CHAPTER XXXI.
ESCAPE!
Quick as thought, at sound of the imperative summons and sight of thelevelled weapons, Gabriel swept up most of the papers and crammed theminto the breast of his loose flannel shirt, then dashed the lamp to thefloor, extinguishing it. The room grew dark, for now the fire had burneddown to hardly more than glowing coals.
There was no panic; the men did not curse, neither did the women scream.As though the tactic had already been agreed on, Craig tipped the tableup, making a kind of barricade; and over it Grantham's revolver,snatched from his belt, spat viciously.
It all happened in a moment.
The foremost spy grunted, coughed and plunged forward. As he fell, hefired his terrible weapon.
The bullet--a small, thin metal shell, filled with a secret chemical andliquid oxygen--went wild. It struck the wall, some feet to the left ofthe fireplace, and instantly the wood burst into vivid flame. Fleshwould crisp to nothing, solid stone would crumble, metal would gutterand run down, under that awful incandescence.
Again Grantham's revolver barked, while Bevard tugged at his own, whichhad unaccountably got stuck in its holster. But this second shot missed.And even as Grantham's bullet snicked a long splinter from thedoor-jamb, the second spy fired.
Brevard's choking cry died as the gushing flame enveloped him. Hestaggered, flung up both arms and fell stone dead, the life seared cleanout of him, as a lamp sears a moth.
Gasping, blinded, the others scattered; and for the third time--whilethe room now glowed with this unquenchable blossoming of flame--Granthamshot.
The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire. Up past the lintel streamedthe burning swirl. Mute and annihilated, his charred body dropped besidethat of his mate.
The total time from challenge to complete victory had not exceeded tenseconds.
"I exploded some of his cartridges!" choked Grantham. shielding his wifefrom the glare, while Gabriel protected Catherine.
"His--his cartridge belt!" gasped Craig.
"Yes! And now, out--out of here!"
"Brevard? We must save his body!" cried Gabriel, pointing.
"Impossible!" shouted Grantham. "That hellish compound will burn forhours! And in three minutes this whole place will be a roaring furnace!Out of here--out--away! We must save the hangar, at all hazards!"
Against their will, but absolutely unable to approach the nowwildly-roaring fire on the floor that marked the spot where Brevard hadfallen in the Battle with Plutocracy, the comrades quickly retreated.
Raging fire now hemmed them on three sides. Their only avenue of escapewas through the eastern windows, eight or ten feet above the ground.Hastily snatching up such of the plans and papers as he had not alreadysecured--and some of these already were beginning to smoke and turnbrown, in the infernal heat--Gabriel shielded Catherine's retreat. Theothers followed.
Craig and Grantham first jumped from the windows, then caught Mrs.Grantham and Catherine as Gabriel helped them to escape. He himself wasthe last to leave the room, now a raging furnace. Together they all ranfrom the building, and none too soon; for suddenly the roof collapsed, atremendous burst of crackling flames and sheaved sparks leaped highabove the tree-tops, and the walls came crashing in.
In the welter of incandescence, where now only the stone chimneystood--and this, too, was already cracking and swaying--Brevard hadfound his tomb, together with the two Air Trust spies. All thatpleasant, necessary place was now a mass of white-hot ruin; all thosebooks and pictures now had turned to ash.
The five remaining comrades paused by the hangar, and looked mournfullyback at the still-leaping volcano of destruction.
"Poor Brevard! Poor old chap!" said Craig. He peered at the women.Neither one was crying--they were not that type--but both were pale.
"I don't feel that way," said Gabriel. "Brevard is not to be pitied.He's to be envied! He died in the noblest war we can conceive--the warfor the human race! And his last act was to take part in a battle thatstamped out two vipers, Air Trust spies, who would have joyed to burn usall alive!"
The spy's body burst into a sheaf of fire.]
"Thank God, I got the Hell-hounds!" muttered Craig. "Two less of Slade'sinfamous army, anyhow." Though Gabriel knew it not, the first one tofall was the same who had battled with him in the trap at Rochester, thesame who had trailed him when he, Gabriel, had left the Federal pen. Soone score, at least, was settled.
"They're gone, anyhow," said Gabriel, "and five of us still live--andI've still got the plans and all. Moreover, the monoplanes are safe. Thequicker we get away from here, now, the better. Away, and to our lastremaining refuge near Port Colborne, on the shores of Lake Erie. OtherAir Trust forces may be here, before morning. We must get away!"
