The Golden Age of Pulp Fiction Megapack 01

by George Allan England

  “Hold on, there!” cried Stern. “Can’t you understand? There were two of us, in a—machine, you know! We fell. Fell from the surface of the earth—fell all the way down into this pit of hell, whatever it is. Where’s the girl? For God’s sake, tell me!”

  Neither man paid any heed, but the elder suddenly set hollowed palms to his lips and hailed; and from across the waters dully drifted another answering cry.

  He shouted a sentence or two with a volume of noise at which the engineer marveled, for so compressed was the air that Stern’s best effort could hardly throw a sound fifty feet. This characteristic of the atmosphere he well recognized from work he had often done in bridge and tunnel caissons. And a wonder possessed him, despite his keen anxiety, how any race of men could live and grow and develop the evident physical force of these people under conditions so unnatural.

  Turning his head and wrenching his neck sidewise, he was able to catch a glimpse of the water, over the low gunwale—a gunwale made, like the framework of the boat itself, of thin metallic strips cleverly riveted.

  There, approaching through the mists, he got sight of another boat, also provided with its cresset that flung an uncanny shaft of blue across the jetty expanse—a boat now drawing near uncles the urge of half-seen oarsmen. And farther still another torch was visible; and beyond that a dozen, a score or more, all moving with dim and ghostly slowness, through the blind abyss of fog and heat and drifting vapors.

  Stern gathered strength for another appeal.

  “Who are you people?” cried he passionately. “What are you going to do with us? Where are we—and what kind of a place are we in? Any way to get out, out to the world again? And the girl—that girl! Oh, great God! Can’t you answer something?”

  No reply. Only that same slow, strong paddling, awful in its purposeful deliberation. Stern questioned in French, Spanish and German, but got not even the satisfaction of attracting their attention. He flung what few phrases of Latin and Esperanto he had at them. No result. And a huge despair filled his soul, a feeling of utter and absolute helplessness.

  For the first time in his life—that life which had covered a thousand years or more—he found himself unable to make himself intelligible. He had not now even recourse to gestures, to sign language. Bound hand and foot, trussed like a fowl, ignored by his captors (who, by all rules, should have been his hosts and shown him every courtesy), he felt a profound and terrible anger growing in his heart.

  A sudden rage, unreasoning and insensate, blazed within him. His fists clenched; once more he tugged, straining at his stout bonds. He called down maledictions on those two strange, impassive, wraithlike forms hardly more than half seen in the darkness and fog.

  Then, as delirium won again over his tortured senses and disjointed thoughts, he shouted the name of Beatrice time after time out into the echoing dark that brooded over the great waters. All at once he heard her voice, trembling and faint and weak, but still hers!

  From the other boat it came, the boat now drawing very near. And as the craft loomed up through the vapors that rose incessantly from that Stygian sea, he made a mighty effort, raised himself a little and suddenly beheld her—dim, vague, uncertain in the shuddering bluish glare, yet still alive!

  She was crouching midships of the canoe and, seemingly, was not bound. At his hail she stretched forth a hand and answered with his name.

  “Oh, Allan! Allan!” Her voice was tremulous and very weak.

  “Beatrice! You’re safe? Thank God!”

  “Hurt? Are you hurt?”

  “No—nothing to speak of. These demons haven’t done you any damage, have they? If so—”

  “Demons? Why, Allan! They’ve rescued us, haven’t they?”

  “Yes—and now they’ve got me tied here, hand and foot! I can’t more than just move about two or three inches, blast them! They haven’t tied you, have they?”

  “No,” she answered. “Not yet! But—what an outrage! I’ll free you, never fear. You and I together—”

  “Can’t do anything, now, girl. There may be hundreds of these people. Thousands, perhaps. And we’re only two—two captives, and—well—hang it, Beatrice! I don’t mean to be pessimistic or anything like that, but it certainly looks bad!”

  “But who are they, boy? Who can they be? And where are we?”

  “Hanged if I know! This certainly beats any dream I ever had. For sheer outrageous improbability—”

  He broke off short. Beatrice had leaned her head upon her arms, along the gunwale of the other canoe which now was running parallel to Stern’s, and he knew the girl was weeping.

