the sense that it wasn’t a good idea to lead with the rat story. In fact, he kind of realized that from the
beginning. Matsumoto sensed that the rest
of the Team wasn’t exactly buying the giant rat story either. “Doohan, is that
you?” Moldonado asked. The male cop took out his flash light and
shined it on Moldonado’s face. “Liza?” “You know her?” the
female officer asked. There was an edge of jealousy to her voice. “It’s Liza
Moldonado. She used to be on the job.” “What, she get jammed
up?” the female officer asked. “No bitch I didn’t,
which is more than I can say for what’s going to happen to you.” “What’s that supposed
to mean?” The female cop took a step
closer to Moldonado. “Take it easy, Tina,”
Doohan said. Liza’s out on
three-quarters. How’s the leg, by the
way?” “Hurts.” “She should watch her
mouth,” Tina said. “Look who’s
talking. Wonder what Jessica would say
if she knew about Tina,” Moldonado said.
“Can we deal with the
dead guy?” Matsumoto asked. “You say he was killed
by a giant rat?” Doohan asked. “Why don’t we focus on
the fact that he’s dead? We can look into what killed him later,” Matsumoto
said. “That’s the first
intelligent thing I heard all night,” Moldonado said. Matsumoto thought he won back some respect. “Where’s the
body?” Tina asked. “I’ll show you,”
Matsumoto said. # On the way back,
McElvey ducked down a subway station where, to everyone’s amazement, there was
an open public restroom. Matsumoto wasn’t sure
he wanted McElvey wandering around alone, especially in his condition. Then again, every time McElvey opened his
mouth he seemed to cause problems.
Reynolds refused to stay with him.
He wanted to see the rat.
Matsumoto didn’t bother asking Moldonado. He hesitated before
entering the alley. Matsumoto could
almost feel the whiskers brushing the back of his neck. “Problem?” Doohan
asked. “Half way down, behind
the dumpster,” Matsumoto said. He
swallowed and started walking down the alley.
He slowed as he approached the dumpster.
When he got to the other side, the body was gone. “Where’s your dead
guy?” Tina asked. “Rat must have ate
him,” Doohan said. “I think you’re right,”
Matsumoto said. “It was a joke, you
idiot.” “But look at all the
blood,” Matsumoto said. He pointed at
the pavement and cardboard. Even with
the light rain, there was still a lot. “Could be anything. Hell,
for all we know, they could be slaughtering cats back here,” Tina said. “Or chickens and
ducks,” Doohan said. “That would violate
the health code,” Moldonado said. Everybody turned to look at her, even
Matsumoto. “Sorry, lost my
head," she said. “I’m telling you there
was a dead guy here.” “Yeah, and he was
killed by a giant rat,” Tina said. “Actually, that’s
true.” “Right ... who are you
assholes, anyway?” Tina asked. “What do you mean?”
Matsumoto asked. “What are you doing
out here?” “Hunting rats,”
Moldonado said. “For fun?” Doohan
asked. “Actually, yeah, you
should try it,” Moldonado said. “There’s also the
bounty,” Reynolds said. “Bounty?” “Fifty cents a piece.” “How many you get?” Reynolds showed the
cops his burlap bag. “Sure won’t retire
on that,” Doohan said. “Wait a minute
... you idiots shooting off guns around here.” “Actually -” “Let me see that
thing,” Tina said. Matsumoto handed Tina
his weapon. “It’s an L-239 with a
white light -” “It’s a bb gun with a
mag-lite wired to the barrel,” she said as she handed the gun back to
Matsumoto. “Does the job,”
Matsumoto said. “And technically, it’s
not a firearm,” Moldonado said. “I’ve seen
everything,” Doohan said. “You going to call
this in?” Matsumoto asked. “A report of blood
stains and giant rats? You’ve got to be
crazy.” “Yeah but -” “Doohan and
Cunningham, requesting meal,” Doohan said into his radio, ignoring
Matsumoto. The two officers turned and
walked down the other end of the alley, leaving the team in the middle of a
pile of blood and garbage. “What do we do
now?” Reynolds asked. “I think we should
call it a night,” Moldonado said. “Okay, let’s collect
McElvey and -” A scream came from the
other end of the alley. Matsumoto got to
the end just in time to see the rat pull someone around the corner. The identity of the
screamer was confirmed when Team caught up to the rat. A steady stream of profanities spewed from
McElvey’s mouth, punctuated by pops from his bb gun. Matsumoto couldn’t help admiring his boyhood
friend's pluck. “Aim for the face,”
Matsumoto said as he began firing.
