Convoy to Atlantis

by William P. McGivern

  Within a hundred yards Brick heard a faint throbbing sound growing in volume. He had noticed it subconsciously when he had left the cell but now its sound was all around them, like the pulse of a mighty heart.

  It must mean they were nearing the region that housed the dynamos. As they passed intersecting corridors Brick began to gain a mental picture of the base. The docks and operating machinery would probably be centrally located, and it would be logical that the officers' quarters would be close to them. Then the main corridors angled away from this hub like the spokes of a huge wheel. The corridors they were intersecting were probably circular in shape, spreading out in gradually widening rings from the center or hub of the base.

  He noticed an increasing smell of oil in the warm air that further convinced him they were heading right for the center of the base. Nothing could be better. If they were going to accomplish anything in the way of delaying or destroying its workings, they would have to strike at its heart. "Let's take a side tunnel," Brick suggested. It had occurred to him that if the guards they had slugged stumbled out of the cell, he and Pop would be instantly visible to them.

  They turned off at the next corridor, moving swiftly, but cautiously. Not a second too soon— A hoarse cry sounded behind them, echoing loudly and clamorously through the tunnel-like corridors. Brick and Pop looked at one another apprehensively.

  A second later they heard the sound of running footsteps and shouted cries. Due to the acoustical peculiarity of the low corridors it was impossible to guess the origin of the sound. It seemed to break all around them, echoing up and down the length of the corridor. Brick hesitated. There was nothing to guide them or give them an inkling which way to turn. Around every corner lay danger. There was no more time left for deliberation or reasoning.

  "Come on," he snapped. "It's up to Lady Luck now."

  With Pop panting behind him they charged ahead through two intersections of the larger corridors that led to the center of the base.

  Their luck had been phenomenal so far, but they were helpless to take advantage of it. They were running blindly with no destination in mind.

  The glaringly illuminated corridors offered no place of concealment.

  And their luck couldn't hold forever. Suddenly a new, but unmistakable sound joined the babel of footsteps and voices that were closing on them.

  A muffled crack! sounded and Brick felt something hiss spitefully past his cheek. Jerking around he saw three Germans charging after them with drawn guns.

  Fortunately the next intersection was but a few feet away. Reaching it, Brick grabbed Pop by the arm jerked him roughly out of the line of fire into the temporary shelter afforded by the angle of the corridor.

  He pulled the Luger from his belt and fired two random shots at the oncoming Germans. It would slow them down he knew, give them a few seconds' start down the corridor in which they found themselves.

  With Pop at his side, he sprinted ahead, but it was not until they had covered a hundred feet that they saw their mistake. For the corridor ended abruptly a hundred yards ahead of them. It was a dead end. Brick flicked a helpless glance over his shoulder. There was no turning back now. They were trapped without a chance in the world to save themselves.

  He was still looking over his shoulder when he heard Pop's gun blast next to him. Turning he saw a German guard clutching his wrist and cursing wildly.

  "He just appeared out of thin air,” Pop said grimly.

  When they reached the man they saw that the corridor widened at its termination, forming a rectangular space which had concealed the sentry from their sight.

  Brick disarmed the guard swiftly. Then Pop was gripping his arm.

  "Look!" he cried, pointing.

  Brick followed his hand and saw that he was indicating the dead end of the corridor. Then he saw the reason for Pop's excitement. It wasn't a dead end, but a huge bronze door that blocked off the tunnel.

  Pop was already springing for the massive handle of the door, and Brick, with a slight twinge of conscience, jerked the guard around and slugged him in the jaw with a vicious eight-inch right.

  The German slumped in his arms with a sodden limp weight. Brick eased him to the floor and jumped to Pop's side. Tenths of seconds counted now.

  Pop turned the latch of the door and with Brick's help they jerked it open wide enough to slip through. A half dozen shots spattered viciously against the bronze of the door as they slammed it shut behind them. An automatic bolt clicked.