  “There, there!” he cried to her. “Don’t you be afraid, little girl! I’ve got my automatic yet; I can feel it under me, as I lie here in this infernal boat. They haven’t taken yours away?”

  “No!” she answered, raising her head again. “And before they ever do, I’ll use it, that’s all!”

  “Good girl!” he cheered her, across the space of water. “That’s the way to talk! Whatever happens, shoot straight if you have to shoot at all—and remember, at worst, the last cartridge is for yourself!”

  CHAPTER XXIV

  THE LAND OF THE MERUCAANS

  “I’ll remember,” she answered simply, and for a little space there came silence between them.

  A vast longing possessed the man to take her in his arms and hold her tight, tight to his fast-throbbing heart. But he lay bound and helpless. All he could do was call to her again, as the two canoes now drew on, side by side and as still others, joining them, made a little fleet of strange, flare-lighted craft.

  “Beatrice!”

  “Yes—what is it?”

  “Don’t worry, whatever happens. Maybe there’s no great harm done, after all. We’re still alive and sound—that’s ninety-nine per cent of the battle.”

  “How could we have fallen like that and not been killed? A miracle!”

  “The machine must have struck the surface on one of its long slants. If it had plunged straight down—well, we shouldn’t be here, that’s all. These infernal pirates, whoever they are, must have been close by, in their boats, and cut us loose from our straps before the machine sank, and got us into their canoes. But—”

  “Without the machine, how are we ever going to get out of here again?”

  “Don’t bother about that now! We’ve got other more important things to think of. It’s all a vast and complex problem, but we’ll meet it, never fear. You and I, together, are going to win! We’ve got to—for the sake of the world!”

  “Oh, if they’d only take us for gods, as the Horde did!”

  “Gods nothing! They’re as white as we are—whiter, even. People that can make boats like these, out of iron bars covered with pitched fabric, and weave cloth like this they’re wearing, and use oil-flares in metal baskets, aren’t mistaking us for gods. The way they’ve handled me proves it. Might be a good thing if they weren’t so devilish intelligent!”

  He relapsed into silence, and for a while there came no sound but the cadenced dipping of many paddles as the boats, now perhaps a score in number, all slowly moved across the unfathomed black as though toward some objective common point. Each craft bore at its bow a fire-basket filled with some spongy substance, which, oil-soaked, blazed smokily with that peculiar blue-green light so ghostly in its wavering reflections.

  Many of the folk sat in these boats, among their brown fiber nets and long, iron-tipped lances. All alike were pale and anemic-looking, though well-muscled and of vigorous build. Even the youngest were white-haired. All wore their hair twisted in a knot upon the crown of the head; none boasted anything even suggesting a hat or cap.

  By contrast with their chalky skins, white eyebrows and lashes, their pinkish eyes—for all the world like those of an albino—blinked oddly as they squinted ahead, as though to catch some sign of land. Every one wore a kind of cassock of the brown coarse material; a few were girdled with belts of skin, having well-wrought metal buckles. Their paddles were n
ot of wood. Not one trace of wood, in fact, was anywhere to be seen. Light metal blades, well-shaped and riveted to iron handles, served for propulsion.

  Stern lay back, still faint and sick with the shock of the fall and with the pain, humiliation and excitement of the capture. Yet through it all he rejoiced that the girl and he had escaped with life and were both still sound of limb and faculty.

  Even the loss of the machine could not destroy all his natural enthusiasm, or kill his satisfaction in this great adventuring, his joy at having found after all, a remnant of the human race once more.

  “Men, by the Almighty!” thought he, peering keenly at such as he could see through the coiling, spiraling wreaths of mist that arose from the black water into the dun air. “Men! White men, too! Given such stock to work with—provided I get the chance—who shall say anything’s impossible? If only there’s some way out of this infernal hole, what may not happen?”