Reynolds came up next, adding his fire. Finally Moldonado
limped up and started shooting.
Matsumoto deluded himself into thinking he hurt the animal when he got a
clean shot at the eye. Something must
have worked though. The rat let go of
McElvey’s leg. There was a tense
moment when the giant reared up and flashed its incisors at the Team. Matsumoto thought it was going to charge, but
it turned and ran. Reynolds was the first
to reach McElvey. He was lying in the
street, next to the curb, rolling back and forth. Moldonado had her cell phone out. Matsumoto watched for the rat to make sure it
didn’t double back. “Hang in there buddy,”
Reynolds said. He tore away McElvey’s
jeans. Two wounds penetrated deep into
the calf. They looked like they went
right to the bone. “Ambulance is on the
way,” Moldonado said. “What do we tell
them?” Reynolds asked. “Don’t say anything
about the rat. They’ll think we’re nuts,” Matsumoto said. “We are nuts,”
Moldonado said. “Christ, I think I
shit myself again,” McElvey said. “Take it easy,
Dana. I think you’re entitled,”
Matsumoto said. “What about tetanus?”
Moldonado asked. The two men turned
away from McElvey and looked at her.
“What are you talking about?” Matsumoto asked. “He got bit by an
animal, he needs a tetanus shot.” “Say he cut himself on
some rusty sheet metal,” Reynolds said. “And what about
rabies?” Moldonado asked. “She’s right,”
Matsumoto said. We have to say it was an
animal.” Reynolds had his shirt
off and tied a tourniquet just below McElvey’s knee. “We could say it was a
dog.” “A raccoon, maybe,”
Moldonado said. “In the City?”
Reynolds said. “Sure, I’ve seen
them,” Moldonado said. “I don’t believe it.” “I’m telling you -” “Why not just say
something big bit him, we just couldn’t get a good look at it,” Matsumoto said. In the distance,
Matsumoto heard a siren. A minute later
the Ambulance arrived. “Where you taking
him?” Matsumoto asked. “Belleview,” the EMT
said. “Can I ride with you?” “You family?” “Good friend,”
Matsumoto said. “Sorry, meet us at the
Emergency room.” # McElvey was nowhere to
be seen in the Emergency room and the receptionist wouldn’t tell him anything
because he wasn’t family. Moldonado
spotted one of the EMT’s that brought McElvey in. “That guy, yeah, he’s
in detox,” the EMT said. “He’s a glue sniffer, really fucked-up. The guy was hallucinating when we brought him
in, ranting about giant rats trying to chew his leg off. It wasn’t until I went through his pockets
that I figured out what was going on.” “What’s going to
happened to him now?” Matsumoto asked. The EMT shrugged his
shoulders. “Got me.” He left the Emergency room. “What now?” Reynolds asked. “I don’t know. We’re going to need Dana if we have any
chance of bringing this thing down,” Matsumoto said. “Are you nuts? This isn’t fun and games anymore,” Moldonado
said. “It’s our job,”
Matsumoto said. “That thing might kill
you,” Moldonado said. “What if it’s not the
only one?” “Good point, I always
wanted to move to Idaho,” Moldonado said. “You wouldn’t
understand,” Matsumoto said. “Understand what, that
you go out at night pretending your part of some elite team of rat killers.
That you give fancy names to bb guns and flashlights trying to make this stupid
game seem important.” Matsumoto turned and
walked away. Reynolds looked at
Moldonado, shaking his head. “It’s late,
maybe we all should get some rest,” he said.
He joined Matsumoto on the far side of the Emergency room and sat down
on the bench next to him. Out of the corner of
his eye, Matsumoto watched Moldonado limp through the sliding glass doors. After she left, Matsumoto rubbed his face
before looking up at Reynolds. “Is that what we are,
a bunch of nerds playing guns?” he asked. “Nah, we ain’t
playing. Me, I’m in it for the
bounty. That reminds me, where’d my bag
go?” Reynolds asked. “Must have left it
downtown,” Matsumoto said. His voice
flat and exhausted. “Too bad, two dollars
in bounty money in my bag.” “We got to get that
rat. Dana would have wanted it.” “He ain’t dead, Lou,
just in detox,” Reynolds said. “I know. He’ll never be the same.” “Ever think that might
be a good thing?” Matsumoto didn’t
respond. He stood up and walked towards
the door. “I need to get some rest. I’ll see you at work.” # Over the next two
days, Matsumoto tried to see McElvey twice.
