Primal Spillane Page 12

  How much time passed, Joe never knew. The place so intrigued him that he didn’t bother to figure it out. Anyway, time was the thing he had the most of, so why worry about it? Then … from the cavern of many turns, he stepped into a room of unearthly dimensions. It stretched upward as high as the eye could see! Pointing from the floor up were giant stalagmites, while their counterparts were faintly visible from the distant ceiling. A steady drip of water was the only sound beside his own heavy breathing.

  MANY exits led from the enormous chamber, and Joe chose one of them. Careful to scratch his way with a knife, he entered one. Down, down he went. The place seemed to have no end. The lantern cast a yellow glow on the greenish-grey walls making the tunnel a ghostly lane. Hours passed, and Joe kept on. He entered many other chambers, each larger than the rest, but with each one, his curiosity increased and he continued his trek.

  It was when he entered the last huge room that he noticed the difference. It was getting warmer! How deep in the bowels of the earth he was will never be known, but whereas when he first entered it was fairly cool, the temperature now was the same as that in the glaring sun on the surface, only here it was moist, unbearably so.

  “Guess I must be near one of them underground hot water streams!” Joe said to himself.

  It was then that he felt it. Someone was in here with him! Joe had lived alone long enough to be super-sensitive to another’s presence, and now he was sure that another living creature was somewhere near! He could even feel the eyes burning into him. Again his curiosity got the better of him. He flashed the light into every corner, but he saw nothing!

  His flesh crawled. The most unearthly feeling came over him. This was not an animal … he would have known the difference at once, and had it been a four-footed creature it certainly would have attacked him before this. Whatever it was, it surveyed him very calmly from some hidden spot. For once, Joe’s curiosity didn’t overcome him. He took a last look around, then turned on his heel and started back the way he came!

  THEN … a low rumble reverberated throughout the place. It went down to a snarl and stopped. That was a human voice … scarcely distinguishable … but unmistakably human! Joe jumped three feet in the air and came down running. He tore straight ahead for all he was worth, his feet a blur in the lamp’s rays. Unfortunately, he didn’t see the wall ahead, and he hit it full out. His breath whooshed out, and he bounced back like a rubber ball! Luckily, the lantern was still intact.

  It came again, that awful voice. Joe scrambled to his feet and panted away. Gone was his curiosity. All he wanted was to get out of there … and fast! His eyes sought out the trail he scratched on the floor and found it. But the rumbling came closer. “Who is that!” Joe called. “Speak up, critter!”

  The great hall threw back a dozen echoes at him. By now, Joe was shaking so hard his knees hurt when they bumped.

  “Critter? No, I am like you!”

  Joe turned sharply, “Who said that!” Coming so unexpectedly, the voice gave him the creeps! Unbounded terror shook him right down to his shoes. Again that rich, mellow voice broke the stillness.

  “I did, won’t you come with me? Step this way.”

  Joe almost fell over.

  “Lemme go, whoever you are! Get out of here!”

  Again the echoes boomed back. And that was the difference. The other’s voice didn’t cast an echo! What was this person! This time the voice held a trace of anger.

  “But I live here, I cannot go away!”

  With all his fright, Joe located the voice. It came from a patch of darkness a few yards away. So black was the patch that the light rays couldn’t penetrate it. Now, Joe was a brave man, even in these circumstances. With a cry of rage, he hurled the light at the blob of darkness and jumped to that attack!

  THE lamp missed, but Joe didn’t. He landed on a creature that seemed completely naked. Sharp claws raked his face, but he grabbed an arm and held on. The skin seemed tougher than a razorback hog, covered with wire-like hair. Joe kicked out, struggling fiercely. Back and forth they went, gradually getting out of the range of the light.

  Something came down on Joe’s foot, something hard and sharp. Once a horse stepped on him and if felt exactly like that. What manner of man was this! It fought with demoniacal fury. For once Joe was thankful of the many back-breaking hours over a pick and shovel, for he was as hard as nails. Joe let go a vicious right hook. It caught his assailant flush on the jaw. It screamed out with all its hate. But it came on. Ordinarily, that punch would have floored a man. Joe swung at random now, for the lamp was to one side and a good distance away.

