by Harold Ward
He bent over the form of Ricks. In spite of what he had gone through, the Inspector grinned back at him.
“It’s not on the cards that we should die yet, Jimmy,” he said.
An instant later the ropes that bound the big detective to the table were loosened and they helped him to his feet. His legs were benumbed; he would have fallen had they not held him up.
“Go ahead!” he commanded. “Don’t wait for me. Save yourselves. I’ll get out of here some way.”
Jimmy Holm shook his head savagely. Dropping to his knees, he attacked the Inspector’s legs with an intensity that surprised even himself. For a moment he kneaded and massaged. Then, as the blood rushed back through the veins and arteries, Ricks was able to take a step or two.
Somewhere above them they could hear the sound of running footsteps. Excited voices were calling. Nina Fererra trembled as she looked at the two men anxiously.
“Doctor Death is gone,” she said. “That is how I managed to get to you in time. He went to the city an hour ago. And they left me unguarded for a minute. There is no one here except those awful men. To fall into their hands would be worse than being in his power.”
Ricks was moving about now, the circulation surging through his limbs by leaps and bounds. He took a little turn about the room.
Stopping in front of Jimmy Holm he seized the young detective by the hand.
“Thanks!” he said simply. Just the one word, but there was a world of meaning in it.
He turned to Nina Fererra.
“That’s the third time that you’ve saved my life,” he told her. “Let us hope that you will not be called upon again. Perhaps some time I can repay you. Meanwhile—”
He stopped, his head cocked to one side in a listening attitude.
The noises above had suddenly ceased.
Nina Fererra thrust the revolver into Jimmy Holm’s fingers.
“You are a better shot than I am,” she said. “They are coming.”
Holm stepped to the door and peered out. There was no one in sight. With Ricks between them—for the big man was still too benumbed to make any sort of progress unassisted—they moved out into the hallway. A flight of narrow stairs led upward. At the foot lay the body of the man Nina Fererra had shot. She shuddered as she looked down at the crumpled form.
Holm’s eyes lighted on the gun that lay beside the lifeless hand. Stooping over, he picked it up and thrust it into Ricks’ hand.
“My men?” the Inspector demanded of Nina. “Where are they?”
The girl pointed down the narrow passageway that led past the stairs.
“They must be in the room at the end of this hallway,” she said. “I can think of no place else. It is the room below the trap through which you fell.”
HOLM raised his gun and took a pot shot at an evil face that was glaring down at them. Through the smoke from his gun he saw a small round hole suddenly appear in the other’s forehead. The man’s expression changed. Then he pitched forward and lay sprawled, head downward, on the stairway.
“Quick!” Nina said warningly.
They were in front of an iron bound door now. Ricks hammered against it.
“Are you in there, boys?” he demanded.
There was an answering shout from the other side. An instant later the bar was down and Ricks’ men were pouring out.
There was no time for congratulations. Close beside them was another stairway leading upward. Nina pointed to it.
“This leads up the front way,” she said.
“Doctor Death used the front part of the house for his scientific apparatus and has it closed off from the remainder of the place. Unless they break down the door, there is no way for them to get at us for the time being.”
They were halfway up when there came a shot from behind them and a bullet nicked the arm of the detective who brought up in the rear. Holm whirled and fired. The man who had shot dodged back around the corner. They could hear him in conversation with his fellows and knew that their retreat was cut off.
Upon reaching the door at the top of the stairway, they found it locked on the other side.
Luckily there was a small landing. For a moment they grouped themselves upon it. Then, as they heard the sound of stealthy footsteps behind them, Holm stepped back.
“Quick!” he snapped. “The strongest of you throw your weight against that door. Keep at it until you break it down. Meanwhile, give me that extra gun, Ricks. I’ll cover your retreat.”
His gun boomed as he spoke. At the other end of the passageway the Reds were forming for the attack. A hail of bullets fell around Holm as he stepped forward, both guns belching lead. Death’s men dropped back, dragging one of their number with them.
For a moment the little party was safe again.
Behind him, Holm heard the grunts of the bulky policemen as they hurled their weight against the stout oaken panels of the door. The lock protested screechingly as a screw was torn from the wood.
“Once more!” Ricks commanded. “It’s giving!”
They threw themselves against it again.
The lock gave, precipitating them into the room in a little heap. Holm fired again as the men at the end of the passageway appeared in sight, shooting as they charged. His bullets stopped them. They halted. He fired another volley from both guns. They wavered and dodged back out of sight.
Turning, he dashed into the safety of the room above. The men beside him jammed the door back into place.
“God Almighty!” one of the detectives exclaimed.
Holm whirled. Standing beside the wall were row upon row of dead men, their glassy eyes staring straight to the front, their arms hanging stiffly by their sides.
“Zombi!” Ricks ejaculated.
A bullet crashed through the broken door, lodging in the wall within an inch of his head.
Holm whirled, his gun spitting fire.
Their enemies had sneaked up on them and, standing on the landing, were firing at them through the broken door.