The second time he got an explanation.
According to the receptionist the shrink on McElvey’s case wouldn’t
allow him to see any of his old friends, especially Matsumoto. She said the shrink called him an enabler,
whatever the hell that was. Matsumoto was
surprised when he got the call from Moldonado, a week after McElvey was
attacked. “I’ve been thinking,”
Moldonado said. “About the rat?” “Yes, have you seen
the papers?” “Just the ones people
throw out,” Matsumoto said. “What do you think?” “I think people aren’t
reading as many papers as they used to.” “About the
disappearances.” “What disappearances?” “In downtown. I think it’s the rat.” “I thought you were
going to run off to Idaho.” Moldonado paused long
enough for the dead air to become uncomfortable. “I’ve been thinking that maybe you were
right.” “About?” “It being our job to
kill that thing.” “But no one believes
us,” Matsumoto said. “Making it even more
important that we do something.” That rat scared the
crap out of him. He fired everything he
had at the beast and it did nothing.
Then again, there was McElvey.
Matsumoto felt he owed the man something. “We’re already branded
nuts; we go down there with shotguns-” “I’m not suggesting
that,” Moldonado said. “What do you have in
mind?” “I'm thinking we
should talk to Kitty Bill.” “I think shotguns
would be better,” Matsumoto said. “You can’t discharge
firearms in a residential area.” “So your better idea
is to release a bunch of vicious cats that almost overran the City?” “We could at least talk
to the guy,” Moldonado said. Matsumoto bit his lip
as he thought for a moment. “How about
we get a picture of the rat and bring it to the cops?” “So you’re in?”
Moldonado asked. “I’m just brain
storming.” “How many people will
die before that happens.” “I don’t know. How long does it take to breed a killer cat?”
Matsumoto asked. “You don’t need to get
snippy about it.” “The idea is stupid.” The phone went
silent. Matsumoto got the feeling that
Moldonado was trying to control her temper.
After a few seconds she let out a deep breath. “I’m not suggesting we start breeding cats -” “Then what are you-” “Jesus Christ, will
you let me finish.” “Sorry.” “This guy knows a lot
about rats. He might have some ideas.” “You sure he’s the
guy?” “Pretty sure.” “Okay, I’m in,”
Matsumoto said. # The next day,
Matsumoto and Moldonado were standing outside her apartment building near
Battery Park. “You sure he’ll come out?”
Matsumoto asked. “It’s part of his
routine. The guy’s a machine that way,”
Moldonado said. It was one of those
late summer New York afternoons.
Temperature in the low nineties, humidity in the high nineties. Sweat formed on Matsumoto’s forehead but
never evaporated. Instead it just
accumulated until it ran down the sides of his face, into his eyes or down his
nose, eventually dripping off the end onto the sidewalk. Moldonado looked hot also, though she wasn’t a sweaty mess
like he was. She had her long brown hair
up in a pony tail and was wearing a tank top.
What Matsumoto couldn’t understand was why she chose long jeans instead
of shorts. “Aren’t you hot?” he
asked. “A bit.” “Why don’t you wear
shorts?” Moldonado looked down
at her legs for a second. “I don’t know,
I guess I don’t like them.” “Can’t see the pins in
long pants,” Matsumoto said. “You’re an ass – wait,
that’s him.” Moldonado pointed across
the street at a man coming out of the building.
“See I told you.” “Don’t point.” It was Kitty Bill all
right. He was gray on the sides and a bit heavier. “How do you want to play this?” Moldonado
asked. “He’s your neighbor,
go up and talk to him.” “I can’t do that.” “Why not?” “What do I say?” “How should I
know? Talk about the weather or
something and then ask if he’s the cat guy.” “Let’s just follow him,
see if an opportunity presents itself.” Reston turned left out
of the apartment building and walked toward Battery Park. Matsumoto and
Moldonado tried not to be obvious, but after a hundred yards it became pretty
clear they were following him. The man
stopped twice to give them dirty looks.
