The Almost Complete Short Fiction

by Don Wilcox

  Bill was uncertain whether to trust his eyes. The fifth of the creatures—the large one with yellow Z-shaped streaks on each side of its green sides—seemed to be holding the other four back. A few bold waggles of the creature’s head caused the other four to slide back into the darkness. The last Bill could see of them they were swimming away.

  Bill’s lungs were near to bursting.

  He saw a leap of the big “Yellow-Z” toward the upper edge of the cylinder.

  At once a square of light appeared at Bill’s feet. It was a welcome sight—a door at the base of the cylinder. It had slid open, inviting him. Inside there would be compressed air.

  Bill would have entered if the place had been a fiery furnace.

  He plowed through the foot-square aperture, rose through a series of valves that drew him up automatically. Suddenly the hammering water was gone. Air struck his face.

  Air! His breathless gasp resounded in the cylinder like the intake of a gas engine. Air!

  A floor pushed up solid and dry against his feet. Now he could feel the sting of air against his gashed arms and the stripe along his back. It was a welcome sensation, in spite of the light trickles of blood.

  Blackness was sweeping in on him. He was vaguely aware that he was groping at the smooth panelled cylinder walls, that Bea Riley was beside him, that her arms were supporting him.

  But the mad exertion had cost him his consciousness. His faintly head lopped against Bea’s side, and everything went black.

  CHAPTER VI

  Bill scraped his wrists across his face and rubbed an eye open. Colors swam before him in a bleary fog.

  He took a long breath. His lips were dry and swollen. He dimly realized he’d been thirsting for more oxygen. The air was stifling. He was still in the big upright cylinder with Beatrice.

  Such nightmares! He’d dreamed he was inside an iron lung that had shrunk into a silvered radio tube, Bea was there too, trying to keep him from falling.

  The dream made her a part of the electrical instrument. Spasms of electricity had been shocking her, so the dream went, until finally her arms had weakened and dropped him. He’d fallen to the floor of the tube, lain there. His blood had seeped away. And Bea was powerless to help him. She was only a part of the radio tube.

  The misery of the dream came back to him.as he lay coiled on the floor of the tube. But the dream was partly true, he knew.

  His back was no longer bleeding, however, and he knew that the scraping he had suffered from the sea creature’s fins had not hurt him seriously.

  His elbow was pressing against Beatrice’s feet. It was a comfort to know she was still there, though she looked very pale and tired.

  Again Bill slipped off into troubled sleep, and the same weird nightmare went round and round.

  Then a sudden jolting and rocking of his prison floor brought him back to consciousness. The dream vanished. Bea was still there, with the electrical instruments fastened to the sides of her head.

  A panic of terror struck Bill anew. What were those strange electrical instruments? What were they doing to her?

  Her eyes were closed. In the ghastly yellow glow she looked deathly.

  “Bea! What’s happening?” Bill whispered.

  Her eyes opened, she reached a hand down to him, helped him to his feet.

  “I’m all right, Bill,” she said. “Just dozing.”

  “They’re not electrocuting you or anything?”

  “Hardly.” Beatrice gave him a mysterious little smile.

  “I was a sap to faint away,” Bill muttered. “We must be nearly out of oxygen. We’ve got to get out of there before, it’s too late.”

  The uprights cylinder gave another lurch. Bill’s weight struck the wall and the cylinder tottered precariously. “Where the hell are they taking us?”

  “We’d better get down,” said Bea. “We’re so top-heavy we almost crashed.”

  “That’d be all right with me—if we could climb past those devilish things

  “Horse-fish,” said Bea.

  “Whatever you want to call them,” Bill growled. He went down stiffly on his knees. The cylinder coasted along a little more smoothly. And when Beatrice succeeded in unfastening the electrical instruments so she could crouch closer to the floor, the strange undersea prison rolled along as steadily as something on rubber tires.

  “We’re learning,” said Beatrice. “It’s better to cooperate with them.”

  “Cooperate!” Bill barked. “The thing for us to do is get out.”

