A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  “To go as far as we can, then to find a place where we can protect ourselves.”

  “Do you think Elm will follow us?”

  “I hope so.”

  Her voice broke a little from its true pitch. “I’d rather have the whole bodyguard on my trail.”

  “We can both handle him.”

  “Yes, I guess so. Why did he want to kill us all, Tony?”

  “All? He didn’t. He chose a few, myself among them, to build an amalgamated race.”

  “You?” she exclaimed. “Then why did you leave? Why didn’t you stay?”

  “Because you’d have gone to the slaughter.”

  “But why? Why, Tony?”

  “The obvious reason, I suppose.”

  “Tony, wait!”

  He stopped by a fallen tree and faced her. She came near and laid her right hand on his arm.

  “Thanks, Tony.”

  Thereafter she sometimes led the way, and, arm in arm when possible, they marched on. They hardly disturbed a leaf as they passed, and there was no sound except for Tony’s low voice as he explained the captain’s plan.

  “Is he mad, do you think, Tony?”

  “I think any man is mad who is willing to kill others simply because they don’t fit into his schemes.”

  “But the plan sounds like it would work.”

  “So does the plan of any madman who ever rose to power.”

  “But why couldn’t he have done the same thing without killing? If all the races merged, it would be only a few generations before one race would come out of it.”

  “Yes,” Tony said, “but Captain Elm is a perfectionist. Adhere to the plan, says he, and to hell with life!”

  THEY marched on.

  They were hungry. They dug roots. They were thirsty; they drank from the river. They were sleepy, and bedded down in the open so that occasional earthquakes would not roll a log or rock on them.

  They topped a broad, bare mound some hours after their first sleep and looked back along their trail. Nothing stirred there. Twin ribbons of green bordered a twisting river to the horizon; nothing moved but wind-stirred foliage. Far off to the right was emptiness where once the ocean had rolled, pocked with deeps on which had floated exploded carcasses of weird marine monsters until eaten by brother survivors. But perhaps the ocean would roll there again some day.

  Some day? No, Tony thought. Some time—this was forever, this day.

  They saw a snake, thin, angry and swift, so swift that Laura’s snap shot struck a full two inches behind it. Tony wondered, after reprimanding Laura for shooting, about that snake. Had some life survived? What did the snake eat? Were there mice? Rats? Bugs? There was a thought: If all the birds were dead, what would eat the bugs that would eat the vegetation the future farmer would plant? That little problem would have to be solved or the bugs would take over the earth.

  They stood on the hill, her bright hair stirring in the breeze, and examined the trail, foot by foot, to the horizon. Finally they turned and marched again.

  When they had reached the point where tired muscles would carry them no farther from their first sleep, Tony made a bed of boughs for the girl and she fell into it.

  Before she closed her eyes, she gave him a wide, soft glance. “It’s been so long, Tony, since I could sleep and not be afraid.”

  Tony examined his rifle and found a high cliff from which he could watch the back trail. He forced his eyes to remain open, fought the weighted lids, and raked the country constantly.

  As he lay on the ledge, Tony began to feel ashamed. He had taken a coward’s way out, had left those dumb and helpless people to die. There had been a focal germ of revolt in Bat Silver, Washington Adams, Laura and himself. They could have drawn others around them and overpowered Captain Elm.

  Instead, he had taken this woman he wanted and run away. What if he could go back later and kill Captain Elm? By then the others would have died, and the future depended on them. Heroic work would be necessary to build a world in this eternal sunshine.

  Men would go mad in the unchanging sun if some shield were not devised; they would seek voluntary death in the dark across the hills. Perhaps other animal life, whatever life survived, would evolve fast enough to be a menace to man.

  They must go back, he and Laura, and attempt to save the others from a madman. All available hands must be used to build the new world, in which there would be time for rest and skepticism. It seemed better to die, if necessary, in defense of that world to come than to take this easier way out. Besides, this way was only temporary. He doubted that a scant two dozen could salvage and rebuild the scientific aids necessary to maintain life in these new conditions, whereas a thousand might manage it.