  And, as he watched, he thrilled with nascent pride, with consciousness of a tremendous mission to perform; a sense that here—here in the actual living flesh—dwelt the potentialities of all his dreams, of all the many deep and noble plans which he and Beatrice had laid for a regenerated world!

  Men they certainly were, white men, Caucasians, even like himself. Despite all changes of superficial character, their build and cast of features bore witness that these incredible folk, dwellers upon that nameless and buried sea, were the long-distant descendants of Americans!

  “Americans, so help me!” he pondered as the boats drew onward toward what goal he knew not. “Barbarians, yet Americans, still. And with half a chance at them, God! we’ll work miracles yet, she and I!”

  Again he raised his voice, calling to Beatrice:

  “Don’t be afraid, little girl! They’re our own people, after all—Americans!”

  At sound of that word a startled cry broke from the lips of Stern’s elder boatman, a cry which, taken up from boat to boat, drifted dully through the fog, traversed the whole fleet of strange, slow-moving craft, and lost itself in the vague gloom.

  “Merucaans! Merucaans!” the shout arose, with other words whereof Stern knew not the meaning; and closer pressed the outlying boats. The engineer felt a thrill run through the strange, mysterious folk.

  “They knew their name, anyhow! Hurrah!” he exulted. “God! If we had the Stars and Stripes here, I wager a million they’d go mad about it! Remember? You bet they’ll remember, when I learn their lingo and tell them a few things! Just wait till I get a chance at ‘em, that’s all!”

  Forgotten now his bonds and all his pain. Forgotten even the perilous situation. Stern’s great vision of a reborn race had swallowed minor evils. And with a sudden glow of pride that some of his own race had still survived the vast world catastrophe, he cheered again, eager as any schoolboy.

  Suddenly he heard the girl’s voice calling to him:

  “Something ahead, Allan—land, maybe. A big light through the mist!”

  He wrenched his head a trifle up and now perceived that through the vapors a dim yet steady glow was beginning to shine, and on each side of it there stretched a line of other, smaller, blue-green lights. These, haloed by the vapor with the most beautiful prismatic rings, extended in an irregular row high above water level.

  Lower down other lights were moving slowly to and fro, gathering for the most part at a point toward which the boats were headed.

  “A settlement, Beatrice! A town, maybe! At last—men, men!” he cried.

  Forward the boats moved, faster now, as the rowers bent to their tasks; and all at once, spontaneously, a song rose up. First from one boat, then another, that weird, strange melody drifted through the dark air. It blended into a spectral chorus, a vague, tremulous, eerie chant, ghostlike and awful, as though on the black stream of Acheron the lost souls of a better world had joined in song.

  Nothing could Stern catch of the words; but like some faint and far reechoing of a half-heard melody, dream-music perhaps, a vaguely reminiscent undertone struck to his heart with an irresistible, melancholy, penetrant appeal.

  “That tune! I know it—if I could only think!” the engineer exclaimed. “Those words! I almost seem to know them!”

  Then, with the suddenness characteristic of all that drew near in the fog, the shore-lights grew rapidly bigger and more bright.

  The rowers lay back on their paddles at a sharp word of command from one of the oarsmen in Stern’s boat.

  Came a grating, a sliding of keels on pebbles. The boat stopped. Others came up to land. From them men began clambering.

  The song died. A sound of many voices rose, as the boatmen mingled with those who, bearing torches, now began gathering about the two canoes where Stern and Beatrice still were.

  “Well, we’re here, anyhow, wherever here is!” exclaimed the engineer. “Hey, you fellows, let me loose, will you? What kind of a way is this to treat a stranger, I’d like to know?”

  Two of the men waded through the water, tepid as new milk, to where Stern lay fast-bound, lifted him easily and carried him ashore. Black though the water was, Stern saw that it was clear. As the torchlight struck down through it, he could distinguish the clean and sandy bottom shining with metallic luster.

  A strange hissing sound pervaded all the air, now sinking to a dull roar, now rising shrill as a vast jet of escaping steam.

