by Anthology
“What happened to Barry?” Linda demanded desperately.
McGregor stared at her and ran a hand through his coarse matted hair.
“I don’t know,” he said huskily. “One guess would be that the tribe which killed that monster captured Barry and carried him off.”
“Why do you say tribe?” Allerton asked.
“No one person,” McGregor answered grimly, “could possibly have killed that beast. It’s almost too much to believe that a hundred men could do it.”
“In that case,” Allerton said, “I suggest we get back to the time ship as quickly as possible. We aren’t prepared to meet a tribe of savage aboriginals.”
“We’re goin’ ahead!” McGregor snapped. “Barry Rudd may be still alive, and as long as there’s that chance, we aren’t turning back. Make up your mind to that, everyone!”
Allerton shrugged. “You’re the boss,” he said.
McGregor glanced down at Upton’s still body, then said to the two crew members,
“Get your shovels out. We’ve got a job to do before we go on . . .
The service at Upton’s shallow grave was brief. McGregor turned from the unmarked bier, his heavy features working. There were unashamed tears in his eyes. Only for an instant did he show the emotion he felt. As he swung his pack to his shoulder his jaw had hardened and the light of battle was in his eyes.
“Come on,” he growled, making for the opposite side of the clearing where the green wall of the jungle rose forebodingly.
The rest of the party followed him without hesitation. Allerton and the two crew members gripped their revolvers in their hands and their eyes swept the brush with increased caution.
With McGregor hacking a way for them, the party forced their way deeper and deeper into the dank forest. The immense shoots of brush shot up fifty and seventy-five feet above their heads and the rising sun filtered through the mossy leaves with a pale flickering light. The floor of the jungle was matted and soggy and the tangled swampy underbrush was almost as impenetrable as rusted clusters of barbed wire.
Perspiration streamed down McGregor’s broad face and his boots sunk a full six inches into the rotting slimy vegetation that packed the forest ground. His shoulders worked rhythmically as the heavy three-foot knife in his hands swung back and forth, cleaving a swath through the stifling thorny underbrush.
Linda struggled on in his wake. Her bare legs were scratched in a dozen places by the thorny trailers which she brushed against. Her small jaw was set grimly as she forged silently ahead . . .
It was almost noon and they had been on the march for six hours before McGregor halted. The steaming jungle was as hot as an inferno and the blazing sun at zenith poured a barrage of intolerable heat over them. But it was not because of this that McGregor stopped. Some sixth sense carried a subtle warning to his nerves.
As the small party halted, the big Scotchman turned and swept the silent brooding jungle with worried eyes. He had the feeling that they were not alone, that they were being watched by alien eyes.
“Seen any sign of life?” he asked Allerton.
Allerton shook his head. “I haven’t seen or heard a thing,” he said.
McGregor still paused uncertainly. The feeling was strong, but there was nothing in the way of concrete evidence to support it. Finally he shrugged and resumed the slow, painful work of hacking a trail through the jungle brush.
He had not covered more than ten yards when he caught sight of something gleaming through the green swampy tangle of shrubs. The shining reflection of light was directly in front of them, not more than fifty yards away.
McGregor approached cautiously, but when he had covered half the distance to the strange object he let out a jubilant whoop.
“Luck’s with us,” he cried, turning to Linda. “We’ve found your father’s time ship.”
Electrified, Linda halted. Then, with a cry, she stumbled forward, following as closely behind McGregor as possible. They reached the time ship almost together and the others were right on their heels.
The time ship was small, eight feet long, six feet high, a slender glistening ovoid, a miniature replica of the one in which they had just spanned the gulf of time. Now, covered with trailers and scraggling brush it looked as amazingly out of place as a dinosaur would in a formal park of the two-hundred and fiftieth century.
It had obviously been deserted for days for the lush, swiftly growing jungle had crept up, wrapping tentacles and limp leaves about it in a camouflaging embrace. Only a stray glimmer of light had caught McGregor’s eyes. Had he missed this they might have passed within twenty feet of the machine without being aware of its existence.
McGregor chopped through the encircling brush and jerked open the door of the machine. The interior of the ship was empty. He stepped into the ship and flicked on the lights. One sweeping glance of inspection showed him that everything in the ship was in perfect order. No signs of a disturbance. He noticed a small can of concentrated vitafood and two plates resting on a table near the wall.
Everything indicated that the professor and his assistant had left the ship intending to return but quite obviously they hadn’t.
Linda had followed him into the ship and as he turned he saw the misery on her face and the expression of wordless despair in her eyes.
“Don’t give up, yet,” he said. “There’s still a chance of finding your father and we won’t quit as long as there is a chance.”
“You said that of Barry,” Linda said hopelessly.
“And I mean it,” McGregor said grimly. “I don’t quit easily. Right now I’m going to scour this ship from top to bottom to see if I can find a clue as to where your father was heading for. You better wait outside. There isn’t room in here for both of us to turn around in.”
When the girl had left, McGregor dropped to his knees and rummaged through the small compact drawers, making guesses as to what equipment and clothes were missing. Then he inspected the delicate machinery with a keen practiced eye.