  “Well, Tony! Aren’t you being rather careless?”

  He whirled at the words, and Laura smiled down at him. Bright eyed, flushed with sleep, she was something of a vision against the sky.

  “How did you do it, Laura?”

  “You didn’t hear me, did you? Well, you’re probably dead for sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

  “There’s no time for sleep. We’re going back. We’ve got to save those people.”

  She was puzzled but firm. “You couldn’t go five miles. Grab a nap, and we’ll talk about it.”

  He agreed after some argument, and she took his place on the cliff’s edge, determined that nothing would surprise her as she had Tony.

  LATER—how much later she had no way of knowing—her eye caught a movement far down the twisting river. It was a swift flash of light, such as a bird would make. But there were no birds. She concentrated on the spot and presently saw another movement of light and shadow, caught the glint of sun on gray hair—Captain Elm.

  She slipped back away from the cliff and ran on a roundabout path toward Tony.

  She saw the snake halfway through a long stride. She twisted with one foot in midair and jumped as it coiled. She crashed over the edge of the cliff, scrambled for a hold with clawed hands and fell heavily a dozen feet into loose stones.

  Pain lanced one leg, and for a moment she feared it was broken. But she found she could move her foot and stood up. She took a step and fell again. One thing was certain. She couldn’t walk.

  Tony appeared without sound. “Are you hurt?”

  “Ankle, foot, something. Don’t bother with me. He’s coming, about forty minutes away. Quick! Get started! I’ll wait here.”

  “I’ll carry you.”

  “You’d get shot in the back. I’ll be all right. You’ve got to be free. Here, take one of my guns.”

  “Yes,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re right.” He took the gun, kissed her swiftly, turned away.

  “Do be careful, Tony.”

  He waved a hand and disappeared.

  Forty minutes, eh? Tony scooped up an armload of dead underbrush and ran down their back trail. He carefully covered it for some distance, then struck off at a tangent, making as many signs as possible at a dead run.

  When he had gone at top speed for a mile, Tony circled a shattered heap of boulders and intersected his back trail. He had seen an opening in the pile of rock, and now found it to be a narrow tunnel where he could watch. It seemed a perfect spot for ambush.

  He crawled, feet first, into the tunnel, settled himself; after a short inward struggle, he decided that he would kill Captain Elm on sight, without warning.

  He had no way to measure time except in his own consciousness. But discounting his tension and sense of interminable waiting, he began to think Laura must have been mistaken. Anyone should have followed that plain trail by now. But suppose, he thought strickenly, Captain Elm had penetrated his crude efforts and was even now stalking Laura?

  This was enough to launch him into action. He raised himself on his elbows, and a swift series of events took place. His sleeve twitched, a small volcano of rock splinters erupted at his elbow, he dropped flat instantly and the sharp spang of a gun reached his ears.

  As soon as his heart settled back, Tony sai
d in a conversational tone, “You missed.”

  “Naturally,” Captain Elm said from Tony’s left. “I can’t see you. I was shooting by guess work. But it’s all right. I have plenty of time.”

  “So have I.”

  “Ah, no, Tony. The first earthquake will bring the whole pile on you. Where’s the girl?”

  “Here. She’s unconscious.”

  “I see. You’d better come out, Tony. You can’t get away. You can’t wait for the night, for there isn’t any more night. I’ll get you in the end. But by the time I’ve broken down your resistance by waiting, you’ll be nearly dead from thirst. That’s unpleasant. If you come out now, I’ll kill you quickly, while you’re still comfortable. I’ll kill the girl instantly too.”

  “Thanks, I’ll take a chance.”

  SILENCE fell then, and Tony began to wriggle back into the tunnel, feeling for an opening with his feet. Back and back he slid, and the tunnel began to rise. When half his body was in the incline, he had to discard his rifle.

  He held Laura’s revolver by the trigger guard with his teeth and pushed his body back and up with hands that were beginning to bleed.

  If only he had room in which to turn, he thought, he might stand a chance. As it was, if this tunnel opened at the rear end, he would emerge feet first and offer a large expanse of target while his head was still underground.

