Dracula of the Apes 3

by G. Wells Taylor

  Mrs. Quarrie had several times asked for Lilly, but had finally refused her husband’s answer when he tried to make it, for the truth had passed between them unspoken. Mrs. Quarrie avoided its weight by clasping hands with a spritely young girl among the rescued slaves, seeming to draw hope and strength from her little companion.

  Jacob was pleased to do the same, exchanging reassuring smiles with the other children just ahead, his own spirits lifting at the thought that they had been rescued from a hellish life.

  Another volley of arrows fell and struck the ground where Van Resen and Seward crouched by the unconscious governess. Gazda squatted protectively over Miss James knocking any arrow that came near out of the air.

  More rain pounded and caused the canopy to thunder, backlit in frenzied moments as lightning flashed to illuminate the hanging jungle. The aftereffects left them blinded to the shadows in the deeper dark.

  The drums continued urgently as more arrows fell, and the wild man charged back along the trail some yards to let loose his terrifying howl.

  “God help us!” Van Resen slid his hands over Miss James’ face and arms as he moved his lips to the ranger’s ear to say, “Please follow my lead...” When he felt Seward’s hesitant nod, he continued, “Captain, she is like death!”

  The wild man roared again and the overarching jungle rang with echoes.

  “He’ll bring them all down on us,” Seward grunted, gathering the woman in his arms.

  “I must send him to defend our escape,” Van Resen whispered, looking in the dim, hoping that the rest of their group had moved far ahead.

  The scientist suddenly rose up on his knees and howled mournfully, “My God! My God! She is dead!”

  Gazda swung around at the cry; his eyes alight like twin forges. A deep growl rocked his mighty chest as he scrambled toward them on all fours, as lightning shattered the dark on all sides.

  Moaning and panting, the anxious wild man knelt by the scientist as the older man set his muddy palms against the governess’ face. Lightning flashed and roared.

  “Poor Gazda!” Van Resen cried, catching the wild man’s crimson eyes. “Ginny is dead!”

  The ranger sat shivering in the deluge, the woman in his arms. The wild man’s face appeared to float before him in the gloom.

  “Yeah. She’s dead!” Seward called, as Gazda’s muddy hand shot out to stroke Miss James’ begrimed and rain-spattered cheek.

  “Ginny—dead?” The wild man champed his teeth together, shaking his head and panting while rolling his great shoulders from left to right and left in negation of what he saw. The rain poured down from the canopy as the thunder exploded again, and blue-white lightning ripped through the forest. A rumble came from far away and an enormous crash told of a great tree felled by the storm’s violence.

  “Ginny!” Gazda looked up at the scientist, his expression pleading as he shook his head. In the darkness between lightning strokes, his straining eyes burned with a terrible red flame that caused his great fangs to gleam.

  “They have killed Ginny!” Van Resen reached out to grasp the wild man’s cold flesh, the shoulders like carved marble in the dashing rain. Then he pointed back along the path.

  “THEY have done this to her! To YOU Gazda!” the scientist bellowed, and the wild man’s eyes burned brighter, blazing suddenly toward their enemies.

  Still more arrows thudded into the ground around them.

  Gazda barked, and snapped his teeth as he growled, “The bone-faces kill Ginny!”

  “And Lilly! They killed Lilly, too, Gazda.” Van Resen caught the wild man’s wrist, and glared back along the trail as lightning crashed. “Poor Lilly is dead!”

  The wild man snarled up at the streaming canopy, and the rain ran over his white features, washing the unbridled anger from his expression—and leaving sorrow. Tears steamed in his gleaming eyes as he looked back upon Miss James.

  “You failed them, Gazda!” Van Resen said, pulling at the man’s arm and pointing along the trail again. “But only you can avenge them! You must avenge them. Vindicta, Dracul!”