After a complete inspection of all the multiple devices necessary to time navigation and a careful look at the energy tubes, he rose to his feet, a worried frown cutting a furrow over his eyes.
For a long moment he stood still, hands jammed into his pockets.
He was thinking. It was a process which he generally did not bother much about, but now it was forced on him. He had learned something—something ugly and disagreeable, and its implications affected the safety of what was left of his party.
A grim hardness settled along his heavy jaw and a dangerous gleam of anger frosted in his eyes, as he realized what he must do.
He wheeled and stepped toward the door of the ship, but before he reached it a shrill cry sounded—the terrible, marrow-chilling scream of a woman in mortal fear. It was followed by a bestial chorus of hoarse roaring shouts, and the swift rush of heavy feet.
McGregor’s big hands balled into fists as he sprang through the door of the ship. Linda and Allerton and the crew members were fighting for their lives against a dozen shaggy, savage cave men, who had apparently materialized from the brooding emptiness of the jungle.
One sweeping glance stamped this scene on his mind, then he was leaping forward into the fray, a hoarse battle yell springing from his throat.
The cave men attackers were huge, massively muscled creatures, with lustful piggish eyes and slanting foreheads covered with coarse matted hair. Loin clothes of animal skin were their only covering, the rest of their haircovered hides being naked.
In their hands they carried thick clubs, studded with sharp rocks bound into place with leather thongs. The leader of the savage horde, a roaring giant of a man, carried a peculiar hammer-shaped club, formed by a huge shining rock set in the forked end of a stout stick. As this sub-human beast leaped toward one of the crew members, he swung the hammer in a glittering arc above his head.
McGregor sprang at the massive brute who was struggling with Linda. With the force of a pile driver his mallet-l
ike fist crashed into the bestial creature’s face. The blow caught the cave man by surprise. With a hoarse grunt of pain he sprawled to the ground, his slavering jaw hanging queerly.
Jerking his gun from his belt McGregor shot the man before he could arise. With a protecting arm around Linda’s shoulders the big Scotchman swung the deadly muzzle of the gun about to cover the remainder of the attacking horde.
But before he could fire the giant leader of the band reached the crew member, who faced him desperately. The swinging, blazing hammer descended in a blinding arc, striking the crew member a terrible blow.
Instantly the hammer head seemed to explode, great lances of brilliant light forked out and a rending, ear splitting detonation shattered the air. The crew member was hurled to the ground by the force of the blast, his whole torso blackened and charred by the fiery fury of the strange weapon.
With a hoarse scream of triumph the giant cave man sprang over the lifeless body, the hammer swinging again.
McGregor fired frantically at his lunging figure but his electrical pellets were wide of their mark. Other cave men were rushing at him and he swung the gun about and blazed directly into their midst. Some stumbled and went down, black holes bored through their heads and bodies, but the rest charged relentlessly at him, their small, piggish eyes glaring with a murderous rage.
To his left McGregor heard another burst of thunderous noise and he could feel the scorching heat of the strange weapon singeing his clothes.
The butt of the gun in his hand was dangerously hot, but there was nothing to do but keep firing. Then it happened. His finger closed on the trigger and the gun did not respond. It had jammed or burned out. With a curse McGregor hurled the gun straight into the face of the nearest charging cave man. He swung Linda behind him and lashed out with his fists. The suddenness of this new attack bewildered the savage attackers for an instant. Two of them sprawled to the ground under the sledge hammer blows of his swinging fists, before they reorganized their ranks and charged in a tight unified body.
A club struck his forehead driving him to his knees, but still he fought. Blood was streaming into his eyes and his arms seemed as heavy as anchors but his indomitable will kept them pumping, slugging, flailing even as the irresistible wave of huge bodies swept over him crushing him to the earth.
He heard Linda scream, then another blast of sound enveloped him, driving every last vestige of will and consciousness from his mind. It was the last he remembered.
Chapter V
Human Sacrifice?
Barry Rudd regained consciousness slowly. It was like emerging gradually from darkness to light. One instant he was falling, deliberately and inevitably, but slowly, like an aimlessly drifting feather, through foggy darkness; then as his senses cleared he felt the air rushing against his cheeks and he realized that he was dropping as swiftly as a plummet.
His eyes were closed but he could feel the claw-like grips on his shoulders, and hear a mighty thunder of driving wings over his head. Memory returned to him then. With dreadful clarity he recalled the onslaught of the monster, the death of Upton, the incredible attack of the bird-girls, his own black-out.
These fleeting, lightning-swift realizations flashed across his mind, almost too quickly for assimilation.
Before he had time to appreciate their implications, his feet scraped a hard surface, the grips on his shoulders released, and he plunged forward on his face.
The jarring fall brought him back to full consciousness. Opening his eyes he saw that he was lying in the center of what appeared to be a large, rock-floored valley. This impression was dispelled when he struggled to a sitting position and saw a vast domed ceiling extending cone-shaped to a small opening hundreds of feet above his head. Through this round opening in the ceiling daylight poured, illuminating the vast hall with a hazy, imperfect light.
