Dracula of the Apes 3

by G. Wells Taylor

  ...while Harkon wept in the high branches.

  Gazda returned with the morning, dark eyes squinting at the growing light. He climbed silently close to Harkon until he crouched on the branch above her, gauging the huntress’ seething rage before he told her of what he had seen.

  “Some are there of Harkon’s tribe with stone on their necks,” he said, tapping at the metal band that clasped his swelling right forearm. The limb, like the rest of his body, was covered in dark mud.

  The huntress was especially cheered to learn that he had seen some small slaves up close, sons as he called them in an approximation of Harkon’s language—and that many of the males were of an age to be Anim.

  “Many bone-faces watch,” the ape-man cautioned her in his way. He had found the white man and the black that he had come to get for Ginny. “First in the stone lair, then in the stick-nest by the flames.”

  When Ginny’s night apes had been moved to the cage by the fire, Gazda was tempted to free them as the last revelers gathered, but enough slaves had been butchered already it seemed, and plenty of meat still simmered.

  The captives would be safe for a time.

  “When night comes again.” the ape-man said, yawning as the jungle dim lightened. “Gazda and Harkon will kill the bone-faces.”

  The ape-man was weary and after a short time watching the village, he flung himself into the treetops to find some place where he might rest against the daylight.

  Grumbling and frustrated anew, Harkon found a place among the branches to eat dried meat from her hunter’s pack, drink from her waterskin, to sleep if she could and to think.

  In time, the heat of her anger burned away to leave her hard and ready, anticipating the night to come. Many Bakwaniri would die—finally—and she hoped the people who remained of her tribe would be freed.

  But most of all she hoped her son still lived.

  And if the worst had happened and Anim was gone, then woe betide her enemies this night.

  The huntress spent the day until sunset awaiting the ape-man: at one time deep in thought, at another preparing her weapons, or napping and resting her leg. The swelling had gone down in her ankle, but the knee was still tender and tight.

  Though she could fight and kill through the discomfort.

  She had collected many arrows in the lead up to this battle, and she had her spear and long knife, too. The bow would be useful against so many for it allowed her to kill by stealth and at a distance, yet she longed to use her other weapons when finally face to face.

  Gazda returned at sunset smelling of blood, but looking well-rested and strong. A fresh coat of mud lay over him, and upon this he had drawn many skulls.

  With piercing eyes he surveyed the Bakwaniri village as his long fangs gleamed in a fierce smile. The ape-man pushed the long hair back from his face to bind with a strip of coarse hide.

  Drums had been echoing in the village for hours, and already the fire was lit for the feast.

  Harkon had watched the populace as she awaited the night and Gazda’s return, and while the people had seemed dull-witted and tired crawling from their huts near noon, repeated trips to gawk at the severed head had raised their spirits.

  By the time the sun was sinking near day’s end, great wooden barrels and pots that sloshed with drink had been set out, and loads of wood had been placed in readiness while large bowls of vegetables and fruits were left about the open space. Soon amidst much drinking and singing, a dance began that drew the population in a winding circle from the fire to the ape’s head and back.

  Harkon’s own people had imbibed a fermented drink and she understood its effects upon the mind, so the huntress would gauge the population’s drunkenness and recommend to Gazda the best time for attack.

  They discussed their plan of action, and went over it many times.

  Gazda would provide a distraction, and Harkon would slip over the wall to open the gate before freeing the prisoners. The ape-man would use his hunting skills and speed to keep the bone-faces busy while Harkon led the others to escape.

  Both hunter and huntress would kill any Bakwaniri they could find.

  The timing would be perilous, Harkon knew, for any unexpected turn could doom those prisoners that the Bakwaniri had put in the great cage by the cooking fire.

  As the sky grew darker, Gazda became more excited and he left for a time to choose the best place to attack. He knew the moon would be full, and the deep shadows it cast could be his allies.

  Meanwhile, the cooking fires were roaring as slaves and masked men fed the flames dried wood. The revelers tired of their dance and gathered closer to where the food would be prepared.