  As the tone lowered, darkness seemed to gain, through the mists; its rising brought a clearer light. But what the phenomenon was, Stern could not tell. For the source of the faint, diffused illumination that verberated through the vapor was hidden; it seemed to be a huge and fluctuating glow, off there somewhere beyond the fog-curtain that veiled whatever land this strange weird place might be.

  Vague, silent, dim, the wraithlike men stood by, peering with bent brows, just as Dante described the lost souls in Hell peering at Virgil in the eternal night. A dream-crew they seemed. Even though Stern felt the vigorous muscles of the pair who now had borne him up to land, he could scarce realize their living entity.

  “Beatrice! Beatrice!” he called. “Are you all right? Don’t mind about me—just look out for yourself! If they hurt you in any way, shoot!”

  “I’m all right, I’m coming!” He heard her voice, and then he saw the girl herself. Unaided she had clambered from her boat; and now, breaking through the throng, she sought to reach him. But hands held her back, and words of hard command rose from a score of lips.

  Stern had only time to see that she was as yet unharmed when with a quick slash of a blade somebody cut the thongs that bound his feet.

  Then he was pushed forward, away from the dim and ghostly sea up an acclivity of smooth black pebbles all wet with mist.

  Limping stiffly, by reason of his cramped muscles, he stumbled onward, while all about him and behind him—as about the girl, who followed—came the throng of these strange people.

  Their squinting, pinkish eyes and pallid faces showed ghastly by the torch-glare, as, murmuring among themselves in their incomprehensible yet strangely familiar tongue, they climbed the slope.

  Even then, even there on that unknown beach beside an uncharted sea at the bottom of the fathomless abyss, Stern thought with joy of his revolver which still swung on his hip.

  “God knows how we’re going to talk to these people,” reflected he, “or what sort of trouble they’ve got ready to hand out to us. But, once I get my right hand free—I’m ready for whatever comes!”

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE DUNGEON OF THE SKELETONS

  As the two interlopers from the outer world moved up the slippery beach toward the great, mist-dimmed flare, escorted by the strange and spectral throng, Stern had time to analyze some factors of the situation.

  It was evident that diplomacy was now—unless in a sharp crisis—the only role to play. How many of these people there might be he could not tell. The present gathering he estimated at about a hundred and fifty or a hundred and seventy-five; and moment by moment more were coming down the slop
e, looming through the vapor, each carrying a cresset on a staff or a swinging light attached to a chain.

  “The village or settlement, or whatever it is,” thought he, “may contain hundreds of them, thousands perhaps. And we are only two! The last thing in the world we want is a fight. But if it comes to fighting, Beatrice and I with our backs to the wall could certainly make a mighty good showing against barbarians such as these.

  “It’s evident from the fact that they haven’t taken our revolvers away they don’t know the use of firearms. Ages ago they must have forgotten even the tradition of such weapons. Their culture status seems to be a kind of advanced barbarism. Some job, here, to bring them up to civilization again.”

  Slow-moving, unemotional, peering dimly through the hot fog, their wraithlike appearance (as more and more came crowding) depressed and saddened Stern beyond all telling.

  And at thought that these were the remnants of the race which once had conquered a vast continent, built tall cities and spanned abysses with steel—the remnants of so many million keen, energetic, scientific people—he groaned despairingly.

  “What does all this mean?” he exclaimed in a kind of passionate outburst. “Where are we? How did you get here? Can’t you understand me? We’re Americans, I tell you—Americans! For God’s sake, can’t you understand?”

  Once more the word “Merucaans” passed round from mouth to mouth; but beyond this Stern got no sign of comprehension.

  “Village! Houses!” shouted he. “Shelter! Rest, eat, sleep!”

  They merely shoved him forward up the slope, together with the girl; and now Stern saw a curious kind of causeway, paved with slippery, wet, black stones that gleamed in the torchlight, a causeway slanting sharply upward, its further end hidden in the dense vapor behind which the great and unknown light shone with ever-clearer glowing.

  This road wash bordered on either hand by a wall of carefully cut stone about three and a half feet high; and into the wall, at equal distances of twenty feet or so, iron rods had been let. Each rod bore a fire-basket, some only dully flickering, some burning bright and blue.