  Gazda’s crimson eyes suddenly burned into the scientist’s, bore down upon him with the wild man’s full intensity and awareness. The scrutiny was so immediate and powerful that Van Resen felt like a specimen beneath the lens of a microscope.

  The strange man’s fiery gaze pushed past his own, reversing his vision even and forcing its way into the flickering knowledge that was the scientist’s mind—and it seemed, into his very soul. The creature probed him—prodded the edges of his reason, gleaned the expanse of his history—surging close to Van Resen’s hidden knowledge—and fearing that his lie might be untold, he focused his entire concentration upon a single recent memory—fresh, was his recall of the scene.

  Masked savages bludgeoned Miss James as she defended Lilly’s dying form.

  They had struck Gazda’s Ginny—hit her skull and drawn her blood.

  Over and again Van Resen pictured this, relived the bloody violence. He heard the crack of wood on bone as the degenerate beast struck Gazda’s woman.

  And with that his own anger flared up, the same he felt now echo in Gazda’s breast; for the wild man’s noble face had contorted like Van Resen’s.

  Like he too had witnessed the scene.

  Gazda reached out suddenly, and with a broad white hand he patted Van Resen on the head as he nodded his own.

  Yet their eyes and souls remained connected and intertwined a moment longer as a great sadness softened the wild man’s features and flooded across the link to Van Resen.

  Tears streamed from the scientist’s eyes as he experienced the powerful creature’s great loneliness. A depthless sorrow filled him, left him alone with only loss and death.

  He had nothing.

  He had lost everything.

  He had nothing...

  Then Gazda severed the connection with a blink, and wiped at the murky tears that washed with the raindrops rolling down his cheeks.

  Gazda’s eyes boiled with inner fire as he turned away, and with a terrifying grimace wrenching his wet, white features; the wild man started back toward the village, alternately sprinting upright and loping on all fours as he disappeared from sight.

  The big Texan clenched his fists, and bared his teeth, struggling to rise with the governess. It was plain he wanted to go with the wild man, to add his last strength to the rearguard action.

  But the scientist stopped him.

  “Revenge is not for you, my friend,” Van Resen shouted through the downpour, one hand on the captain’s corded wrist. “Your passion is needed by the living! We are not out of danger.”

  “Why tell him she’s dead. Why the lie?” Seward asked as the scientist helped him to his feet with the woman in his arms. “And what did you say to him?”

  “I lied because I believe he would kill us all in time,” Van Resen started forward. “So I took a great risk, and hoped to turn his vengeance and violence upon those who will follow us. To do this, I needed to raise his innate pride and self-possession. The man he was before would not suffer such an outrage as Miss James’ or Lilly’s murder. I pray I did not awaken the monster he became.”

  “Before?” Seward said, hefting the girl. “How do you know him?”

  “I only read about him after his death,” Van Resen said, looking away to help the ranger as the slippery trail rose underfoot.

  At the head of the group, Harkon turned as the shrill sound of a dying man’s scream cut through a lull in the thunder, though overhead the rain still battered the high branches.

  She smiled, recognizing Gazda’s handiwork as another man shrieked his last across the jungle darkness—weeping and screaming the unfortunate’s voice rose higher until it was forever silenced.

  Working forward with her hand clasped around little Anim’s arm, Harkon stopped atop a subtle rise to look back. From that elevation she could just make out the side of the Bakwaniri village on the riverbank etched there against flame and billowing steam.
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  She gasped when the main gate swung shut, the ominous drumming stopped and a sudden nightmare chorus rose up to fill the air. Harkon nodded grimly at Gazda’s friends as they carried the injured woman toward her on the muddy trail.

  The huntress led them on into the deluge.

  CHAPTER 37 – Salvation by the Sea

  After three wearying days of travel through rain, heat and hunger, the group stopped just east of the moonlit clearing when they saw the yurt through the trees. The castaways had wanted to make camp hours earlier, but Harkon knew they were close to the coast, and had pushed them on into the night.