A frightful shock awaited them when, entering the hangar--eager now toescape at once from the scene of the tragedy--they beheld theiraeroplanes.
By the ruddy light which shone in through the wide doors, from the fire,they saw long strips and tatters of canvas hanging from the 'planes.
"Smashed! Broken! Wrecked!" cried Gabriel, starting back aghast.
The others stared. Only too true; the monoplanes were practicallydestroyed. Not only had the spies, before attacking the refuge, slashedthe 'planes to rags, but they had also partly dismantled the motors.Bits of machinery lay scattered on the floor of the hangar.
Stunned and unable to gather speech or coherent thought, the fiveSocialists stood staring. Then, after a moment, Craig made shift toexclaim bitterly:
"A good job, all right! The curs must have got in at the window, andspent an hour in this work. Whatever happened, they didn't intend weshould have any means of retreat--for of course it's out of the questionfor anybody to get away from here through the forest over the ridgesand down the cliffs!"
"They meant to trap us, this way, that's certain," added Gabriel. "Theresurely will be others of the same breed, here before morning. They mustnot find us here!"
"But Gabriel, how shall we escape?" asked Catherine, her face illuminedby the leaping flames of the bungalow.
"How! In their own machine! The machine that Slade and the Air Trustsecret-service gave them, to come here and catch or murder us!"
"By the Almighty! So we will!" cried Grantham. "Come on, let's find it!"
The little party hurried off toward the landing-ground, a cleared andlevelled space further up the mountainside. The light of the burningbungalow helped show them their path; and Craig had also taken anelectric flash-lamp from the hangar. With this he led the way.
"Right! There it is!" suddenly exclaimed Gabriel, pointing. Craigpainted a brush of electric light over the vague outlines of the AirTrust machine, a steel racer of the latest kind.
"A Floriot biplane," said he. "Will hold two and a passenger. Familiartype. I guess all of us, here, can operate it."
They all--even the women--could. For you must understand that after theGreat Massacres had foreshown the only possible trend the Movement couldtake, practically all the leaders in the work had studied aeronautics,also chemistry, as most essential branches of knowledge in theinevitable war.
"Two, and a passenger," repeated Gabriel, as though echoing Craig'swords. "Who goes first?"
"You!" said Grantham. "You and Catherine, with Craig to bring themachine back. You're needed, now, at the front--imperatively needed.Freda and I," gesturing at his wife, "will hold the fort, here--willkeep watch over our dead, over poor old Brevard, the first to fall inthis great, final battle!"
A spirited argument followed. Gabriel insisted on being left for thesecond trip. A compromise was made by having him get the two women outof danger, at once, leaving Craig and Grantham on the mountain.
"I'll send Hazen or Keyes back with the 'plane, for you," said he, as heclimbed into the driving seat, after the passengers had been stowed."That will be tomorrow night. Of course, we daren't fly by day. Andmind," he added, adjusting his spark and throttle, "mind you meet mewith this very same machine, safe and sound, at the Lake
Erie refuge!"
"Why this same machine?" inquired Craig.
"Why? Because I intend to use this, and no other, in the final attack.Could poetic justice be finer than that the Air Trust works be destroyedwith the help of one of their own 'planes?"
No more was said, save brief good-byes. Those were times whendemonstrativeness, whether in life or death, was at a discount. Ahand-clasp and a few last instructions as to the time and place ofmeeting, sufficed. Then Gabriel pressed the button of the self-starterand opened the throttle.
With a sudden gusty chatter, the engine caught. A great wind sprang up,from the roaring, whirling blades. The Floriot rolled easily forward,speeded up, and gathered headway.
Gabriel suddenly rotated the rising-plane. The great gull soared,careened and took the air with majestic power. The watchers on themountain-side saw its hooded lights, that glowed upon its compass andbarometric-gauge, slowly spiralling upward, ever upward, as Gabrielclimbed with his two passengers.
Then the lights sped forward, northward, in a long tangent, and, as theyswiftly diminished to mere specks, the echo of a farewell hail drifteddownward from the black and star-dusted emptiness above.
Craig turned to Grantham, when the last gleam of light had faded in aswift trajectory.
"God grant they reach the last remaining refuge safely!" said he, withdeep emotion. "And may their flight be quick and sure! For the fate ofthe world, its hope and its salvation from infinite enslavement, arewhirling through the trackless wastes of air, to-night!"
Air Trust Page 32