  But the other creature could see! Its feet pattered on the floor, then two sharp prongs caught Joe in the stomach! His hands shot out and grabbed the head, at least that was what it was supposed to be. His fingers had circled around a pair of horns! The creature thrashed about wildly, its fists swinging, but Joe had a firm grip now and he did not intend to let go just yet.

  Keeping the other’s head down was a job, but he managed, then slowly but surely dragged him nearer the light to get a good look at him. The thing realized at once what he was trying to do and screamed.

  “You must not! No one must see me!”

  And with a terrific tug the thing broke loose and tore away. Joe could hear the clatter of its hard feet going up the hallway. Without losing a second, Joe scooped up the lantern and glued his eyes to the dirt under his feet. He found his tracks coming to the place, took a deep breath then ran … faster than he had ever done before.

  When he finally reached the top his clothes hung in tatters. The lantern was dented and cracked, but its light still shone. Joe went through the bat cave so fast that not one moved, unless they were caught in his beam. Outside, the sun was almost down. The burro grazed peacefully and everything was normal again.

  JOE scratched his head, then the past events hit him all at once. The heat, the strange creature with the hooves and horns that could not be seen … all this in the middle of the desert. And the bats. You could not forget the bats! That was it all right, he had met the Devil in person! There could be no other explanation.

  Joe Cleerey never told this story to a living creature outside his burro, for, as he said to the droopy old pack mule, “Nobody’d ever believe me, nohow! Anyway, maybe it was just another old prospector that stumbled in that cave and couldn’t find the way out … maybe!”

  ***

  Sky Busters

  MOTORS mounted on the blocks in the concealed hangars of the American Volunteer Group in China purred smoothly. Hands worked deftly over the intricate mechanism, oiling, replacing parts, and tuning up. Featherweight Chinese mechanics worked side by side with the American grease monkeys, all with a determination that burned in their eyes. Of late the Jap planes had been coming over in ever increasing numbers, and the P-40s had to be working like clocks if they wanted to hold them back.

  Artie Chrisman, the burly-headed mechanic from the States stood with his hands shoved in his jumper pockets and surveyed the hangar.

  “Shucks,” he said to the Chinese beside him, “I’m getting a little tired of this. I came all the way over here to get in a little fighting … and what happens? They shove me in here to play nursemaid to a couple of million horses!”

  “Horses?”

  “Yeah, you know … horsepower. I’m burned up. I want some action!”

  The small Chinese smiled slowly.

  “I, too, would like action, but as it is, we must all do that which we are best capable of, and through those efforts the war will be won.”

  “Guess you’re right, no doubt about that, but I’m NOT HAPPY! I WANT TO FIGHT! All those pilots get a chance to crack down on the invader personally. That’s what I want to do!”

  “Perhaps someday you will get your chance,” his companion answered, “only don’t be impatient … it will come soon enough!”

  The two split up and went about their duties. Artie jumped into the cockpit of a Tomahawk and gave the motor the gun
. Like a great bird, the ship made a quarter turn and rolled slowly out of the hangar. A pilot came out of the “ready tent” and took over. Artie watched him as he climbed into the blue, testing the crate to make sure all the bugs were out of the motor. Always, whenever he saw a ship cutting chunks out of the sky, his blood surged. The adventurer in him screamed out to be released … to go soaring high above.

  ARTIE had flown many times. He had a private pilot’s license when he came to China, but when the men had seen him work miracles with motors that had been shattered into apparently worthless debris … making them run smoothly once again … he had been stuck with ground crew duty. He kicked at a pebble and strode back to the hangar, seething inwardly. Somewhere a whistle blew and the Chinese and white men filed out to the mess table. Artie went back to the empty hangar and made his way around the motor parts and plane bodies to the back of the hangar.

