The Time Trap

by John Russell Fearn

  “And what happened finally?” Dawlish asked.

  “It settled in a colony amongst thousands of others of the horrible things. A whole plateau of them there seemed to be. That was not all, either.” The look of horror came back into Bernice’s eyes. “There were dozens of skeletons, human ones! I don’t know what ghastly sort of carnage had gone on there at some time in the past, but the remains were certainly in evidence. The only answer can be that the birds are carnivorous. There was I, in the midst of them, lying on the ground, and feeling sure I was going to be eaten up or something.”

  “Obviously you weren’t,” Lucy said, looking most uncon­vinced. “So what happened?”

  “A storm saved me. I’m sure those vile things were going to tear me to pieces, but just then a terrific wind got up. Thunder, lightning, and it rained in a deluge. Every one of those birds took to the air and left me alone. I gathered they were afraid of the elements, and I know I was. But my fear of them returning was much greater so I got on the move and ran, and ran—and ran. I was in the storm all the time it raged. Sometimes I had to crawl on my hands and knees to avoid being blown over by the wind, and I’m sure it was only a miracle that saved me being struck by lightning. I seemed to go over endless miles of fields. I just kept going.”

  “Then?” Dawlish prompted.

  “More by luck than anything else, after I’d been wandering for ages, I caught a glimpse of the distant woodland and knew that was where I had to head for to find you. I did just that—and came back.”

  “Which would seem to prove,” Nick said finally, “that this place isn’t so untenanted by life as we thought.”

  “No reason why it shouldn’t have life,” Dawlish answered. “We know there are fish, so birds are not uncommon in such a set-up. I doubt human life, though, of our type. After all, if a perfect stranger landed on a South Sea island in the normal world he might be prepared to swear that there was no life anywhere. Regarding these flying tortoises, how many times have you seen them, Captain?”

  “Dozens of times! Once the infernal things made an attack on my ship but I drove ’em off. I blasted one of ’em to bits with gunfire, and they never came again. They’re dangerous.”

  “Where do you suppose they got the humans whose bones Bernice saw?” Betty asked, horrified.

  “From our own normal world perhaps,” Dawlish replied slowly. “Don’t you begin to see a significance about these birds?”

  “The only thing I can see,” Lucy replied, “is that our hopes of walking back home, as we thought Berny had done, have been blown sky high. We’re further off than ever.”

  “The point I am making.” Dawlish said patiently, “is that the flying tortoises with their retracted head and wings—which perhaps fly by some kind of natural jet propulsion through their bodies—might very closely resemble the vaunted ‘flying saucers’ seen in various parts of our own plane.”

  “Why, of course!” Bernice exclaimed. “At a great height that’s just what they’d look like.”

  “By the Great Reef, what’s a flying saucer?” Bronson demanded. “Believe me, there have been times when I’ve thought myself going over the border of sanity, but I’ve always been level-headed compared to you people! You talk in riddles and for the most part don’t seem to have the vaguest idea what you’re doing.”

  “We haven’t,” Nick sighed. “That’s just the trouble.”

  “Flying saucers are mysterious flying objects seen from time to time in our own plane,” Dawlish explained. “They’ve been variously described as visitors from another planet to a figment of indigestion. Nobody really knows—but it be­gins to look as if we might! Since a three-dimensioned person has no difficulty in moving in one or two dimensions, then a four-dimensioned creature would have no difficulty in moving in three. It could quite easily cross into our plane at any time it wished—and probably does if flying saucers are what they now seem to be.”

  “Then you think,” Nick asked slowly, “that maybe people who have vanished from our plane have been snatched away by these flying tortoise saucers, or whatever they are?”

  “Possible, isn’t it? Not in every case, of course, such as disappearances by people in busy streets and surrounded in some cases by witnesses. Those have been genuine sidesteps into the fourth dimension—just as in the case of ships, air­planes, and so forth. But I’d certainly like to wager that many disappearances of humans can be traced to these things.”

  “Only one thing against that theory,” Harley said, musing. “Flying saucers have only been heard of in the past few years. What about disappearances prior to that?”