  Brick wheeled, stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened incredulously as they traveled over the unbelievable scene spreading before him.

  "Jeez!" Pop gasped hoarsely. "I— It ain't real, is it?"

  CHAPTER V

  In Atlantis

  For a timeless instant they stared in mute wonder at the vastness and majesty of the room.

  It was long and wide with an arched ceiling that sprang upward hundreds of feet in the air. The walls and floor were composed of some substance that gleamed like chalk-white marble. From the ceiling a soft, mellow luminance emanated, flooding the vast chamber with a radiant brilliance. The room was starkly empty, but it was this very emptiness that emphasized its breathtaking size and simplicity.

  An archway sloped down at the far end of the room, forming a corridor which led to another room, apparently identical with the one in which they were standing.

  Brick was the first to recover from the shock.

  "We've got to keep moving," he said. "This must be the unexplored region of Atlantis the captain mentioned."

  He mentioned Atlantis for the first time with complete credulity in his voice. It was impossible not to admit its existence when gazing at these magnificent white rooms completely unlike any architecture he had ever viewed.

  It was somewhat terrifying to realize, to accept the fact that he was standing in the halls of a race that had died twelve thousand years ago. A race whose memory was only a series of scattered legends and folk tales.

  Pop was still staring dumbly over the vast hall.

  "I don't believe it," he said weakly.

  Brick flashed a grim look at the bronze door as a faint muffled sound came to him.

  "Let's go," he hissed. "Our chums are just on the other side of that door."

  There was only one direction to run, and that was straight ahead through the large hall to the connecting archway, and then into the mysterious, unexplored caverns of ancient Atlantis.

  Brick flung a glance over his shoulder as they reached the archway that connected with the next room. The bronze door that separated them from the Germans was sagging inward at a drunken angle as they smashed into it with some sort of battering ram.

  They had covered the length of the second room before a crackling volley of shots told them that the Germans had broken through and were hot on their trail.

  Brick leaped to one side, into a passageway that connected with the second room. From the protective angle of the wall he reached out and dragged Pop in after him. But he wasn't soon enough.

  Pop stumbled and dropped to his knees, his hand clutching his shoulder. His face was twisted into an agonized mask, but no sound came through his locked jaw.

  Brick hauled him to his feet, as carefully as he could. He pulled Pop's hand away from the wound, saw that the bullet had bored through the flesh alongside the collarbone. Blood was welling from the small black hole, but it didn't look as if a bone had been hit.

  "I'm a long way from dead," Pop said grimly. "Let's get movin'."

  Brick glanced about, deciding swiftly. The passageway they were in was narrow and brightly lighted. It extended endlessly straight ahead of them. They would be as visible as shooting gallery ducks if they followed it, but there was no other course.

  "Come on, sailor," he snapped.

  Together they charged down the passage. The only sound for awhile was the pounding of their feet on the hard floor and their noisy, labored breathing in their ears. But within a hundred yards they heard the excited sh
out they had been expecting. Twisting about, Brick saw that the Germans had reached the intersection, had spotted them.

  Their situation was hopeless he knew, but something in him refused to quit. Pop was staggering along, obviously weakening from the loss of blood. He turned a desperate face to Brick.

  "You keep goin'," he wheezed. "I— I'll try and hold 'em for awhile."

  Brick hooked an arm about Pop's waist to keep him from falling.

  "The hell you will," he grated. "We go together or not at all."

  The Germans weren't shooting. Evidently they realized that their quarry was helpless and had decided to capture them alive.

  For another fifty feet Brick lunged on, almost carrying Pop's limp figure with his right arm. He could hear the Germans closing behind him, and he knew in seconds it would be over. But he kept on.

  Then, through the mist of sweat streaming into his eyes, he saw a narrow dark opening in the bright, white wall. It was a few feet wide, but it stretched from the floor to the ceiling. He was beyond deliberating or reasoning. Instinctively his tired legs drove toward the dark sanctuary. As he lunged into the passageway, a merciful, concealing blackness cloaked him. He dropped to his knees and eased Pop to the floor.

