100 Fathoms Under

by John Blaine

  “But it’s incredible,” Gordon exclaimed. “It . . . it’s inhuman!”

  “”That doesn’t seem to bother Turk,” Hartson Brant said dryly.

  Zircon shook his head. “History is full of tales of many more than seven persons being sacrificed for less treasure than lies out there.”

  Rick turned and stared at the jungle. “Why can’t we do something? Maybe we could turn the dragon god over to them in exchange for our safety . . .”

  “No chance,” Chahda said. “Look!”

  The boat had reached the trawler. Digger Sears had climbed to the deck and was carrying the mortar to an open spot on their side of the ship!

  “Back to the jungle,” Scotty shouted. “He’s going to fire!”

  “Otera!”Rick gasped. “We’ll have to move him!” He ran for the tent, Scotty, Chahda, and Zircon close behind him. They picked up the cot and carried it like a stretcher, trotting to the jungle.

  “This is far enough,” Gordon said as they reached the tabu line. “Drop flat, everyone.”

  Rick looked into the damp, jungle maze, almost a solid wall of foliage,then he looked out at the trawler. They were caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, all right.

  He saw Digger do something to a shell, then drop it into the barrel. There was a chugging cough as the mortar went off, silence as the shell arched high into the air, then a roar as it exploded at the water’s edge, blasting coral and water into the air.

  “Ranging shot,” Scotty said grimly.

  Not until then did Rick realize the purpose of the gunnery. Of course Turk would want no signs of shrapnel in case their bodies were found by a searching party. He was going to destroy the dragon god, to make sure the natives would carry out his plan!

  The mortar coughed again, spewing out another shell. There was a pause, then the crash of the explosion.

  Rick sucked in his breath. The dragon god toppled from the pedestal, a torn and twisted mass of metal!

  CHAPTER XV

  The Drums of Kwangara

  “Anyone hurt?” Hartson Brant called.

  No one was, although a few pieces of shrapnel had hissed through the air above them.

  They got to their feet as the trawler got under way.

  “Turk doesn’t want to be too close to land, looks like,” Rick said.

  Chahda grinned. “Turk afraid if he stays close, maybe natives swim out to visit.”

  Scotty held up a warning hand. “Listen!”

  There was the sound of many people crashing through the jungle foliage, and the sound was coming toward them! They picked upOtera’s cot and carried it back to the tent, then faced the jungle, waiting. In a moment there were outraged cries, but no native showed himself.

  “They ran at the first explosion,” Gordon guessed. “Now they’re just finding out that the dragon god has been wrecked.”

  Rick waited tensely, but although the shouts increased as the natives cried out their grief and rage, he saw none of them.

  Presently the noise died and the jungle grew quiet again, but not for long. Far inland a rhythmic booming began. It was picked up from somewhere to the south, and it echoed and re-echoed until the whole island seemed to throb.

  “It’s coming closer,” Scotty said.“Sounds like they have two or three drums in different places. They’re bringing them together-here.”

  From the east, the roll of thunder crashed in answer to the ceremonial drums.

  “Even nature is helping out,” Zircon said.

  Rick looked up at a sky dark with heavy clouds. It was already twilight, much earlier than usual because of the growing storm.

  The throbbing drums reached a point several hundred feet away from the peninsula and came no closer. But now their deep, booming rhythm was augmented by a chant that began on a low note and gradually climbed the scale until it beat against the eardrums almost painfully.

  “They’re getting up steam,” Gordon said. “Probably working themselves to a frenzy on palm wine and religious ceremony. They’ll need to be plenty worked up before they break the tabu, but they’ll do it before the night is over.”

  “And we’ve nothing to stop them,” Rick said. He could visualize savage brown men pouring over the camp in an irresistible tide, their spears rising and falling;

  “Gentlemen,” Hartson Brant said quietly, “we’ve long boasted that the mind always wins over force. Now, I think, we must prove it. We must put our minds to work and create a weapon. Not one of the usual sort, perhaps, not a weapon of violence.”

  “A weapon of science,” Rick exclaimed.“But what?”