After another twenty yards Reston turned. “What do you want?” “Uh ..., Matsumoto
said. “Why are you following
me?” Moldonado was the
first to recover. “I live in your
building. My name’s Liza Moldonado-” “I know who you
are. Who are you?” Reston said, pointing
at Matsumoto. “You’re Kitty Bill,
aren’t you?” Matsumoto finally said. “Leave me alone,”
Reston turned and started walking. “It’s not like that,”
Moldonado said as she limped after him. “I need to get out of
this City. Every time I turn around,
somebody’s spotting me and blaming me because real estate prices are down,”
Reston said to himself as he quickened his pace, trying to stay ahead of
Moldonado. Matsumoto jogged up to
Reston. “We need your help.” Reston stopped. He looked at Matsumoto
again. “Help with what?” Matsumoto told him
about the giant rat while Moldonado caught up.
She got there just in time to hear Reston tell Matsumoto he was
nuts. Kitty Bill continued his walk. “People are dying,”
Moldonado said. “People die all the
time,” Reston said and continued walking.
“You stop this thing,
it could save your reputation,” Matsumoto said. Reston stopped and turned. The frown lines on his faced deepened as he
looked back at Matsumoto. It was a desperation
play, one Matsumoto never thought would work.
“Assuming I believe you for a second, what kind of help do you want?” “Could we talk about
this back at Liza’s apartment?” Matsumoto asked. # The three of them sat
around Moldonado’s kitchen table. As
they laid out the details of their battle with the rat, Matsumoto could see a
change come over Reston. “Actually, it kind of makes sense,” Reston
said. “How does any of this
make sense?” Moldonado asked. “Back in the old days,
they used to dump all kinds of things in the sewers. That provided the mutagens, but you still
needed selective pressure to create the super rat.” “What mutagen?”
Moldonado asked. “Radiation.” “There’s no power
plant in New York,” Matsumoto said. “No but in the
thirties there was a watch factory.” “So?” “Radium dials, they
poured the excess down the sewers.” “And the radiation
created the rat?” Moldonado asked. “No, natural selection
did. The radiation just created the
opportunity for lots of mutations.” “You think it’s the
only one?” Matsumoto asked. “Don’t know, probably
not.” “How do we deal with
this?” Moldonado asked. “You know, I might
just have the thing. We need to go to Brooklyn.” # Reston's lab was
located in an old brownstone in Bedford Stuyvesant. The first floor was a
large open space with black tables arranged in parallel rows. There were cloth and plastic sheets covering
elaborate looking machines. “What are these
things,” Moldonado asked. “Automated gene
sequencers. We need to go to the
basement,” Reston said. He walked up to
a door that looked like it belonged on a submarine. He turned two dogs on the top and bottom
before releasing a latch. The door was sealed
with a rubber gasket that didn’t seem to want to let go at first. Reston gave the door a hard pull. After a couple of seconds the seal
broke. Matsumoto wished it didn’t. “Christ, what’s that
smell?” Matsumoto asked. “Hydrogen Sulfide,
smells like rotten eggs doesn’t it?” “You ain’t kidding,”
Matsumoto said. “Do you expect us to
go down there?” Moldonado asked. “It’s not so bad once
you get used to it,” Reston said. He
switched on a light and descended the stairs. Matsumoto shrugged,
pinched his nose, and followed. After
going a few steps he turned to Moldonado.
“Coming?” he asked while his fingers still pinched his nose. “I guess.” The basement was lined
with glass cases, each about the size of a large suitcase. When he reached the bottom, Matsumoto looked
into one of the cases. There was a large
cat with fangs protruding from its upper lip in it. He jumped back. “Please tell me they’re dead,” Matsumoto
said. “Hibernating, that’s
what the hydrogen sulfide’s for. “Are these ...” “An improved
version. I didn’t have the heart to put
them down,” Reston said. “This is what you
wanted to show us?” Matsumoto asked. “Yup.” “No way, we’re not
letting these things out on the street again.
We almost lost the City last time.” “They’re safe, I promise.
They only attack targets painted with this.”
Reston reached under a table and pulled out a paint ball gun. “These paintballs have yellow fluorescent
paint and a cat hormone that drives the animals wild. Anything wearing it will
get torn to pieces.” “Only things hit with
the paint balls?” Matsumoto asked. “Yes, make sure you’re
careful not to break any of the balls.