  “Flying saucers,” Dawlish replied, “have been heard of for many, many years, Mr. Brand. Records go back into the last century. It is only recently that flying saucers have become really noticeable, which I attribute to them being in greater numbers than ever before.”

  “And if they come here?” Lucy questioned. “Can we fight them? How about it, Berny?”

  “It’d be safer to run for it,” she answered. “To the ship there, for instance. They’re too big to fight without guns. Of course, since they have never flown down here except for the odd one that attacked me—we’ll probably not be molested. But I think we ought to be prepared.”

  “I wonder,” Dawlish said, after a moment, “if perhaps these birds might be useful to us. If they can fly into our own plane and bring back human beings—which seems a reasonable theory—then why can’t they take human beings back there?”

  “Sounds too risky!” Nick shook his head.

  “Of course it’s risky,” Dawlish agreed. “But surely we are all agreed that any risk is better than stopping here?”

  “Sweet oil of Judah, you don’t expect to ride one of those blasted birds piggy-back, do you?”

  “If necessary, Captain. I’m willing to ride Pegasus any time!”

  “And suppose,” Bernice asked, “that in flying from one plane to the other we get torn to bits, or something?”

  “Why should we? We came here without hurt.” Then before anybody could comment further Dawlish added, “The problem is how to get one of these birds without getting mixed up with a whole flock of them—”

  “Simple, simple,” Bronson broke in quickly. “Use fish. It’s the only food, apart from a little green stuff, that the infernal birds have to eat in this plane. It was only when I left some fish on the deck one morning, intending to do some gutting later, that I was attacked by the birds. They can scent fish miles away.”

  “That’s it!” Dawlish snapped his fingers. “We’ll get some fish immediately—”

  “If it will bring one bird it will bring flocks of them,” Harley pointed out. “Better be prepared for that, but as far as I can see we’ve no weapons.”

  “I’ve one rifle and large supplies of ammunition,” Bronson said, “so maybe I’d better go and get it— No, can’t do that,” he broke off. “I’d need all of you, once again. May­be this will help instead?”

  He felt under the rear of his thick reefer jacket and pro­duced a heavy revolver.

  “Fully loaded,” he explained. “I carry it around in case of emergency.”

  “That should help,” Dawlish agreed, and stepped over to examine it. Nick made it his opportunity to settle down at Bernice’s side.

  “Glad you’re back, Berny,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

  “Sure?” She gave him a suspicious glance.

  “Honest! You went off in a huff because I raised objec­tions about our getting married—then when I found you’d vanished, and probably back to our own plane, I could have kicked myself.”

  Bernice smiled faintly. “I don’t think we’ll ever get back, Nick—honest! So surely, if we are to finish our lives here, we can do it as we intended to do it and become husband and wife?”

  “Yes, I think we should,” Nick agreed finally. “And we have a legally qualified person now who can perform the ceremony.” Nick nodded towards Bronson who had now gone to the water’s edge and was
apparently looking for fish.

  “Queer old duck,” Bernice murmured, studying him. “I get the idea he’s a bit—well, you know!”

  “Wouldn’t you be after twenty years alone in this plane?” Nick held down a hand as he got to his feet and assisted Bernice to rise.

  “You mean we get married now?” she asked.

  “No reason why not. Hey, Captain Bronson!” Nick called. Bronson turned and came over, watched by Dawlish, Har­ley, his wife, and Betty.

  “Can you marry us?” Nick asked, nodding towards Bernice.

  “I can, but why the devil should I?”

  “Well—er—to legalize the life which Miss Forbes and I wish to live together. Dawlish could do it as the leader of the party, only it wouldn’t be strictly ethical. You, as a sea captain, have the authority.”

  “Maybe I have, but I’m not using it. Great mizzen masts, think what you’re doing! Isn’t it terrible enough that you are stuck in this ghastly land like the rest of us without plot­ting to probably bring others into it? And I’m talking about children!” Bronson yelled, his beard projecting. “What kind of a life would it be for them?”

  “Well, we—”

  “No!” Bronson snapped. “And don’t bother me!”