Holm’s shots drove them back. He heard the rush of feet as they tumbled over each other in their haste to reach the security of the passageway again. Rushing to the door, he thrust his arm through the broken panel, and pulled the trigger.
The hammer clicked against the firing pin, but there was no answering report.
“Empty!” he snarled, tossing the weapons aside. “Every shell is gone. In a minute they’ll realize it when we don’t return their fire and they’ll rush us!”
“The other room!” Nina Fererra exclaimed, leading the way into a second room opening off from the first. That Doctor Death used it for his study and laboratory was demonstrated by the amount of chemical paraphernalia scattered about.
At the same time another hail of bullets came through the battered door. Their enemies were on the landing again. Evidently realizing that the besieged were out of ammunition, they were growing bolder.
Ricks turned to his men.
“Form in front of the girl,” he snapped.
“Our only chance is to rush them when they come through the door. Maybe we can hold ’em off for a while.”
He looked around for a weapon of some kind. Finding none, he seized a heavy chair and pried loose the legs.
“Better than nothing,” he said calmly, handing the improvised bludgeons to the others.
Just then the door crashed in.
For an instant the bearded men stood in a compact group at the top of the landing. Here was an opportunity to take them by surprise and Ricks, wily old strategist that he was, seized it.
“At ’em!” he roared.
“Wait!”
It was Nina Fererra who spoke. She leaped to the table in one corner of the room. On top of it was a small machine with a dial like that of a radio. Seizing the knob, she twisted it. There was a slight whirring noise.
“Holy Mackeral!” one of the detectives exclaimed excitedly. “Look!”
The Zombi were moving!
The men at the top of
the stairway rushed into the room, their guns ready.
Then, before they realized what was happening, the Zombi were upon them. In solid phalanxes the walking dead men charged. They were between the Reds and the doorway, now—surrounded them, drawing closer and closer like the coils of a boa-constrictor. The Communists were fighting desperately, their guns belching fire. The bullets had no effect upon the dead things that closed in on them.
“It’s like the day they killed Munson!” Ricks exclaimed with a savage oath.
The air was filled with the shrieks of the wounded and the moans of the dying as the Communists went down under the crushing weight of that horde of living dead. Then, when there were no more left to crush, the Zombi turned and, marching back like wooden soldiers, took their places against the wall again.
Nina Fererra twirled the dial a second time.
Then she dropped into a chair and burst into tears.
Chapter XXIX
Fury of the Elementals
JIMMY HOLM bent over the sobbing girl. His arm encircling her shoulder and, raising her face to his, he kissed her full upon the lips.
“You—you kiss me after what—after what you have just witnessed?” she said wonderingly.
His answer was a second kiss.
She cast a glance into the other room to where the bodies of their attackers lay, battered and bleeding, then back to the row of Zombi standing against the wall.
“Even though you knew that it was I who—who made this horrible—this awful—thing possible, would you still love me?” she asked.
“I do not understand you, sweetheart,” he told her, kissing her again. “But I would love you just the same—and always will.”
Ricks cut their conversation short.
“Let’s get out of here,” he growled. “God knows when the old man will be coming back and we’re none of us in a position to receive him, right now. We’ve got to get outside, Jimmy. Then, while some of us watch, the rest can go back to town with the girl and bring reinforcements. It’s the chance that we’ve been waiting for—and we’ve got to take advantage of it. It is up to us to save the nation tonight.”
Holm assisted the girl to her feet. She dried her eyes and led the way through the door of the laboratory into the wide, uncarpeted hallway.
A scream came through her lips.
The sinister figure of Doctor Death barred their way.
THERE he stood, tall, gaunt, saturnine, his arm outflung, batlike, glaring at them with seemingly bottomless eyes that seared into their very souls. He made no movement. Simply he stood there, his lean face twisted into a smile.
It was Ricks who broke the tension.
“Rance Mandarin,” he said, “you are my prisoner. I arrest you for murder—for the murder of John Stark, Karl Manson, Levi Henworthy—”
Doctor Death burst into a peal of laughter—raucous, sardonic merriment. Suddenly it ceased and his boring eyes fixed themselves upon the Inspector’s face.
“Really, you have as many lives as a cat,” he snapped. “I presume that I have my niece to thank for your escape.”
“Your niece!” Jimmy Holm exploded.
The old man bowed sardonically.
“Nina is my sister’s child,” he said. “Her father was a Portuguese nobleman who died when she was a baby. Her mother came to me as my housekeeper. I raised Nina from infancy. Early in life she showed an aptitude for science and chemistry. I developed it. Later I adopted her; legally she is my daughter. For many years she was my assistant. She aided me, I might say, in perfecting some of the devices that I am using at this time. But for you, Holm, we might still be going along as we did before—”
“Can you not see, Jimmy, my reason for doing certain things that I did?” Nina asked. “It was because I loved him for what he used to be.”
“Bah!” the old man snarled. “What has love to do in the eternal scheme of things? Now I must kill you—kill you the same as I killed the others.”
There was a note of sadness in his voice.
Again it was Ricks who blundered in and broke the tension.