  Though they never seemed to tire of their drink, or become incapacitated by the sheer volume they consumed.

  Gazda returned to Harkon hooting worriedly, and slashing the air with his fangs, but as he barked his warning a horn blared at the gate.

  From out of the shadowed stream there moved a large force of Bakwaniri, and with them were more prisoners like those the ape-man wished to free.

  Growling fiercely, Gazda gripped the branches to which he clung and one splintered from the strain.

  The huntress saw that the Bakwaniri force had used the new captives harshly. They were slick with sweat from travel like their captors, but those that were afoot staggered unsteadily in place, exhausted beyond all bounds; while others had been carried strung beneath long poles: an old white man and two women.

  A man of middle age and a younger were visible standing, and another woman the pair supported swayed between.

  “Ginny!” Gazda whispered, watching the prisoners as his lips pulled away from his fangs. “Lilly!”

  The huntress reached for him to make a calming gesture, saying: “You be patient now!”

  She knew their plan would work to kill Bakwaniri regardless of their number, though victory was unlikely against the large force combined with the fighters in the village.

  And escape would not be likely in the jungle that waited.

  Yet the Bakwaniri homecoming might aid in the distraction, and she knew that the most exhausted of the hunters might have strength left to fight but none to follow.

  The huntress sat on the branch beside the ape-man as Gazda quietly barked and growled at the scene below. They watched as the Bakwaniri hunters were welcomed home with drink and dance and as the new captives were taken to the cage by the fire and imprisoned with the others.

  The huntress smiled as looking to her, Gazda did the same.

  It was time to attack.

  CHAPTER 33 – When She Rises

  Captain Seward was saddened to see the group of masked savages driving the other castaways toward the cage by the fire to which he and Jacob had been led the night before.

  At that time, they had expected the worst and were ready for a final fight, but those fears had begun to diminish as they crossed the compound for it was apparent that the remaining savages were drunk and reeling, and more interested in sleep than eating.

  The following day in the cage with only a pair of despairing old slaves as company had left the ranger and Jacob struggling to generate any optimism. In lieu of tequila, Seward needed something to fuel a final charge against the savages for neither man had any intention of walking out to the butcher.

  Though the constant drumming had weakened their resolve in that regard.

  The day had passed slowly as their captors joined in revel and drink to parade the wretched ape’s head around the village. By the way the populace was worked up about the grisly thing—now for a second day—Seward guessed that the beast had somehow figured into their lives or mythology, and its death was celebrated like the lifting of a curse.

  When night fell on the jungle, the full moon’s light splashed suddenly upwards in the dark blue sky, illuminating towering clouds that had built up over the west. The pale light started spilling through the high trees and flooding the village center just as the other castaways were herded in.

 
Any glimmer of hope in Seward’s heart was banished by the appearance of those he’d been hired to protect: Lilly, Clive and Abigail Quarrie were hauled in unconscious, bedraggled, and seemingly bereft of life.

  True, the others were dead on their feet, but they were obviously alive—the Quarries, however...

  The masked savages opened the cage door and forced Seward and Jacob away from the entrance with arrows nocked and aimed as the bound Quarries were cast upon the ground and the staggering captives shoved in after.

  When the savages cut the rope linking Van Resen to Phillip Holmes and Virginia James and then their bindings, both men fell on their faces, while the governess lurched to Lilly where she lay by the elder Quarries still bound to their carrying poles.

  “Jacob, please—Lilly’s sick!” Miss James cried hoarsely, as she toppled to her knees beside her ward.

  Seward kept his eyes on Lilly as he pulled Van Resen to his feet.

  “Thank you, my friend,” the scientist said in a daze, clasping the big Texan’s hand for support as an eyebrow shot up. He pulled his eyeglasses from his coat pocket and rubbed at the dirty lenses with a tattered shirt sleeve. “I am glad you are well...and ‘surprised’ at your whereabouts...”

  The scientist slid the glasses over his nose and limped away from the sick girl toward the bars.