Once the hormone is released ... well I wouldn’t want to be around,”
Reston said. Matsumoto picked up
the pistol. It had single shot and a
full auto feature. “There's also a failsafe device, special collars.” Reston opened a drawer and handed one to
Matsumoto. They were plastic with a
black box on the opposite side of the buckle. A small antennae came from the
box. “What’s this?”
Matsumoto asked, pointing at the box. “A detonator.” “What’s it detonate?” “An M-80.” “You mean -” “When this is over, we
blow their heads off.” “You can’t make them
tame?” “Not these monsters,”
Reston said. Matsumoto stared at
one of the cages for about a minute. He
didn’t know what was worse, going to the cops and winding up in the ward next
to McElvey, or letting these things loose. “What do you think?”
he asked Moldonado. “I think we’re going
to need Reynolds.” # It wasn’t easy convincing
Reynolds to rejoin the team. He was more freaked by the giant rat than
Matsumoto thought. Things got even
hairier when he got a look at the cats. “I’m out of here,”
Reynolds said. “Come on Jack we need
you.” Reynolds couldn’t go
near the things. His hands were shaking
worse than McElvey’s ever did. “Don’t worry about
it,” Reston said. They’re tame as
kittens.” Reston walked up to one of
the, now loose, cats and shook its protruding fang. “See, not a hostile bone in
its body.” Reston was playing
with an Angora, about four feet long, nose to tail. Its eyes were yellow and it looked like it
could bite through steel cable. “So what’s the
plan?” Matsumoto asked. Reston was handing out paint ball guns. Reynolds looked at his gun and scowled. “The cats operate in a
pack. They’re engineered so that we’re
pack members. As soon as we see the rat,
we paint it and let the cats do the rest.” “That’s an awful big
rat. You sure your little monsters can
do the job?” “First of all, they’re
not monsters. Second of all ...” Reston
grabbed one of the cat’s paws and pressed the bottom forcing the claws to
extend. They must have been at least a
half inch long. “They’re razor
sharp. They’ll do the job.” “You said that last
time,” Reynolds said under his breath. Reston turned on
him. “That wasn’t my fault. My cats did
everything the specification called for.
If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s the DOS Procurement.” “Take it easy, Bill,”
Matsumoto said. He didn’t like the way
the cats looked when Reston got agitated.
“You got the failsafe in place?” Reston took a small
black box the size of a cell phone from his pocket. It had a single small red button. “All set.” “Okay, let’s move
out.” The Team, supplemented by forty cats, moved
into lower Manhattan, sweeping out from Battery Park. Matsumoto couldn’t
help but admire the way the animals moved.
Several flanked out while others worked their way into parallel streets.
Lower Manhattan was
quiet. It was as if the population got
some subliminal message that this part of the City wasn’t safe. They reached the
Financial District and worked their way toward South Street Sea Port. Matsumoto was nervous. He kept fingering the safety of his paint
ball gun. Even though his L-239 was
useless against the rat, he felt more secure with it. Reynolds froze. His left hand shot up. It was a clear night with a full moon. Visibility was good, even under the FDR
Drive. Matsumoto quietly
walked up next to his big friend.
“Whatcha got?” he whispered. “Movement by that
dumpster,” Reynolds said, holding his arm straight out, his hand flat and
perpendicular to the ground. Matsumoto looked back
at Reston. The man nodded and came
forward. Moldonado moved off to the
right. They all unslung their paint ball
guns and clicked the safeties off. As Matsumoto
approached the yellow dumpster he saw something moving inside it. A wooden fruit crate rocked back and forth
from the motion of something underneath.
When they got to
within twenty feet, Matsumoto crouched down.
The rest of the Team followed his lead.
They stared at the dumpster. “How long are we going
to do this?” Reston asked, his voice just above a whisper. “As long as it takes,”
Matsumoto responded. Whatever was in the
dumpster jerked to the right. The wooden
crate shot into the air and crashed to the ground, its soft thin would
splintering on the hard pavement. When Matsumoto looked
back, two red eyes were staring at him.
“Rat,” he whispered. There was a puff and a
yellow paintball hit the side of the dumpster.
Then another, followed by a third.
“What? Hold your fire,” Matsumoto
said. It was too late. Yellow paint dripped down the side of the
dumpster. The moonlight made the
fluorescence glow. “Nothing’s happening,”
Reynolds said. “Takes a second for
the hormone to get to them,” Reston said.