  He heard a sudden rattle of gunfire, and bullets plowing past the mouth of the dark corridor with a deadly hiss. Jerking the Luger from his pocket he fired hastily into the lighted corridor. The bullet struck the wall at an odd angle and he could tell from the startled yell of the German pursuers, that it had checked their reckless advance. But he knew the pause would only be temporary. Crawling to his feet, he hoisted Pop up and headed into the darkness. For fifty feet the corridor continued straight ahead and then he collided with a solid wall. Groping with his free hand he discovered that the tunnel connected with another which stretched to the left.

  Half carrying, half dragging Pop, he moved cautiously along the new tunnel for perhaps a hundred feet before he encountered another turn. He made more turns after that. How many he couldn't tell. Through the clammy blackness of the labyrinthine passages, he plodded on, interested only in putting distance between themselves and their pursuers.

  For minutes the only sound that broke the deep silence was the tired scuff of their boots; but dimly at first, and then with steadily increasing volume, he heard muffled cries echoing about him. It was difficult to locate exactly where they were emanating, but there was little doubt as to the possessors of the voices. The harsh guttural tones told him all too plainly that the Germans were following him into the black twisting corridor.

  Again, he collided with a solid substance. Extending his hand to the left he touched another wall. Turning right he lurched ahead—and stopped short, colliding again. For an instant he was unable to comprehend the situation. He groped about a semi-circle touching each wall again. It was only then that he realized they were helplessly trapped against a dead end in the black passageway.

  The silence was complete. His breathing sounded terribly loud and ragged in his ears. Behind him, faintly came the sound of shod feet moving cautiously. The hunters were closing in for the kill.

  Pop had been leaning against the wall that blocked the tunnel, and now he grabbed Brick's arm tensely.

  "Look," he said weakly. His voice was faint, but there was a note of excitement in it. "Here in the wall. I just found a hole."

  Brick dropped to his knees hurriedly, his hands moving over the surface of the stone. With Pop's hands to guide him, his fingers slipped into a narrow niche, about two inches wide and six inches long.

  With his right hand he probed into the opening. His fingers met a cold hard surface that was like steel to the touch.

  Frowning he sat back on his haunches. The niche had obviously been carved for some purpose, and its position, waist high on the wall, suggested a key hole of some sort.

  Key? His mind turned the idea over. A wild, screwy idea occurred to him, but for an instant he wavered indecisively. Then his jaw hardened.

  "Move aside, Pop," he whispered. "I'm going to fire a slug into this slit." He jerked the Luger from his belt, shoved it into the niche and pulled the trigger. In the narrow confines of the tunnel the detonation was deafening. He heard the bullet sprang into the metal-like plate in the crevice.

  He heard nothing else. He listened closely but the silence was complete and final. Even the cautious advance of the Germans had stopped. It had been a crazy hunch, but he felt a curious letdown. Such as a drowning man might experience watching the last straw bob away on the waves.

  A deep rumbling came from behind them, obliterating completely the slight sounds of the Germans' advance. It was as if the walls and ceiling had begun to vibrate crazily.

  "Brick," Pop hissed imperatively. "Look! On the floor."

  A thin pencil of pale light was spreading under their feet. A light that was like the illumination cast by a mellow candle. Incredulously Brick's eyes swung to the narrow crack from which the slender finger of light was emanating.

  The heavy stone wall which had blocked the corridor was rising slowly, and from the steadily growing aperture the pale light was pouring.

  "What in the name of the forty blue blazes!'' Pop muttered feebly.

  Brick rallied first.

  "Come on,” he snapped. "We're not licked yet. If we can get out of here before the Germans spot us we've got a chance."

  When the aperture was three feet high, he ducked low and crawled under the slowly rising wall. Pop scrambled after, grunting painfully. They straightened up together. And together their mouths dropped open in blank, stunned amazement.