  Chahda laughed.“Must be something.Would not sound good at home, if maybe papers had to say ‘famousmens of science meet match inigno . . .igno -runt natives.

  The others laughed with him, and Zircon clapped a big hand on the Hindu boy’s shoulder. “We’ve been in tight spots before this, haven’t we?”

  “I propose we start by making an inventory of everything in camp,” Gordon said.

  “Something may suggest itself.”

  “Good idea,” Hartson Brant agreed. “Rick, you and Scotty make a list of everything in the tents. Hobart and I will look through the power equipment. Chahda can help Gordon look through the supply boxes.”

  “Don’t miss anything,” Gordon warned. “You never know what might suggest

  something.”

  The party hurried to the appointed places and rapidly went through their belongings and camping equipment. Rick took notes as Scotty dictated, and all the while he was conscious of the steady, ominous beat of the Kwangara drums. Sometimes the chanting rose to a shouting crescendo that throbbed in waves against his ears.

  They took their list out to where Hartson Brant and Hobart Zircon waited, and in a moment Gordon and Chahda joined them. Rick looked from the jungle to the cloudy sky, and then out to where the trawler rode serenely 1,000 feet offshore. The trawler lights twinkled like inviting beacons. They were the only lights. The camp was growing indistinct in the waning light, and the black wall of the jungle seemed to press closer.

  Hartson Brant shot a flashlight on the paper he held. “Illread our own list first. We have four batteries, fully charged, one gasoline-operated battery charger, one five-gallon tin of gasoline, one empty tin, about 100 feet of heavy wire, one converter, one set of tools, one water bag with ten gallons of water.”

  The list Rick and Scotty had compiled was mostly clothes and personal stuff. It included two jackknives, assorted clothing, two tents with poles and steel pegs, six cots with pads and mosquito nets, four flashlights, one sledge hammer,one box of cartridges for Scotty’s rifle.

  Gordon and Chahda reported one case of rations, badly depleted; one electric cooking unit, one electric percolator, two first-aid and medicine kits, a pressure spray gun and a supply of powdered DDT, unused, one can of surplus fluoride powder, one ultraviolet sterilizer, both unused.

  “How about shocking them?” Scotty asked. “If we could replace the tabu wire with something that carried an electric charge. . . .”

  “Not practicable,” Zircon said.“For two reasons. We haven’t enough wire to be thorough, and if they started to rush us, only the first few would be shocked. The weight of bodies would break the wire down. No, that isn’t what we’re looking for, Scotty. I

  think we need something that will play on their superstitious fears.”

  “That’s what I think,” Gordon agreed. “Even if they’re worked up to a pitch where they’ll violate the tabu, they’ll still be a little afraid. We must play on that fear.”

  Rick had been thinking of an incident during the moon rocket experiment. The paint used by the enemy gang to keep in touch with a traitor on theSpindriftIsland staff, by means of a sign on an old barn visible from the tidal flats, had been fluorescent.

  “Dismal, the pup, got into the paint,” Rick said aloud. “Then, under Barby’s ultraviolet sun lamp, he glowed blue!”

  “And scared Barby half to death,” Scotty added. �
�Golly, Rick, maybe you’ve got something!”

  “Hold it,” Hartson Brant ordered. “Before we say any more, let’s think about Rick’s suggestion. We have fluoride powder and we have the ultraviolet sterilizer. How should we use them?”

  Rick sat down on the ground, his legs tucked under him. He stared at the lights on the trawler and tried hard to concentrate. Behind him were the drums, throbbing endlessly.

  The rhythm beat around him like a tangible force, making it hard to think. If the natives broke the tabu, they should be punished . . . but punished with fluoride powder?

  “All right, let’s hear your ideas,” Hartson Brant said.

  Zircon spoke up, his voice booming out over the sound of the drums. “Could we cover ourselves with the powder,then fluoresce with the aid of the sterilizer lamp? The natives would then be confronted with a group of ghostly figures.”