  He turned his back deliberately and looked out to sea.

  Nick scratched the back of his neck and then gave Dawlish an anxious glance. Dawlish was as unperturbed as ever—lean, dark brown with unseen ultra-violet radiation, a faint smile on his lips.

  “Have to let you do it, Dawlish,” Nick said.

  “Sorry, sir. I don’t feel justified whilst there is a legally qualified person, namely Captain Bronson.”

  “Dammit, man, you heard what he just said!”

  “Yes, sir—and quite candidly I agree with him.” Nick stared blankly for a moment, and for that matter so did the rest of the party. Betty, indeed, was looking more astonished than anybody.

  “Agree with him?” she repeated. “What on earth do you mean?”

  Dawlish looked about him. Bronson had also come up to listen.

  “Perhaps,” Dawlish said, “I should make the situation clear as far as I am concerned. You must be aware by now that Miss Danvers—Betty—and I—are—”

  “You don’t usually stumble around like this, Dawlish,” Harley commented bluntly. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Oh, give him a chance!” Lucy objected. “It’s an awk­ward subject.”

  “Not awkward—delicate,” Dawlish corrected. “Betty and I are very much in love with each other—yet I have side­stepped Betty’s request that we should marry, and I think that she—and all of you—should know why.”

  “Not if it’s private,” Nick said hastily.

  “I think,” Dawlish continued, “that we’re all too infernally selfish, and I include myself. We see only our own earthly desires and give no heed to the consequences. Captain Bronson hit the nail dead on the head when he said what he did about children. What would it be like for them?”

  There was a silence and exchange of glances.

  “As natural men and women we know that we desire, but wouldn’t it be kinder to possible progeny if we went no fur­ther? This plane we are in is the worst form of solitary con­finement ever devised. It gives us health, yes, because the air is pure; but it also does something equally peculiar. It gives us an almost endless life. Endless life to endure in a world where nothing ever happens! Nature in her most ironical mood never devised anything more brilliant. And there is something else.”

  “Could there be?” Nick asked irritably.

  “Any progeny might remain eternal infants,” Dawlish finished. “Born, yes, but never evolving, or if they did so at all it would be at such a slow pace that it would be im­perceptible. I don’t have to tell you again that Time here vir­tually stands still compared to our normal conception of it.”

  “Well, since that’s how it is,” Nick said, “I suppose you and I, Berny, will remain very good friends—or else disgrace this august company at some time by being unable to believe in Dawlish’s ethics! Come down from your pedestal, Dawlish,” he implored. “We’re stuck here and each of us has the right to say what he or she is going to do.”

  “Right!” Bernice agreed flatly.

  “Makes no difference to me,” Hatley commented, with a dry grin. “Lucy and I were married long ago.”

  “Of which I hardly need reminding,” Lucy murmured. “It took a place like this, though, to make us come together. I’m even starting to see points in you, Harley, which I rather like. I never had the time in the ordinary way. You’re bad-tem­pered, edgy, and blunder in where most folks would hesitate, but I think you have a sterling ring somewhere.”

  “Can’t have,” he shrugged. “I’ve been singled out as the most selfish man in the party. Oh well, if others wish to behave like penitents it’s no business of mine. I’m going for a walk.”

  “And I’ll come with you,” Lucy decided. “I’d like to know you even better, Mr. Brand.” They turned and went up the beach together, leaving Nick and Bernice, and Dawlish and Betty staring after them almost in envy.

  “Know something?” Nick asked. “I do believe those two are going to finish up as the only happy pair in the party, and they started out by being the most miserable.” He stood thinking for a moment, his face becoming grimmer. “Was there ever such a set-up?” he demanded at last. “The everlasting silence, a sun you can’t see, a girl you can’t have, things you mustn’t do, and age you can’t attain—an eternal life like this will be purgatory!”

  He swung away, too morose to say anything more. Bernice followed him, catching up after a few moments. She caught at his arm.

  “Nick, take it easy. For my sake.”

  “Easy! Great heavens!”