  “They’d pounce on us again, Bill, just like before. They’re smart.”

  Bill searched her eyes. Her tone of voice had carried a strong hint of respect for what she had called the “horse-fish.” Did she know anything about these wily creatures?

  “We’ve got to make a break,” Bill snapped, rising again with hands braced against the walls. “Get your breath. Let’s take our chances—”

  “Against the open sea, Bill?”

  “There’s a yacht up above. He’s waiting for us.”

  “Not Vinson?” Bea cried.

  His affirmative nod terrorized her. She sprang up and clutched his arms. Then the vertical walls swayed and fell.

  The water valves groaned and one of them sprang slightly open. A fiat blade of water dashed in.

  “Come on, Bea!” Bill gasped, scrambling to his hands and knees—for the lurch of the tank had thrown the two of them into a heap. “Now’s our chance. We’re trapped here unless—”

  “No, Bill—”

  “Don’t be afraid. What’s the matter?”

  “Does Vinson know I’m down here?”

  “Why?”

  “Does he?” Beatrice was almost screaming.

  “He knows the horse-fish pulled you off the ship. He’s got to know we’re still alive. He has some divers—”

  “Look!” Beatrice breathed with relief. “They’re setting us upright. We’re still safe here.”

  “I tell you we’re getting out of here!” Bill snapped hotly.

  “Go back to Vinson if you want to,” she said in a chill voice. “But don’t tell him I’m here, I’d rather die.”

  “Bea!”

  It was all that Bill could manage to say at the moment. He let his head fall back against the wall. This was more than he could fathom. How could she hold such an abhorrence for George Vinson? Even now in the face of death her mysterious single hatred overshadowed everything else.

  Now the righted tank was again riding along the sandy sea bottom taking them to some unknown destination.

  “Bea,” Bill pleaded, “can’t you tell me what it is?”

  She nodded slowly, looked into Bill’s eyes with confidence.

  “You’ve always said Vinson was a right fellow, Bill. You’ve called him good—and sincere—and honest—”

  “Well?”

  “He is” she said quietly. “He’s all those things and more. I knew him before you did”

  “Bea!”

  “He’s true blue, Bill. That’s why I can’t face him. I’m not!”

  “What are you talking about?” Bill swept his hand across his forehead dizzily. “You’re true blue, honey. I’d swear it. Hell, what’s this all about? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Don’t try to understand, Bill. Just listen to me. I’m not crazy. I know this part of the sea. I even know what these horse-fish are up to. It was just a chance that they took me off the boat instead of someone else. I was horrified when it happened, naturally—on your account. But I can take my chances—”

  “You’re talking wild—”

  The valves slid open and a gust of pure fresh air filled the cylinder.

  “There’s no time to tell you more,” Beatrice whispered. “Take my word for it. If you love me, Bill, don’t ask questions now—”

  “Do I take you back with me or don’t I?”

  “You—if you can—but not Vin!” Bill was breathing heavily. He was scarcely aware that the cylinder was gliding along with
a low grinding noise like a metal cart over sands. He only knew he was breathing air again, his mind was clearing, he was thinking fast. And his fighting spirit was about to bound out of hand.

  “So you’ve known Vin before.” Bill could feel his cheeks redden. “Has he been in love with you? . . . Is he now?”

  Beatrice glanced sharply toward the cylinder floor as the valves clanked. She whispered, “They’re coming after you.”

  “If I had a knife I’d slit their bellies,” he hissed.

  “No!” There was more than terror in her whisper. “We’re at their mercy—both of us. Watch them, Bill . . . Study them”

  “While they rip my back to shreds?”

  “When the time is right I’ll send you word. Until then—Wait! That’s all I can tell you.”

  Through the wide-open valves Bill saw the horse-fish beckoning him to come. Only his faith in Beatrice made him obey.

  The last of the rectangular doors closed behind him. He was outside the cylinder, breathing the free air of an immense cavern. And in the half-light that sifted down from a lofty ceiling and towering rock walls he glimpsed the strangest city he had ever seen.