  The incline began to widen, and Tony pushed hard with aching arms. He reached a kind of pocket in which there was barely room to reverse his body, but from which he could see an opening above.

  He made the opening and flung himself into the light, heedless of danger from Captain Elm. He lay on a shoulder of the pile, weak and trembling, gasping for breath. His trembling soon stopped and he looked about, after a thankful glance at the sun.

  He slipped down the pile to level ground and edged his way around it as if he were walking on broken bottles.

  Captain Elm stood, his back toward Tony, looking at the spot where the tunnel opening had been. This was now part of the face of shattered rock, marked only by a little cloud of settling dust.

  Tony raised his gun, sighted between the captain’s shoulder blades and tried to pull the trigger. He cursed himself in silent fury as his trigger finger refused to contract. Sweat stood out on his brow, and the gun wavered. He steadied his arm with his free hand.

  “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you!”

  Captain Elm flung himself aside, whirled and fired twice before he hit the ground. Something tugged at Tony’s left shoulder. He too leaped to one side and fired until his gun was empty.

  Two of his shots entered Captain Elm’s head. The others went wild, for the captain’s shots tore the flesh on Tony’s gun arm.

  He examined his own wounds as soon as quiet had fallen again, stuffed them with dried leaves and set off along the back trail to Laura. He left the dead captain lie, for he was afraid he might bleed to death if he didn’t find help. The bright track he left behind in dead brush and fallen trees strengthened this fear.

  He saw movement ahead—Bat Silver.

  “Bat!” Tony croaked. “We’ve won. Captain Elm is dead.”

  Bat slipped an arm around Tony as he started to fall.

  “We haven’t won,” Bat said, and gave a brief account of what had happened.

  “Then get Laura,” Tony ordered, pointing. “Can’t go back. Go away. Start own world. Can’t fight guard. Get Laura.”

  He dropped into semi-consciousness then, and remained in that state for what he later computed as about forty-eight hours. He had only dim impressions of Bat carrying him like a sack across one shoulder and supporting Laura with his free arm along a river and across brown earth.

  WHEN his senses returned, Bat and Laura were arguing.

  “Tony must have a doctor,” she said, “whatever the situation in camp.”

  “Well,” Bat said, carrying them both at the same time across a little ditch, “you know them guards. We ain’t very well armed, and besides, only two of us is good for shootin’.”

  “We’re going in. Tony will die if we don’t get his wounds dressed.”

  The jolting increased, and Tony went back into his stupor. He recovered sometime later in the hospital shack, a strange sound in his ears. Bat and Laura were seated on each side of his cot.

  The sound baffled Tony, but before he could identify it Washington Adams came in with a bowl of soup and everyone began talking at once.

  “Lemme spoon dis soup into you, yo’ honnuh.”

  “Tony! Tony, we’ve won!”

  “Yeah, Tony. Seems like they was too tired to know what I was talkin’ about. But with Captain Elm gone, they could sleep all they wanted. When they come to, they started to get it through their heads. So they put it up to the guard, an’ the guard says okay. So—”

  “So we been waitin’ two days fo’ you to git awake so’s we kin name you mayor, Mistuh Post, yo’ honnuh.”

  Tony broke in. “Two days? How can you tell? Did the earth begin—”

  “No, suh. Look!” Washington Adams pointed to a shelf.

  There was an alarm clock. One of its hands had been torn half away, but it told time; its busy clacking had been the sound which had bothered Tony.

  “Why, when dey brung it from a old house, Mistuh Post, it sho’ perked things up heah. Sho is fine knowin’ when is tomorrow!”

  RETURN OF A DEMON

  Richard S. Shaver

  Lantry wouldn’t have called up this demon if he had known its identity!

  ZEDRI-NESU, I command you, awaken—”

  The words came from Hilard Lantry’s lips in tones of infinite weariness. He tried to hold his body erect, his palms pressing heavily on the cool leathery pages of the yellowed book before him. He peered through lids that threatened to drop over his eyeballs despite his most desperate attempts to prevent.