Seconds later the
first cat struck. Matsumoto didn’t see
it until it was in the air, front paws stretched out, claws extended. It seemed to float, almost hovering before
landing in the dumpster. The cat screamed,
followed instantly by a high-pitched squeal.
Lettuce, rotten fruit and cardboard flew into the air. A second later a three-foot long brown rat
landed on the pavement. Even though the rat
was obviously dead, its head nearly severed from its body, three more cats
jumped it, while seven more dove into the dumpster. More garbage flew into the air, followed by
screams from dying rats. Matsumoto never
realized there could be so many rats in a dumpster. He turned to look at
Reston. The man was crying. Reston
noticed Matsumoto looking at him and wiped a tear from his cheek. “I’m sorry
it’s ... I don’t know how to put it.” “Beautiful,” Reynolds
said. Matsumoto turned to look at his friend.
Reynold’s eyes were as wide as they could possibly get. He was obviously mesmerized by the scene. “Yes, beautiful,”
Reston said. “There must be five
bucks worth of rats in there,” Reynolds said. “Feel free to try and
take them away from the cats,” Moldonado said.
“How long does this
last?” Matsumoto asked. “Till the cats are
done feeding. I figure forty-five
minutes to an hour,” Reston said. “Want to grab a bite?”
Matsumoto asked. “Kind of late, don’t
you think?” Moldonado said. “There’s an all night
diner on Johns, burgers are pretty good. “Sure,” Reynolds said. “I’m going to watch my
cats,” Reston said. “Bring you back
anything?” Moldonado asked. “Ham and cheese would
be great.” # Reston was sitting on
a curb, still watching his wonder cats when the Team got back. Several cats were sitting around him calmly
licking blood from their claws. One big
happy family. “Here’s your
sandwich,” Matsumoto said. “I’ve been thinking,”
Reston said as he pulled his sandwich from the bag. “I asked for rye.” “No you didn’t.” “Sure I did, I can’t
eat a ham sandwich on whole wheat.” “Oh for ... pretend
you’re roughing. They probably don’t
have rye bread in Alaska.” “Whatever,” Reston
said. “So ... you’ve been
thinking,” Moldonado said. “I think we should
head back toward Chinatown.” “Why?” Moldonado
asked. “Seems kind of barren
down here. Better pickings for rats
further uptown.” The Team member looked
at each other and shrugged. “Fine,”
Matsumoto said. “Bit of a walk,”
Reynolds said. “Well, we can’t put
the cats in a cab, now can we?” Moldonado said. “You don’t need to get
all pissy about it,” Reynolds said. “Sorry, my leg hurts.” The Team turned
north. As they walked, Matsumoto noticed
the cats fanning out once again. “Ammo check,”
Matsumoto said. The Team looked at
their magazines. “I’m good,” Reynolds
said. “Me too,” Moldonado
said. They looked at Reston. “What?” “Check your ammo,”
Matsumoto said. “I didn’t shoot
anything.” “Just the same, you
need to check. It’s procedure.” “It’s stupid.” “Look, would you just
check,” Reynolds said. “Oh, for chrissakes,”
Reston looked down at his gun. “I’m
good, happy?” Matsumoto froze. It came around the corner. The animal was massive, bigger than eight
feet. “What?” Reston asked.
Matsumoto pointed. “Mother of
God, that’s big,” Reston said. “You think it’s the
same rat?” Reynolds asked. “If it is, it’s still
growing,” Moldonado said. They all
looked at Reston. “How should I know?” “You’re the
scientist.” “I supposed you’re
going to blame this on me too.” “What are you talking
-” “Sure something weird
happens, something doesn’t go according to plan, blame the scientist.” “Doc, no one’s blaming
you,” Moldonado said. “You think the
cats can handle it?” “Guess we’ll find
out,” Reston said. He walked up the
street toward the rat. As soon as Matsumoto
got next to him, Reston turned on him.
“You said the rat was eight feet.
This one’s at least seventeen, nose to tail. I could have brought more
cats.” “Doc I’m not blaming
you.” “And don’t think
you’re leaving me here like you did the last time.” “Doc, I’m not-” “No way I’m putting up
with that shit again.” The rat looked down
the street at the Team. It was making no effort to flee or hide itself. The large brown creature just stood there
with its whiskers twitching. Moldonado drew ahead
of the Team and approached the rat. The
animal reared up on its hind legs, sniffing the air. She fired two balls. Both hit. The rat hesitated for a second, then charged. “Shit,” Moldonado said, as she turned and
tried to run. Before he could go
five paces the rat was on her. Matsumoto
switched his paint gun to full auto.