  There under a huge canvas was the outline of a plane. He stripped off the cover and gazed at it. Altogether, it was a queer looking thing. The body was that of a P 40, with a tail assembly built up by many hours of painstaking labor. The stubby wings came from a Stuka that had cracked up not far from the field. What the motor consisted of, no one knew but Artie, for there were parts from every ship that had ever crashed in the vicinity.

  This was Artie’s masterpiece. Whenever he had an idle hour he spent it working on this queer contraption, until at last he had a plane. It didn’t make much difference whether or not it would fly … that didn’t matter … It was a plane, and it was his! He dragged out a can of paint, dipped in the brush, and added the finishing touches to the weird insignia on the side. Then he stood back and grinned.

  “Oh, boy … is that something! I think that maybe I will try her out today.”

  Pulling the chocks out from under the wheels, Artie grabbed a wing and swung the plane around. Slowly, he maneuvered it out of the hangar to the apron, then flipped the switch and walked to the propeller. A couple of twists sucked gas into the cylinders and he hopped into the cockpit and pushed the inertia starter. The propeller went over … the motor whined … then broke into a powerful roar.

  At once the men of the A.V.G. ran out of the mess hall to the field. They knew their motors, and realized at once that his wasn’t one of theirs. Some thought the Japs were coming, but in a minute they saw what it was. Up to this time the only ones that had seen the ship were the Chinese mechanics, and they never mentioned a word to anyone. The men broke out into a laugh.

  “Gonna take ’er up, Artie?” one yelled above the motor. The husky grease monkey cut the power a little.

  “Naw! Just gonna wheel her up and down. It wouldn’t fly anyhow!”

  “Where did you get that thing?” the C.O. hollered, a big grin on his face.

  “Made it out of the planes you chumps cracked up. This is a ship of all nations … even the Japs and the Germans very nicely contributed some pieces to it! But don’t laugh, you guys, the motor’s as good as any in the heaps you fly. As a matter of fact, I even mounted guns on it for good measure. Now I can have some fun while you guys are wasting gas looking for Japs!”

  The gang walked back while Artie taxied up and down the apron in the plane.

  SUDDENLY a screaming shriek split the air … the siren … Japs were coming over! Artie scrambled out of his plane and ran to the P 40s, shoving them onto the field. Pilots tore out tugging on their helmets and goggles. In an instant they were in the cockpits and zooming into the wind! Plane after plane took off. Fourteen P 40s thundered into the sky.

  Artie saw the Japs coming now. The sky darkened with the number of them. The American ships met them with blazing guns, and in a split-second the air was filled with flamers. Like a huge pack of dogs they tangled, seeking those deadly positions above and behind the enemy. On the ground the mechanics stood around anxiously, their eyes glued on the raging battle above. Never before had so many Japs tried to blast the volunteers from their position in the war! If help didn’t come from some source soon, the American-Chinese group was doomed!

  Some of the mechanics looked at the plane on the apron. Its propeller still turned over idly, slicing the air. Artie licked his lips. He could practically read their minds. To them it was a plane … one in good condition. Not a bullet hole marred its fabric or metal. The motor purred like a contented cat, and the ugly snouts of the guns stuck out from the leading edges of the wings. It mattered little that it was only a plaything, an untried toy. It had wings, a motor, and guns. That was enough! Their glances shifted from the plane to Artie and back again, any one of them ready to take the ship up … Only it was Artie’s, and he should be the one.

  “Doggne!” he shouted, “I know what you’re thinking. But that thing won’t fly!”

  His Chinese friend moved over to him.

  “Are you not the best mechanic here?”

  Artie nodded. He was!

  “And did you not build it yourself?”

  Again he nodded.

  “So … ?”

  Artie shrugged his shoulders.

  “OKAY, you win! I’ll try it!”

  He leaped into the pit, closed the greenhouse and shoved the throttle forward. The plane sped down the runway. With his fingers crossed, Artie hauled back gently on the stick … and the plane rose! He climbed faster than an interceptor, the motor never faltering a second! It flew! But what it would do in battle was another thing.