  They stood in a small room furnished with nothing save a small couch against one wall. But it was not the room, or its pale illumination that shocked them into incredulous silence.

  It was a girl!

  A tall slender girl dressed in a loose, white garment stood in the center of the room facing them. Her skin was as clear and as pale as fine white marble. Brilliant silver hair swept back from her high smooth brow and rippled over her head and down to her shoulders in long gleaming waves. The only color in the face was in the slight rose tint of her lips and in the dark welling pools of her eyes.

  Brick let out his breath explosively. Never in his life had he seen such weird, exotic, completely compelling beauty.

  There was a puzzled, uncertain expression on the girl's beautifully regular features. She took a hesitant step toward them, revealing in the motion the supple feminine curves of her lithe body.

  Her startlingly dark eyes moved from one to the other, doubtfully, questioningly. Then she spoke. Her voice was low and clear and the words sounded like the gentle murmur of a quiet stream over mossy rocks.

  "What's she sayin'?" Pop asked dazedly.

  Brick shook his head.

  "I don't get it. Sounds something like Polynesian but that's all I can make out."

  Pop glanced behind him. The wall had stopped rising, revealing an opening about eight feet high and some six feet wide.

  "We can't stop here," he said anxiously. "Them Germans ain't far away right now."

  The girl looked at him as he spoke but there was no understanding in her face. Brick looked helplessly at her. In her haunting dark eyes there was an uncertainty and bewilderment that tugged at him powerfully.

  But he had no more time to worry about that. For a harsh shout rang out from the blackness of the tunnel they had left, and simultaneously the deadly rattle of machine-gun fire shattered the silence into a million stuttering pieces. Steel jacketed bullets hissed through the tunnel opening and spattered spitefully against the far wall of the room.

  The girl was almost in the direct line of fire. Pop hurled himself to the floor and scuttled crab-like to the protecting angle to the wall.

  "Get down you fool," he shouted shrilly to Brick.

  But Brick was springing toward the girl. He knew if he didn't get her out of the way she would be cut down like a flower before a scythe by the vicious hail of lead. Reaching her side, he saw terror in
her dark eyes. But strangely, there was understanding there too, as if she realized he meant to help her.

  Her body was limp in his arms as he lifted her off her feet and sprang to the side of the room. Even in the bedlam of noise and danger he was conscious of her deep, liquid eyes on him.

  The deafeningly loud rattle of machine-gun fire continued, the bullets lacing a criss-cross pattern of perforations against the wall. Finally it stopped and a guttural voice called out:

  "Come out with your hands up please. We will give you till the count of ten. Then we will use grenades!"

  Brick felt a cold perspiration break out on his face. One grenade in a room that small would blow them all into a million pieces. He glanced at Pop. The old man was crouched in a corner, white-faced.

  Outside he could hear the slow methodical count.

  "Four, Five, Six ."

  "Look!" Pop hissed suddenly. His finger was pointing excitedly at the side wall. Brick looked and saw a door, so perfectly flitted that it had been invisible, swinging open. Then, through the doorway, stepped a man.

  A small, slender, gray-haired man with a keen, alert face and very dark eyes, the silver-haired girl at Brick's side leaped to her feet, a fervent exclamation escaping her lips. She ran to the side of the gray-haired man and embraced him. Swift, low words passed breathlessly between them. "Eight nine—“

  Brick sprang to his feet. There was only one second between them and eternity. He grabbed the silver-haired girl by the arms, spun her around. For a terrible, split second she stared at him bewilderedly; but then some of his desperation must have imparted itself to her, for she turned and with one swift word to the gray-haired man led the way to the door.

  Brick leaped after her, Pop behind him. The gray headed man started to close the door.

  "Ten!"

  Brick hurled his shoulder against the door, slamming it shut. A muffled explosion sounded beyond it and he felt the door shudder under the impact. His shoulder ached at the jar, but he knew that for the time being they were safe.