  Gordon had an objection to that. “They’ll know that it is us, of course, and I doubt we could convince them that we had suddenly turned into ghosts. They’ve had dealings with white men before.”

  “No,” Hartson Brant agreed. “It must be something more spectacular than that.”

  “Whatever it is, it should happen to them,” Rick offered. “They’ll be the ones who are breaking the tabu.”

  “They’ll break it soon,” Scotty said, peering at the dark jungle. “I wish I could get a look at what’s going on.”

  “I also,” Chahda added.

  Hartson Brant said, “No, boys. We know well enough what’s going on. I’m sure you could sneak over and look, but it would be a pointless risk.”

  “It should happen to them,” Gordon mused, echoing Rick’s words. “But how could we make them fluoresce?”

  “Let’s think of something soon,” Scotty pleaded.

  “Maybe we could spray with bug stuff,” Chahda suggested. “Kill them like mosquito.”

  Zircon bellowed, “Chahda, you’re a genius! Not the DDT, but the spray gun filled with fluoride!”

  “Gosh, yes,” Rick exclaimed. “That will blow the powder for yards. But how will we get it on them?”

  “What color will the powder be under the ultraviolet?” Hartson Brant asked.

  “A yellow-green,” Gordon replied. “I’ve seen pieces of mineral fluoride under ultraviolet. Not a pretty color.”

  A drop of rain fell on Rick’s nose. He looked up at the dark sky, but could only make out an occasional gleam of dying daylight. The camp was entirely dark now.

  “It’s starting to rain,” he said. “Even the weather is against us.”

  “Maybe not,” Scotty exclaimed. “Rain will make the powder stick better, won’t it?”

  The throbbing of the drums was getting faster, building up to a climax. The chanting of the natives kept pace, a low undertone of menace.

  “We get company pretty soon,” Chahda said. “Thinkquick !”

  “Gordon, get the sterilizer,” Hartson Brant directed. “Breakopen the reflector so it will throw as wide a beam as possible.Hobart , help me remove these bulbs. We want no lights when we turn the power on. Rick and Scotty, get the spray gun and the fluoride powder.”

  “And the tooth powder,” Gordon added.

  In a moment the various parts of their desperate plan were assembled. Gordon took pliers from the toolbox and wrenched the chrome-plated reflector loose, spreading it wide so that the tubular ultraviolet bulb would have the widest possible angle.

  There had been so few insects in camp that the spray gun had never been filled. Rick and Scotty took off the top and were about to pour in the fluoride powder when Gordon stopped them. “The tooth powder first. We’ll use a smaller concentration on the jungle before they arrive.”

  Chahda helped collect the half dozen cans of powder and the jar of surplus mixture.

  They were emptied into the spray gun, the top replaced,then Scotty began pumping up pressure. When the air pressure was great enough, Rick swung the tank to his back and slipped into the harness. Then, with Scotty and Chahda beside him, he hurried to the edge of the jungle.

  “Wait a moment,” Scotty said.Hesh’pped into the woods. Rick waited until he returned.

  “No natives close to us,” he reported.

  Rick asked curiously, “Suppose you’d met one?”

  “I’d have run like crazy,” Scottyreph’ed .“Start spraying.”

  Rick grinned as he pressed the trigger that shot a spray of powder into the air. Scotty ran from fights the way cats run from catnip.

  “Go in more,” Chahda suggested.

  Rick ducked under the tabu string and moved ten feet into the jungle. The leaves and fronds were always damp, because sunlight never reached to the jungle floor through the dense growth. He sprayed the area well, moving back and forth across the end of the peninsula until the tooth powder was exhausted and the spray gun was blowing air. Then they hurried back to where the scientists were at work.

  His father, Zircon, and Gordon had torn down the camp lighting system and patched the wires together to form a long extension. They spliced the extension to the cord of the ultraviolet lamp,then carried the lamp toward the jungle.

  There was some discussion about where to put it, and the scientists knelt, measuring angles. It was finally placed about forty feet from the jungle’s edge. The radiation would be less on the edges, but that couldn’t be helped.