  Miss James wailed, and Jacob threw his arms around her.

  “It’s Lilly—there’s no heartbeat!” the governess cried. “Oh my girl!”

  “What the devil?” Seward growled, stalking toward them.

  Mr. Quarrie began struggling at his bindings, and his wife was beginning to call out.

  The ranger knelt by Lilly to take a pulse, and pulled his hands away surprised. Her cheeks were pink, her golden hair was shiny and full—she looked healthier than the others.

  But he had felt no pulse.

  He started tearing at her bindings, but the scientist’s lean hand clasped his shoulder to halt him.

  “Might I speak with you first, Captain?” Dr. Van Resen said. “You must not untie her.”

  “But Lilly! What’s happened to her?” the ranger sputtered, feeling her cold hands and wrists for any sign of life; but the scientist tugged his arm, and shook his head. Something about the man’s strained expression drew Seward to his feet.

  Jacob had already moved over to untie Mr. Quarrie who had called out to him. Miss James pressed her face to Lilly’s.

  “Leave her tied...” Van Resen said quietly, marking the ranger’s incredulity, “...to guard against convulsions.”

  “Convulsions?” Seward answered, exchanging an uncertain glance with Miss James.

  “Captain, we must leave this place immediately.” He gripped the ranger’s elbow to keep his balance, swaying unsteadily as he directed the big man toward the bars near where Phillip Holmes had dragged himself in an exhausted stupor.

  “When the drums stop,” the young man warned cryptically. “They’ll come for us.”

  Seward ignored Holmes to say, “If you have an escape plan, Doc, I’d like to hear it.”

  “We are in terrible danger here,” the scientist said, looking the bars up and down and shaking them to test their strength.

  “You’re stating the obvious,” Seward said, frowning. “What’s wrong with Lilly?”

  “She is dead.” Tears glimmered in the scientist’s eyes, as he began kicking the straw and filth that littered the cage floor. “Or she might as well be.”

  “Dead? But she looks fine...” Seward turned to blink at the girl, disbelieving.

  “If we cannot break out, we must find a way to defend ourselves,” the scientist continued, clutching the bars to lower himself slowly so he could pick up a stick that he then threw away after testing its strength.

  “What are you doing?” the old ranger growled.

  “We need a stout piece of wood with a sharp end.” Van Resen clasped the ranger’s shirt to pull him along the cage bars to the corner that overlooked the grisly kitchen. A big savage in a red mask was in conference with his fellows. He cleaned the top of his butcher block with the edge of his cleaver and pointed at the castaways.

  Behind them several masked men were beating a constant rhythm on their drums.

  “Sharp end—why?” the ranger shouted hoarsely. His face was hot and eyes red.

  “We must drive a stake through Lilly’s heart,” the scientist said, biting down on his lower lip.

  “Drive it—have you lost your mind?” Seward rasped, pulling the doctor away from the bars when he saw that masked men gathering near the fire pit had taken an interest in the pair. They held knives and wooden clubs adorned with crude basket hilts.

  “I would prefer madness to the truth, sir,” Van Resen said, shaking his head as a tall masked savage passed the cage. He wore an admiral’s tricorn hat made of animal fur and wicker. “Perhaps I’ve already gone...”

  “We’re all headed to the asylum and Lord Nelson’s steering the boat.” The ranger swung the scientist around. “Now tell me what the devil you’re talking about!”

  “Something happened to Lilly,” Van Resen said, after a deep breath. “An infection that will make her dangerous to the rest of us!”

  “How? Doctor, I’m paid to protect these people!” the ranger snarled. The other castaways had congregated around Lilly rubbing her limbs and cheeks, searching for a pulse—unable to believe that the radiant beauty was dead.

  “I fear one of us must perform a terrible duty—but we need a wooden stake,” the scientist said coolly. He tried to pull away, but Seward held him.

  “Wait! You got more to say, so say it!” the old ranger shook him as he shouted.

  Phillip Holmes watched from where he had stayed separate from the others, some yards away with one eye on the fire pit.