  CHAPTER VII

  There was so much movement close about him that he had no time to take in the details of this immense underground world.

  He glanced back at the cylinder from which he had just emerged. The twenty-eight or thirty horse-fish surrounding it paid no attention to him. They evidently meant to keep Beatrice imprisoned, for she had not emerged. Now they were pressing levers to lock the valves.

  Their cunning hands grappled with the ropes hooked to its sides. It rolled back down the wet tracks with a crunching of metal wheels over wet gravel. Bill drew back out of the way, watched the big instrument move along, silhouetted against the wide cobweb of artificial lights on the nearest wall.

  The horse-fish worked together better than any team of circus animals. They worked with intelligence. Every horse-fish knew what he was about. Together they pulled the upright “iron-lung” down the roadway into the water.

  This was the path by which it had come in from the sea. The tracks proved that. So did Bill’s sharp sense of direction. That big circular steel door half under water must be one of a series of locks that shut out the sea.

  For Bill knew that this place was below sea level. He had never ascended, since his dive; moreover the very air pressure on his eardrums argued that this cavern floor was deep.

  Beatrice, still imprisoned, was quickly carted away. As she was passing through the circular opening a gush of imprisoned sea water rushed into the narrow channel, sloshing past the cylinder’s transparent dome.

  Bea looked back to Bill. The intent expression, the slight shake of the head, seemed to say, “Don’t forget!”

  Then in his final glimpse of her Bill saw that two horse-fish had climbed up into the cylinder to replace the electrical clamps on her head.

  Now she was gone. The swarm of horse-fish kicking along at the sides of the cylinder passed into darkness. The circular steel door closed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Bill said aloud.

  “It’s got me goin’ too, pal,” said a voice back of him. It was Windy Muff, sauntering up and planting a lazy elbow on Bill’s shoulder.

  “I can’t figure—” Bill stopped with a gulp. “Windy! Where the dickens did you come from?”

  “I went to sea in a tub,” said Windy with a dry cackle. “They just now took me out of one of those undersea go-carts—only they had to pull me out with ropes.”

  “I thought you’d be drowned—”

  “They pumped life into me—then scared it outa me again. I can’t look ’em in the face without turnin’ ten shades of white.”

  “Windy, I’m darned glad you’re alive!” Bill smiled grimly. “But you know you’ve fallen into a devil of a mess down here.”

  “It’d be a heap easier on the nerves to be dead. Was that the gal?”

  Bill nodded. “Looks like they’re taking her back to sea. This strip of water is the slippery slide to the outside world, if my directions are straight.” The dark waters surged at the channel wails and proceeded to drain away through the circular door. Somewhere pumps were working.

  “I think you’re right,” said Windy. “That’s the way we came through.”

  “We?”

  “The critters got in my go-cart with me to shake the water out of my lungs,” Windy explained. “Then they crawled out again to help pull me through the locks. There was a spell of blackness, and when it lifted I was here.”

  “Here!” Bill echoed glumly. He gazed around. “My great guns, what a cave! A whole underground city.”

  “Ain’t it!” Windy Muff sounded a forlorn note. “If I ever get back to tell about this, they’ll never believe me.”

  “Don’t worry about ever getting back,” said Bill, nudging his companion.—, Several horse-fish were watching the two of them from the not-too-friendly distance of fifteen or twenty yards.

  As a matter of fact, the creatures appeared to be listening—though Bill had no way of knowing whether this were possible.

  One of the six or eight more attentive horse-fish had a familiar look. His green sides were marked with yellow zig-zag stripes resembling the letter Z.

  “That fellow,” Bill whispered to Windy, “came near to ripping my backbone out. We clashed somewhere out there beyond the wall.”

  “They’ve got damned dangerous looking spines,” Windy muttered. “Hell, he did tear up your back a bit, fellow. You oughta unroll a yard of tape and Dull vourself together. Feel bad?”

  “Not now,” said Bill. “Seems like it clotted and began healing as soon as I got out of the water. Strange . . . Look, they’re gathering in on us.”