  She did not know the place they indicated, only the direction, but she had easily read the spoor as she retraced the Bakwaniri trail from it. The big moon had helped by adding a faint glimmer to the foliage, and revealing parts of the trail. Even now, the faces of her companions were dim, but visible.

  “Good idea grabbing up that savage liquor, Doc,” the old ranger said, limping at the scientist’s side. He was coming up lame in his right leg. Everyone in the group was suffering blisters, sprains and bruises.

  “A moment of inspiration as I was searching for weapons,” Van Resen answered, pleased to have been able to use the potent drink to energize his companions. Even their guide “Harkon” had partaken despite first refusing, relenting only after seeing its effect upon the others.

  “The taste grows on you, too,” Seward said. “It’s a little like my tequila!”

  Van Resen and the castaways thought that the huntress had accompanied them so far because her people lived that way. They hadn’t supposed she’d grown to like them because her dour expression and demeanor had been easy to read.

  In truth, she was acting out of duty more than anything. She had expected Gazda to overtake them on the journey and when he had not, Harkon continued in the lead because she knew his people would not live long in the jungle without her to protect them.

  Of the ape-man there was still no sign, but it was too early for her to think the worst. She could not believe the Bakwaniri capable of overpowering such a creature.

  Harkon planned to journey north along the coast, and then trek in an easterly direction to where her people had once had homes. And there was no hurry. The time upon the trail was good for Anim, and for the others who had suffered in chains. As former slaves the free air of the jungle would heal many scars that their degenerate masters had left upon their souls.

  The huntress halted with her people and pointed toward the clearing, shaking her head to indicate that she would go no farther.

  “Thank you for helping us, Harkon.” Van Resen stood with the others and bowed formally, as did all the men. She had introduced herself on the first morning after their escape. Sadly, they could not understand her language, and the rest of their communication had been confined to terse gestures and pantomime.

  Harkon returned the bow and then put her hands out, and moved the palms slowly toward the ground before she said, “I see that you are like the Bakwaniri that have killed my people. They also came from another land and needed aid, but gave only death and slavery in return.”

  The castaways smiled, listening politely to words they did not understand.

  “Get out of my land! You are not welcome here.”

  The huntress could read from the growing astonishment on their faces that the castaways could not even guess at her meaning—though they must have picked up her tone.

  Her lips curled up with disgust before she said, “Where once I hunted masked men, I will now hunt your kind if I see them here again. We have enough darkness and death of our own that we do not need yours. Go away!”

  Gazda’s people all nodded patronizingly, and bowed again, and with great smiles of gratitude upon their faces they said many things that the huntress did not understand.

  However, their friendly faces would not change her mind as her eyes lingered over the thick hair upon their heads.

  With a grim smile, Harkon the huntress melted into the jungle with her people.

  “A most fascinating woman,” said Van Resen. “If we could only breach the language divide, she could teach us much.”

  “Impressive,” Captain Seward said. “I admired her discipline.”

  “She was beautiful,” Jacob Raines said wistfully.

  “More like a man, than a woman,” Mrs. Quarrie observed. “Though I’m glad of her help.” The elder Quarries were too emotionally drained, frightened and physically exhausted to have fully registered their loss yet.

  “I appreciate her change of heart,” the old ranger added, studying the jungle curtain where Harkon and her group had slipped into the shadows.

  “I remember this...” Virginia James said at a distance. She had moved through the trees toward the clearing. The moon gave the long grasses around the distant cabin an eerie twilight gleam.

  The governess had come back to consciousness a couple hours after their initial escape, though the blow to her head had left the poor woman with amnesia. She was unable to recall much after their arrival on the African shore and their discovery of the yurt.

  “I can’t wait to see Lilly!” Miss James said, pushing through the undergrowth with a happy smile. “So, that spoiled little thing is at home with a ‘cold’ reading novels while I’m out walking. Sounds like a fib to me...more likely the work of that Phillip Holmes.” She gave them all a quick but scolding look. “I can’t say I approve of your choice in chaperones.”