“Let him have it,” he shouted as his paintball gun sent a stream of
balls toward the rat. Balls from three guns
plastered the creature. “Where are the
cats?” Matsumoto said. The rat had
Moldonado by the leg. She screamed as the beast's incisors clamped down on her
calf while its front feet grabbed her torso. “Liza!” Matsumoto watched in horror as the leg came
away at the hip. “My god.” Matsumoto
charged. “It tore her leg off!”
Reynolds said. The rat reared up with Moldonado’s leg in its mouth. “Son of a bitch,”
Reston said. Matsumoto managed to
hit the beast in the eye with a paint ball.
It dropped Moldonado. While Reynolds and
Reston covered him, Matsumoto pulled her clear. Then the cats struck. In his mind’s eye,
Matsumoto pictured what it would be like if a pack of lions attacked an
elephant. These were not crazed
killers. The attack was coordinated,
almost choreographed. Four came out of
alleys and charged the front of the animal while another five headed for its
midsection. Several more jumped from the
rear onto the rat's back. As the claws dug in,
the rat reared up, dropping Moldonado’s leg.
This gave several cats the opportunity to get underneath it. They scrambled to its white belly and started
working their claws into the thing’s stomach with the obvious intention of
disemboweling it. “What are you
doing?” Matsumoto asked. “Getting my leg back,”
Moldonado said. She started crawling
back toward the rat. “I don’t think -” “You have any idea how
much that thing costs.” “Costs?” Moldonado shook her
head and continued crawling. Then
Matsumoto understood. “Hold on, let
me.” He pulled her back to the
curb. The rat was in full
retreat. It had one of the cats in its
mouth. The animal was limp, obviously
dead and the rat shook its head from side to side. It tried to swat other cats with its tail and
had two pinned with its front legs. But there were too
many. Several, clawing their way up the
animals back, got to the rat’s head.
Once there they jammed their claws into the creature’s eyes. A deafening squeal
resonated through the canyons of lower Manhattan. The rat dropped the cat that was in its mouth
and used its front paws to clear the cats from its eyes. It was just a matter
of time. The rat was weakening. With its belly torn open, stomach and
intestines, along with a thick stream of blood began flowing to the
street. Matsumoto managed to
get the Moldonado’s leg and rejoin her.
They sat on the curb as the rat released its final squeal and fell to
the ground. She looked the leg
over. There were a couple of teeth marks
in it, but otherwise it was fine. After a minute she put the leg down and
looked at Matsumoto. He was looking back
at her smiling. “You okay with this?” “We’re all missing
something,” he said. He kissed her on
the cheek and got up. Reston was in the
middle of the street, doing a jig.
Reynolds was on the side watching the cats begin their feast. Matsumoto walked next
to Reston. “You see that, it’s
beautiful, just beautiful, better than I could have hoped.” “Bill?” “This could put me
right back on top. I mean, can you guess
the demand for these babies?” “Bill?” “I mean the military
sales alone, and forget about international, you ever see the rats in Hong
Kong.” “You need to push the
button.” “And ... what?” “The button,
Bill. The cats tasted blood.” “They’ll calm down,
once the hormone dissipates.” “You sure about that?” “Well ... actually
no. Look this is my first field trial
okay.” “We can’t risk it.” Reston looked back at
his cats. Then at Matsumoto. “I was having a real good day, too. Things were going right.” “You can always make
more cats.” “You think?” “When word of this
gets out, hell you’ll be a millionaire.” “But I need the cats
-” Besides, if the cats
eat the evidence, who’ll believe there was a giant rat in the first place. You’ll be labeled a nut, like the rest of
us.” Reston pondered that
one for a moment. He looked at his
cats. Then he looked at Matsumoto. “Good point.”
He pushed the button. There was a series of
muffled explosions. Matsumoto turned
just in time to see one of the cats explode.
Its spinning head arched through the air and landed on the
pavement. The head rolled several yards
before coming to rest in front of Matsumoto and Reston. There were sirens in
the background. Matsumoto looked at the
dead cats and the partially eaten carcass of the giant rat. “What happens now?”
Moldonado asked. “Not sure,” Matsumoto
said. “But I think were about to be
famous.” The End.