  For an instant his gaze held waveringly on the grim effigy standing in the gloom before him. Faceless it was, cloaked in ebon-black, and almost formless. Yet it seemed partly human in an unholy way; tall, manlike—yet not a man. There was something terrifying in its alien repulsiveness, but Hilard Lantry seemed oblivious of any impression of terror. He fought only to keep his weary eyes open.

  “Awake—” he croaked again, then suddenly dropped his head in tired defeat. He slumped to his knees before the table on which lay the book.

  For a long time he knelt there, fatigued by his desperate fight against the weariness that pressed inexorably down upon him. Then he stumbled to his feet and fought his way from the darkened room, to the hallway beyond, and finally out into the brilliant sunshine of the front porch. There he slumped down into an easy chair.

  Sleep! Like a thick, black veil of cataleptic evil it cloaked his will, robbed him of volition, baffled his every physical effort. A bitter sob escaped his lips, and he cursed. How solve the problem of Zedri-Nesu if he couldn’t remain awake long enough to do it?

  The distant creak of wheels and clop of hoofs attracted his attention. Wearily he watched the approach of an old-fashioned buggy, drawn by a horse whose gait never varied from a methodical trot. Even from this distance he recognized the vehicle as that belonging to old Doctor Ludwig, who had treated him continually for his persistent exhaustion, an aftermath of the dread attack of sleeping-sickness that had changed the trend of his whole life.

  He watched without interest because he had long since lost hope that the good doctor could do anything to help him. All Ludwig’s drugs and potions had proven useless, or made his depression worse, and he had come to disdain them.

  It seemed an eternity of waiting until the doctor stood before him.

  “Good morning, doctor,” Lantry said listlessly.

  THE doctor’s pale blue eyes roved keenly over every feature of his patient’s lean, drawn face, noting the haggardness of the eyes, the moody set of his jaw, the lethargy of his bearing, and he shook his bearded gray-haired head in disapproval.

  “Hilard, you’ve been doing something to your
self!” he accused. “Your condition is worse. Much worse!”

  There was a flicker of animosity in Lantry’s eyes as he stared up at Ludwig, but it died. “What do I care?” he flared momentarily. “I’ve got to do something!”

  “Admitted,” replied Ludwig. “But not if it is injurious. And as your physician, I forbid—”

  “The only thing to which I can even partly apply my faculties!” finished Lantry bitterly.

  “You mean that demonology hobby of yours?” A frown lurked in the doctor’s eyes.

  Lantry rose heavily, gripped his arm. “Ludwig, I’ve run across a book—wait ’til you see it! It’s the strangest thing, and ancient! I’ve been translating it, and it’s truly incredible—”

  The momentary excitement in his voice faded, and his hand dropped wearily again. “If only I could make my brain really function!” he finished despondently. “Several passages elude me; passages that will be necessary to carry out properly—”

  He halted, biting his lip.

  “Hilard,” Ludwig said seriously. “You aren’t letting that hobby of yours get the best of you? You aren’t—” he hesitated a brief instant “—you aren’t beginning to believe in it?”

  “Wouldn’t you believe in fact?” asked Lantry.

  “You don’t call ancient demon books fact, do you?” Ludwig scoffed.

  “Not usually,” countered Lantry, “but when there’s something else—something . . .”

  He didn’t finish, and after an embarrassing silence the old doctor pressed the subject no further. Instead he cautiously launched another.

  “I met Rosella this morning,” he began. “She wants to see you.”

  “Rosella?” Lantry stiffened a bit and stared straight ahead.

  “Yes,” Ludwig went on. “Why haven’t you been to see her lately?”

  “It’s more her fault than mine,” said Lantry in subdued tones, the attitude of despair in his bearing suddenly becoming more pronounced. “She’s been cooling off—changing her mind.”

  “I can tell you why,” put in Ludwig suggestively.

  Lantry glanced at him morosely. “You don’t have to. I know as well as you do. And she’s right, too. What girl would want to marry a—a madman! That’s practically what it amounts to.”