  The Quarries limped over to Miss James, their bruised eyes brightening, appreciating their role as caretakers for the woman; and they relished her bittersweet remarks about their granddaughter.

  Van Resen had discouraged his friends from disclosing the terrible truth to her, thinking that Miss James would not benefit from such revelations so far from medical care.

  He hoped that with professional help she would some day be able to handle the emotional realities and recover her memory. From his understanding of psychoanalysis there were no limits to its restorative capacity.

  The scientist had been pleased to see Miss James’ blank look at any mention of savages, or the wild man Gazda. Additionally, puzzling out her presence in the jungle triggered pain to her head injury and so her attention would immediately shift to something more pleasant.

  In the end, she had decided they had become lost while walking and the rest of the fiction of Lilly’s whereabouts had evolved from there.

  The Quarries and Jacob had been understandably sad for the duration of their exhausting escape from the savage lands—though Harkon’s young companions could lift their spirits. The old ranger was much more resilient—even optimistic. He knew they were still in danger, and he was determined to see no more loss of life.

  “Ginny’s getting better every day!” Captain Seward said, watching Virginia James among the trees. “It’s a damn shame she doesn’t remember Lilly or her friend.”

  “Captain, please,” Van Resen said quickly, before drawing the ranger aside. “It is important that she never remember him.” The big Texan’s face twisted up again. They’d both been over it, but Seward was a practical man who gave credit where it was due.

  “He helped us, Doc.” Captain Seward set his fists upon his hips. “And I don’t buy your dead and not dead business. We both saw Lilly regain consciousness by the fire, and what happened after that was her fear and our imaginations. People don’t know their own strength when they’re that scared. That’s all it was. There was nothing we could do. And Lilly’s friend? As I see it, we lost a good man performing a rearguard action.”

  On the day following their escape, the castaways had wondered why the savages had not followed, and whether Gazda was responsible for that—or if he had even survived.

  “There was one cause for Lilly’s illness, death and brief resurrection. It was not nature or God...” Van Resen said in hushed tones. “But Gazda.”

  The ranger opened his hands, and tipped his head to left and right—entirely unconvinced.

&nbs
p; “I investigated the grounds around our hut, and explored the dark grove that grows and to which all healthy life gives sway. There is an odor to that place, a smell of death—the same that I detected upon Lilly, and later Miss James and Gazda, but sadly, that was not the only thing that connected them. I found artifacts buried there that answered my questions about our shelter and its former inhabitant. A terrible resurrection had occurred in that very place. Something was brought here by the man who built that yurt—something dead that he brought back to life.” Van Resen saw that the others were continuing through the undergrowth toward the clearing, and were well out of hearing.

  “This book...” Van Resen pulled the old tome from his jacket. “Gives the reader instructions for rendering life to something that is dead. I have told you of a discredited doctor, and quoted often from his notes. It was he, Abraham Van Helsing and his brave assistants that slew a nosferatu—a beast in man form. They killed it, and so it should have ended. Yet this evil has since been restored in Gazda.” He glanced into the dark trees behind them. “I’m afraid he will survive his vengeance upon the savages...”

  “There’s got to be some other explanation, Doc—what’d you tell me once, hysteria?” The Texan shook his head. “Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about him. We haven’t seen hide nor hair, so I reckon he died fighting all them savages.”

  “If we get the chance, I will argue my case with the evidence I have found here and with my mentor’s actual notes—but for now, my friend, we must find shelter,” he said, moving toward the others, before stopping to pull the Texan close.

  “Captain, you would protect this fine woman Virginia James with your life because in your long association you have come to know the gentle heart that beats within her,” he said. “I, too, in so short a time, have come to love the simple beauty of her nature and would protect her with my own life as well.”

  The big Texan nodded as Van Resen again glanced fearfully back the way they had come.