  He looked at the air speed indicator. This was incredible! Why, he was doing nearly 400 MPH … Faster than any of the planes the parts had come from! His thoughts ended there … the Japs were ahead. He blasted into them, his finger squeezing the firing button. A Jap plane fell to pieces in front of his eyes. A quick turn and another was in his sights, then that, too, blew up!

  The sky was a mad frenzy of tracer bullets and smoke from flaming planes! The A.V.G. ships started to get the better of it, for the appearance of this new demon fighter distracted the Japs momentarily … enough however, to have them lose six Zeros. Artie, breathing heavily with the heat of the fight, put his ship into a spin and followed down a plane that was trying to get away. His speed rose … if there had been any miscalculations when he built this job … he would suffer now, for he wasn’t wearing a ’chute.

  WITH a sudden wrench the Jap pulled out, and Artie fired. A blossom of flame billowed out of the Zero and a figure went over the side. Artie saw the pilot’s chute open, but the ropes must have fouled, for the rest never came out of the pack. Immediately he went back “upstairs.” Again, at that terrific speed, he ripped into the Japs. By now they were running away from his fire … but always there was a P-40 ready to gun them down. From a huge sky armada, the Jap force had diminished to numbers equal to the A.V.G. But they didn’t like equal odds. The Jap squadron leader signaled with his wings then turned tail for home.

  However Artie was enjoying his first taste of battle and wasn’t going to let him get away so easily. He gunned the ship to the utmost and shot over the Jap leader. Then roaring down from above was the flash of a Zero … and he was going to ram! A kick at the rudder bar threw his ship out of the way, and Artie saw the Jap fly into the withering fire of a P-40.

  The squadron leader tried desperately to evade him, but it was no use. Artie’s creation could out-run, out-climb and out-fly him! With the touch of an expert, Artie got the Jap in his sights, then let him have it! The burst caught the Jap squarely! The others, seeing their leader go down, scattered all over the sky in their effort to get away.

  FOR the time being, Artie decided that he had enough. His gas and ammunition were going down, so he turned, and with the rest, landed at the field. A joyous crowd of pilots and mechanics lifted him from the cockpit and paraded him around. Artie got down finally, and ran over and kissed the propeller of his ship.

  “Yep,” he roared, “they all laughed when I wheeled you out … but look at you now … You old SKY BUSTER YOU!”

  Last Ride

  DANK mist swirled about the narrow streets of low
er Manhattan, rolling in off the river like a huge prehistoric monster. Slowly it blotted out the docks, and continued in its relentless course up the narrow avenues, enveloping the tall buildings until all that remained were the weird, eerie eyes of the street lamps, glowing faintly through the grey shroud.

  Standing at the curb in front of the International Bank Building, a black sedan ran softly, its rear door open. Suddenly, out of the heavy blanket of fog came the muffled reports of several shots. Immediately, two men ran out of the bank carrying a leather bag under each arm. They leaped into the sedan, slammed the door after them, and the car roared into life down the street.

  Mike Greer sat back against the cushions and looked at his companion. “Some haul, eh!”

  The skinny, mean-looking guy beside him turned with a grunt.

  “Sure thing, Mike, and we had it timed perfectly, too. You sure did a smart thing when you decided to pull this job under cover of the fog!”

  “Well, that’s the way it is. Doc, be smart and you never get caught!”

  VIC RENOLDS slid his husky body out of the car and walked into the bank. Inside, the medical examiner was bending over the two watchmen, while the terrified president blurted out the story. The two would-be killers had walked in unseen, a minute before closing, shot at the watchmen without batting an eyelash, forced the teller to fill their bags with bills, then ran out to a waiting car and sped away into the fog.

  Hands on hips, Vic listened to the story. As the ace investigator for Eastern Insurance, it was up to him to get to the bottom of the whole bloody mess before the crooks could get rid of the hot dough. The job had been so smoothly handled that, outside of the slugs expected from the watchmen, there were no other clues. The only witnesses were the president and the tellers, who were so frightened and confused that their descriptions of the men conflicted in every detail.