  No one had spoken aloud of how the natives were to be coated with the powder, but

  they all knew there was only one way. That was to spray them as they approached.

  Rick looked up at the sky again. Occasional raindrops struck him, but it hadn’t started raining hard as yet. It had better, he thought. Just a few raindrops wouldn’t wet the natives enough so that the powder would stick to them.

  “They’ll get some powder on them as they push through the jungle,” he said. “But we ought to really dose a few of them.”

  “I do that,” Chahda offered.

  “Nothing doing,” Scotty said flatly. “I’ll do it.”

  “We’ll draw lots,” Hartson Brant stated firmly.

  Rick stepped to his father’s side. “Not this time, Dad. Scotty, Chahda, and I will draw lots. We’re better at climbing trees, and we can run a lot faster if we have to.”

  “Rick is right, sir,” Scotty said. “We’ll make a three-way draw.”

  “It makes sense,” Rick pleaded. “You and Professor Gordon can watch the power supply and the lamp, and Professor Zircon can stand by to guard you in case they break through. He’s the biggest and strongest.”

  “All right,” Hartson Brant agreed.

  “We not draw straws,” Chahda suggested. “We all three go.”

  “I’m for it,” Scotty said. “One guy alone in the woods wouldn’t have a chance. But three of us might be able to fight our way out, if anything happens.”

  “It’s settled,” Rick said quickly. “What do we use for weapons?”

  “Wrenches from the kit,” Gordon offered.

  “I know something better,” Hobart Zircon said. “Those steel tent stakes.”

  “Let’s hurry. We’ve got to get set before they come,” Rick said. He trotted to the tent and pried out a stake. They were eighteen inches long, tapering to a point at the bottom.

  Toward the top, they had little metal hooks sticking out to hold the tent ropes.

  Rick hefted his. Held by the pointed end, it made a wicked club. He thrust it into his

  belt,then carried the spray gun to where the extra can of fluoride powder waited. Scotty helped him to pour the powder in and pump up pressure,then Rick swung the tank to his back once more and secured the harness firmly.

  The rain was coming down in an increasing patter of drops now, but it would have to rain harder before much penetrated the jungle foliage. He hurried to the ultraviolet lamp where the scientists had gathered.

  All of them had tent stakes tucked into their belts. Scotty had two. “One to throw,” he explained.

  They shook hands all aro
und,then Scotty led the way into the jungle.

  “A good-sized tree, if we can locate one,” he said.

  Rick didn’t see how they could locate anything. The jungle waspitch black. He blundered into palm fronds and hanging vines, and once he ran into a spider web that caught across his face and eyes. He clawed the thing away and hurried after Scotty.

  Chahda was right on his heels.

  “This will do,” Scotty whispered.“Up with you, Chahda.Then Rick.”

  By some miracle of jungle sense, Scotty had found a glade where it was comparatively clear. A tree with spreading branches was in the center of the glade-but the branches were high above ground.

  Chahda went up the trunk like a dark monkey. Rick followed, going more by feel than sight. His eyes were of little use in the almost total darkness.

  “Big branch,” Chahda said from above him. “Is clear space all way toground. You get here, Rick.”

  Rick struggled out along the branch, the tank impeding him by catching onto smaller branches and leaves. Finally he got settled, about six feet out from the trunk, his legs dangling and his back resting against a thick branch that thrust up at an odd angle. He took the nozzle of the spray gun from its clamp and got it ready.

  The rhythm of the drums seemed to swirl around them, rising from the ground like mist.

  Were the natives coming, or had the drums grown louder?

  “We forgot to arrange a signal for them to turn on the ultraviolet lamp,” Rick whispered.

  “Not forget,” Chahda corrected. “While you and Scotty filling tank, I fix with Sahib Brant. When many natives go below, I give call of Siva. It tells others they come, and maybe it scares natives a little, I think.”

  “They’ll come this way,” Scotty said quietly. “There’s a trail that passes under the tree.”

  “How can you tell?” Rick asked.

  “It’s a path, nothing growing on it. We’d better keep quiet now. I think they’ll be along soon. Hear that chanting?”