A slight sound behind him attracted his attention. Turning, he saw two of the slender, imperious bird-girls regarding him with their emotionless black eyes.
It was obvious that they had brought him to this strange place after killing the monstrous jungle reptile, but their motive for doing so was completely incomprehensible to him. Why had they brought him here? Why had they saved his life in the first place?
These questions were burning in his mind as he studied the incredible bird-girls, but he realized that he was not to learn the answers, at least for a while. For the bird-girls were preparing to leave.
A swift look flashed between them, an unspoken decision was reached and one of the girls leaped into the air, her great wings drumming mightily as she soared upward, circling toward the opening at the apex of the ceiling.
Entranced, Barry followed the bird-girl’s slim graceful form as it flashed above him, in ever-ascending circles. As she reached the round opening her slim body with outspread wings was silhouetted for an instant against the streaming light—then she was gone.
The other girl leaped into the air, but the drumming of her wings was drowned out by another sound that broke suddenly in the vast, vaulted chamber.
The new sound was a hoarse cry, shouted by dozens of roaring, raging voices. Barry twisted and saw that from a number of narrow niches in the walls, men were pouring. Men with thick, hairy chests, mighty arms and legs and sloping bestial foreheads. In their hands were primitive clubs and stone axes. As this terrifying horde charged forward, their long arms swung before them, knuckles grazing the ground, and their hoarse voices rose in a raging, demoniacal scream.
Barry was too stunned by their terribly swift appearance to do anything but helplessly watch, but the bird-girl’s wings beat the air violently and frantically as she heard the soul-chilling chorus of their voices.
Barry saw her flash a terrified glance over her shoulder. Fear was stamped on her proud lean features and her savage dark eyes flashed like those of a trapped animal.
She was almost twenty feet above the ground and gaining altitude with every second, but the raging horde of savage men were redoubling their speed. The concentration of the pack was centered on the flying girl, their howling scream seemed to be directed against her and none of them paid any attention to Barry.
When the leaders of the horde reached the spot they apparently realized that the girl was beyond their reach, for their screams of rage doubled in volume and they leaped futilely into the air, flecks of froth drooling over their tusk-like teeth.
One of them drew back his arm and flung his club wildly into the air, but it was wide of its mark. The bird-girl was almost fifty feet above their heads, flying frantically for the narrow aperture at the ceiling that meant escape and freedom.
The action of this one savage was a signal to the others. Almost immediately the rest of the pack were hurling their clubs into the air and screaming with disappointment as the missiles missed their mark.
Barry found himself tensely praying that the girl would make her escape. For some unknown reason she had befriended him and, for an equally unknown reason, these monsters were enraged at her.
It was just at the moment that she seemed certain of escape that it happened. She was wheeling in a narrow circle, her great wings extended to their fullest spread, when a stone axe, spinning through the air with incredible speed, slashed into her right wing.
Her thin cry of pain went through Barry like a knife. A roar of bestial exultation sprang from the horde as the bird-girl fell toward the ground, her uninjured wing beating mightily in a desperate but futile attempt to check her fall. The injured wing, hung at a sharp angle, broken and helpless.
When her slim swiftly dropping body struck the rocky floor, a half dozen of the pack leaped for her, clubs raised. Had she moved she would probably have been battered to death at the same instant, but her body was motionless, lying limply on the ground, one splendid wing thrown wide, the other, shrunken and twisted, folded close to her.
For a second the pack hesitated, then they dropped their clubs and after a moment of fierce guttural babbling among themselves, they pick
ed up the bird-girl’s limp form and started away with it.
At the same instant the remainder of the horde swung on Barry. He had been expecting this and, with an effort he rose to one knee, resolved to die fighting. But the intentions of the savage pack were not murderous. Ignoring his feeble resistance two of the burly creatures grabbed his arms, two others grabbed his legs and they lifted him from the ground and carried him after the cluster of savages who were bearing the bird-girl.
Across the wide rocky floor and into one of the narrow niches, which was actually a small hallway leading off the larger room, they carried him. Illumination was provided by torches of blazing ropes which were stuck into the walls, casting a smoky flickering light over the dim musty passageway.
For several moments the pack of brutish, ragged men tramped on in stolid silence, the shuffling tramp of their feet being the only sound to disturb the clammy stillness. Then the passageway widened out and merged with a larger room, hung with imperfectly treated hides and floor coverings of matted rope. The low ceiling was burned black from the guttering of smoke from the many blazing torches and several primitive couches of stone were set against the rock walls.
Barry was deposited without ceremony on one of these couches and the men turned and filed out of the room, the muffled tramp of their footsteps gradually fading away into silence.
Alone, Barry sat up carefully and examined his leg and hip. The bruise was still painful, but the throbbing had stopped and he was satisfied that no bones were broken. Then he stood up and inspected the rude room. A quick glance was all that was required for this. There were no openings or windows, but in the corners he saw narrow crevices through which the smoke was drawn from the room. These flues helped but little. Great clouds of dirty smoke seemed to congeal in the middle of the room and hang there like some evil spectre.
He had completed his brief examination of the quarters when he heard a sound behind him. Turning quickly he gave a gasp of pure relief.