  “This isn’t like you, Nick. Usually you laugh your way through. ‘Playboy’ Clayton—”

  “Playboy be hanged!” he nearly snarled. “I’ve grinned up to now because it seemed to be the only thing I could do, and I even did think the whole thing funny at times. But not any more. I realize now just what it means to be stuck here forever. Doomed and damned!”

  Bernice gripped him again as he turned to move on.

  “Last time, Nick, I was the one who flew off the handle when the matter of our getting married came up. Now it’s you— Maybe Dawlish and the Captain are right. As time goes by we—”

  “You should have married me whilst Dawlish was in the mood last time!” Nick snapped. “The Captain’s put him off his stroke and he’s turned into a reformer!”

  Bernice lowered her hand and a glint came in her eyes.

  “I would remind you, Nick, that it was you who wouldn’t agree to marry me! You raked up some kind of story about explaining ourselves if we got home—”

  “Oh, let me alone! I’ve had enough!”

  Nick swung away, hands plunged in the pockets of his torn and dirty evening trousers. Bernice did not follow him. Instead she looked at the expanse of ocean, then at the scratches and bloodstains on her limbs. She did not move immediately.

  For a time she gazed after Nick’s receding figure; then she glanced towards the other members of the party some distance away. Bronson and Dawlish were at the water’s edge, catching fish. Betty was standing watching them, look­ing like a child on holiday with her hands locked behind her and her head on one side.

  Bernice sighed and once more surveyed the mirror-like ocean, then up towards a sun she could not see but whose rays were beating into her skin. She started walking into the sea.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE THIRTY-FIRST OF JUNE

  It was an hour later when Nick returned, still in a bad temper. He settled down amidst the other members of the party and for a while did not speak—then something seemed to occur to him.

  “Say, Dawlish, where’s Berny?” he asked.

  “I don’t know, sir. I thought she was with you.”

  “Not a bit of it. We squabbled and I went off on my own. All of which I bl
ame on you, Dawlish, with your short­sighted ideas!”

  “I spoke from the heart, sir, believe me.”

  “Great doldrums, what’s that?” Bronson demanded, point­ing. “I’ve been watching it, and it certainly isn’t a fish.”

  The object he was indicating was being rocked back and forth by the receding tide and was half buried in the wet sand. It was partly yellow, partly brown, and it had the outlines of—

  “Berny!” Nick shouted in horror, then he jumped up and raced away at top speed, reached the limp form in the yellow cut-down evening dress, and heaved at it desperately. Ber­nice’s body came away from the sand with a squelching noise, but even as he hauled Nick knew the worst. Picking the girl up he carried her to drier regions and laid her down. Bronson, Dawlish, and Betty came speeding up.

  “She’s—dead!” Betty gasped, her hand to her mouth.

  “Yes.” Nick’s face was bitter as he glanced up. “Dead! Drowned! Whether by accident or design we don’t know, but it certainly wouldn’t have happened if one of you had kept an eye on her.”

  “The tragedy’s horrible enough, sir, without looking for a scapegoat!” Dawlish retorted. “I didn’t even know Miss Forbes had gone into the sea. Did you?” and he glanced at Bronson and Betty as they shook their heads.

  “Maybe I caused it....” Nick was still on his knees, trying hard to keep tears out of his eyes. “Berny was the sort of girl to throw everything overboard if she saw no way out of a difficulty. Perhaps she couldn’t see one out of this maze. I’d blown up in her face for some damned trivial reason, and she knew we were not going to marry— Maybe she thought it wasn’t worth going on living in this solitude.”

  “Maybe lots of things,” Betty said. “We’ll certainly never know now. Only thing we can do is bury her.”

  Nobody said anything. Even in death Bernice still looked youthful and vigorous.

  “She’s the first,” Bronson whispered, his eyes glinting. “There’s got to be an end to all this somewhere. I’d have done just what she’s done twenty years ago, only I clung to the thought that I’d get back home. Now I’ve been told by an expert that I never shall. This girl was sensible. She didn’t wait mooning around until the utter insanity of every­thing turned her crazy, too—she finished it! Good girl!”