  “My friend, I must put emotion aside for a time—so you must do the same!” Van Resen said, anger flashing in his eyes. “This is survival. Brawn will be required, but brains are needed to apply it, and apprehension precedes action.”

  “Doctor!” Mr. Quarrie bellowed from where he knelt with his wife by Lilly. The drums continued to pound. “Are you certain we cannot remove her bonds?”

  “No, Mr. Quarrie! It will not help,” Van Resen shouted, before catching Seward’s eye, pulling him close and saying in his ear: “Captain Seward during your trip here and while incarcerated, have you seen or spoken to anyone—strange—a man with skin as pale as the moon. He would be remarkable to your eyes.”

  “Yeah, a long-haired savage came last night—had white skin covered in mud. Weird eyes and I couldn’t understand his jabber.” The ranger squeezed Van Resen’s arm. “Wait! He mentioned Lilly.”

  “Mud?” Van Resen’s brow wrinkled.

  Seward blanched as a masked-man passed the cage with a basket full of whittled bones, and he was suddenly overcome with his friend’s distress.

  “What’s the white man got to do with Lilly?” he growled. “Damn it, Doc, I’ll have his hide if he hurt her!”

  The scientist pressed a finger against his lips and took a deep breath. His face was pale and sweat streaked the grime upon his cheeks, but his eyes were lively.

  “The ‘white’ man is what happened to Lilly, and I fear the same will happen to the rest of us.” He gestured toward the savages by the fire and butcher block. “What they are planning is nothing in comparison.”

  “But the white man spoke as Ginny’s friend,” the ranger insisted, voice lowering to fit a lull in the drumming. “I could tell.”

  “He is no friend, but he has offered aid. I have yet to understand his motive, perhaps the processes through which he came to be here have left him...with a child mind, as my colleague classified it in his tale.” Van Resen drew the ranger along the bars near where the imprisoned slaves still huddled. The savages danced as the drums throbbed louder, and the scientist adjusted his voice higher. “I have made discoveries, Captain Seward. We are in danger!”

  “So you said...” Seward followed Van Resen�
�s fearful glance at the other castaways. Jacob and Miss James hovered over Lilly’s unmoving form to rub her wrists.

  The scientist brought his face close to Seward’s and said, “You are a former ranger, but a lawman you remain. To you I entrust this knowledge should I not survive. You must escape this place with our friends, and you can protect them with what I know.” He cautiously opened his coat, shielding the action with his body as he withdrew an old leather-bound book. “I found this in a grave near the yurt—the tree house. It is a guide for the revivification of the dead—or undead, rather.”

  “Revivi—damn it, what of Lilly, you say she’s...” Seward blurted, wringing his hands together like he was ready to lash out.

  “Lilly is like the man you saw. She is dead but not dead...and she will soon be a greater danger to us than he!” said Van Resen resignedly, slipping the book away. “You will not believe me, but had you seen what I have seen.” He absently wiped his hand against a sleeve. “Or witnessed what I saw in the moringa wood...things that cannot be true.”

  “Dead...” Seward groaned and they both looked over at the unconscious girl. Miss James knelt there weeping with a palm pressed to Lilly’s smooth forehead. “...and a danger. What could be worse than these cannibals?”

  “Our natures, all nature is dangerous a teacher of mine said to me. My mentor was a great-thinker discredited by his own curious and open mind. Like many he suggested that random nature, Charles Darwin’s Evolution, was the engine of our lives...” the scientist went on. “Nature released by death simply leads to new life and a new form. It is the revenge of our primal natures...and explains why religion is such a comforting balm. Nature shapes us, and against this we must always struggle to remain civilized—however, some are overwhelmed and consumed by the primal powers once they are unleashed.”

  The ranger shouted: “Your teacher? Sounds like hokum sold at a medicine show. I believe in Heaven and Hell.” He pointed at Lilly. “That girl looks as fit as a fiddle and the white man I saw was no Devil nor force of nature—and he was here to help.”