“Come!” he snapped. “Will you go willingly or must I—”
Doctor Death glared at him angrily.
“I’ll kill you!” he screamed.
For a moment he seemed to lose control of himself as he lashed himself into a maniacal fury. Then he suddenly stopped and extended his long arms toward them in the gesture of death that they knew only too well. But no answering rays shot from the bony fingers. He took a step backward, a bewildered look creeping over his face—a look almost of fear.
“My power fails me!” he muttered.
“My magic against your magic,” Nina Fererra said in a hoarse, strained whisper. “My magic against your magic. I am turning against you that which you taught me.”
A breath of relief came from Holm’s lips as he realized that the weird power of Doctor Death had vanished. He cast a glance at the girl. Her face wore a look of concentration, her eyes staring at the old man tensely. Her hands, too, were extended.
“This is once that you have not caught your victims off guard,” she said: “The mantle of my protection is over them, warding off the evil that you would do.”
Doctor Death passed his hands across his eyes. He was a broken, defeated old man. He took a step backward as if fearful of something the others could not see.
Ricks charged forward, his arms outstretched to seize him.
“Back!”
The big Inspector recoiled as from a blow. For an instant he was blinded—paralyzed. Then the sensation disappeared. Nina Fererra leaped forward as if to ward off the evil, but too late.
Turning, Doctor Death dashed through a nearby door, slamming it behind him. They heard the sound of the bolt as it was shot home.
Ricks would have charged, but a white hand gripped his shoulder savagely.
“Quick!” she said. “It is growing dark outside!”
The Inspector looked at her queerly.
She sensed his unspoken question.
“With the coming of night, he will turn loose all the devils of hell on us,” she said quickly.
From the room into which Doctor Death had disappeared came noises—shrieking, squealing, raucous noises. Nina Fererra shuddered as she heard him.
“The elementals!” she said in an awed whisper.
Even as she spoke a sinister shape appeared before their eyes. For an instant it crouched in apparent affright, looming enormous before them. Deformed, exaggerated, shapeless, it was little more than a smudge, its formless eyes of slatey gray glaring at them out of a featureless face.
“God!” one of the detectives muttered.
The name of the Creator brought a squeal of rage from the monstrosity. Then it whirled and, twisting like a small tornado, disappeared.
Nina Fererra led the way back into the room they had so recently quitted.
“Iron!” she said. “We must have iron. All elementals are afraid of that metal. And it will be but a moment before he will invoke their aid and surround us.”
A thought suddenly came to Holm. With a shout to Ricks to follow, he turned and raced down the stairway into the cellar again. The Inspector followed without question, leaping over the pile of dead men on the floor. Jimmy Holm turned into the room that had been their prison. A crowbar, left behind by some workman in constructing the mechanism which operated the saw and windlass, lay in the corner. Seizing it, he attacked the apparatus with a fury that caused Ricks to gasp.
Then he recognized the method in Jimmy’s apparently senseless actions.
The windlass was made of iron.
In spite of the handicap of semi-darkness, working almost by sense of touch, it took Jimmy but a minute to pry the affair apart. Then, loading their arms and pockets with bits of iron, they raced back up the stairs again.
Nor were they an instant too soon.
THE hall was filled with weird, sinister, formless things—monstrosities neither of heaven nor of earth.
>
“Whatever happens, don’t let these out of your hands,” he commanded, handing each of them a bit of the iron.
Nina Fererra sprang to the table. Lifting the white cover with a jerk that sent the contents to the floor, she tore it into long strips. Then, finding a package of pins in a drawer, she hastily pinned the white strips upon the breasts of all of them in the form of a cross.
“They fear the cross as much as they do iron,” she said. “It will be an added protection for us.”
Then the lights went out.
What seemed an eternity passed. Outside they could hear the subdued noises of the elementals as they raced through the hallway, gathering themselves for the attack.
Suddenly they came, formless, indistinguishable blurs out of the darkness. Gaunt silhouettes they were, fantastic, grotesque. With inhuman speed, they charged, snarling, twisting, changing their speed, howling like a blizzard. Their irresistible force swept the little band off their feet.
Then came a sudden light!
How it came into his hand, Jimmy Holm never knew. Providence must have guided his fingers to where they found that single match buried deep in his pockets. As it flared up, dissipating the darkness, the squealing noises subsided. For a moment they caught a glimpse of the black, shapeless things glaring back at them out of the darkness with eyes that were filled with hate.
Seizing a bit of paper from the table Jimmy twisted it into a roll and applied the match to the end. For an instant it flickered, almost died. Then it sprang into life.
Holding it aloft, he walked boldly toward the sinister shapes. They drew back before the light, thinning out, spreading into formless blotches. Then they disappeared in the darkness of the hall.
“Paper!” he snapped. “Anything inflammable!”
While he held the improvised torch aloft, the others brought bits of paper, cloth, parts of the chair that Ricks had broken in anticipation of their battle with the Reds. They made a little pile atop the table and Jimmy Holm applied the torch to it. It flared up, lighting the whole room.
Somewhere in the distance, they heard the voice of Doctor Death muttering curses.