  Like so many loafers and stragglers stopping at a street corner to look at a pair of out-of-town elephants, the horse-fish came closer. From numerous ponds and rivulets and branching caves of the immediate neighborhood they came. Some seemed reluctant to leave the water, perhaps because of inertia. They were obviously adapted to land. Once out of water they came striding on their hind legs.

  Some came timidly, like so many bashful schoolgirls. Some strutted, like wise old frogs out of a fairy legend, weighted down with burdens of too much knowledge. Some tossed their horse-fish heads high in an attitude of snobbery and sauntered along with their webbed hands on their trim green hips.

  But the most business-like specimens marched up boldly, twirling their lithe seaweed ropes.

  These brisk marchers were creatures of responsibility, there was no doubt about that. Bill thought he detected a superior sharpness in their glassy spines.

  “We’re in for it,” Muff whispered, turning ten shades of white.

  “Don’t start anything, Windy,” Bill mumbled. “I’ve had a tip.”

  “Hasn’t she got you in enough trouble?”

  “S-s-sh. They’re listening . . . That ‘Yellow-Z’ is watching me like a hawk.” Two of the horse-fish advanced boldly, placed slipknotted ropes around the wrists of each man, led them across the wet gravel beach. Bill thought it best to humor them. He offered no resistance.

  “See all that pinkish light way up yonder?” Windy whispered as they plodded along.

  “What about it?” Bill asked guardedly.

  “Could be daylight,” said Windy. “If we’d jerk loose and make a run for it—”

  “That’s a good two miles away,” said Bill, “and we don’t know these underground paths. If these horse-fish can run like they can swim we wouldn’t get far.”

  “They’re built to swim like fish,” Windy whispered.

  “And run like horses. Take it easy, Windy.”

  “Easy! Ugh!” Windy became less guarded in his talk. “My instinct says fight. Tear into ’em with rocks—”

  A sharp jerk of the rope on Windy’s wrist silenced him. He rolled his eyes toward Bill and whispered cautiously, “Did you see that?”

  Bill nodded. “They heard you—and understo
od, by George.”

  “It’s uncanny. I don’t believe it. It just happened. I’ll prove it.” Windy ceased his whispering and said in a normal voice. “Bill, in about a minute I’m gonna slice the hearts out of a couple of these green-bellied—”

  Jerk! The rope pulled so sharply it snapped. For a moment Windy had the wild eye of a bull calf that breaks out of its halter.

  Windy might have had a hot inspiration to take flight, but Bill saw the notion cool. The way the spines suddenly bristled over those horse-fish was enough to make anyone think twice. Windy stood calmly while his guardian horse-fish slipped another loop over his wrist, and the party moved on.

  “Now what do you say?” Bill whispered.

  “Nothing out loud,” Windy retorted. “Devilishly odd, though . . . They musta been disturbed by my tone of voice. They didn’t understand the words, do you reckon?”

  Bill started to answer, but he saw the eyes of one of his captors roll at him curiously. They were listening. Bill was sure of it.

  “If they hear, it’s damned funny they don’t talk,” Windy said under his breath. “I haven’t heard a squeak out of any of ’em.”

  “I’ll swear I heard some voices in the distance when they first brought me out into the cavern.”

  “What kind of voices, Bill? Frog croaks—or horse whinneys?”

  “Sort of human voices, I thought,” said Bill, trying to recapture the fleeting impressions of a few minutes before. “Hard to tell, though, with all the echoes floating around through these caverns.”

  The party followed a crooked trail along the natural rock wall. They came to a stop at a circular steel door with a white X painted across it.

  Two horse-fish opened the door and silently motioned Bill and Windy in. It was a cavern chamber. Low artificial lights were burning. Bill walked in, Windy followed, and the door closed after them.

  The room was unoccupied, and that fact was enough to make it inviting. Bill dropped down on the sand floor and sighed, “Home. Don’t wake me till breakfast.”

  “Jail,” said Windy. “Don’t wake me till the execution . . . At least we won’t have to face those damnable green devils as long as this lasts.”