The Golden Age of Pulp Fiction Megapack 01

by George Allan England

  Then the creature stood up, balancing on its absurd bandy legs, a spear in its hand—a flint-pointed spear of crude workmanship.

  At full sight of the face, Stern shrank for a moment.

  “I’ve known savages, as such,” thought he. “I understand them. I know animals. They’re animals, that’s all. But this creature—merciful Heaven!”

  And at the realization that it was neither beast nor man, the engineer’s blood chilled within his veins.

  Yet he forced himself still to look and to observe, unseen. There was practically no forehead at all. The nose was but a formless lump of cartilage, the ears large and pendulous and hairy. Under heavy brow-ridges, the dull, lackluster eyes blinked stupidly, bloodshot and cruel. As the mouth closed, Stern noted how the under incisors closed up over the upper lip, showing a gleam of dull yellowish ivory; a slaver dripped from the doglike corner of the mouth.

  Stern shivered, and drew back.

  He realized now that he was in the presence of an unknown semi-human type, different in all probability from any that had ever yet existed. It was less their bestiality that disgusted him, than their utter, hopeless, age-long degeneration from the man-standard.

  What race had they descended from? He could not tell. He thought he could detect a trace of the Mongol in the region of the eye, in the cheek-bones and the general contour of what, by courtesy, might be called the face. There were indications, also, of the negroid type, still stronger. But the color—whence could that have come? And the general characteristics, were not these distinctly simian?

  Again he looked. And now one of the pot-bellied little horrors, shambling and bulbous-kneed, was scratching its warty, blue hide with its black claws as it trailed along through the forest. It looked up, grinning and jabbering; Stern saw the teeth that should have been molars. With repulsion he noted that they were not flat-crowned, but sharp like a dog’s. Through the blue lips they clearly showed.

  “Nothing herbivorous here,” thought the scientist. “All flesh—food of—who knows what sort!”

  Quickly his mind ran over the outlines of the problem. He knew at once that these Things were lower than any human race ever recorded, far lower even than the famed Australian bushmen, who could not even count as high as five. Yet, strange and more than strange, they had the use of fire, of the tom-tom, of some sort of voodooism, of flint, of spears, and of a rude sort of tanning—witness the loin-clouts of hide which they all wore.

  “Worse than any troglodyte!” he told himself. “Far lower than De Quatrefage’s Neanderthal man, to judge from the cephalic index—worse than that Java skull, the pithecanthropus erectus, itself! And I am with my living eyes beholding them!”

  A slight sound, there behind him in the room, set his heart flailing madly.

  His hand froze to the butt of the automatic as he drew back from the cleft in the wall, and, staring, whirled about, ready to shoot on the second.

  Then he started back. His jaw dropped, his eyes widened and limply fell his arm. The pistol swung loosely at his side.

  “You?—” he soundlessly breathed, “You—here?”

  There at the door of the great empty room, magnificent m her tiger-skin, the Krag gripped in her supple hand, stood Beatrice.

  CHAPTER XX

  THE CURIOSITY OF EVE

  At him the girl peered eagerly, a second, as though to make quite sure he was not hurt in any way, to satisfy herself that he was safe and sound.

  Then with a little gasp of relief, she ran to him. Her sandaled feet lightly disturbed the rubbish on the floor; dust rose. Stern checked her with an upraised hand.

  “Back! Back! Go back, quick!” he formed the words of command on his trembling lips. The idea of this girl’s close proximity to the beast-horde terrified him, for the moment. “Back! What on earth are you here for?”

  “I—I woke up. I found you gone!” she whispered.

  “Yes, but didn’t you read my letter? This is no place for you!”

  “I had to come! How could I stay up there, alone, when you—were—oh! maybe in danger—maybe in need of me?”

  “Come!” he commanded, in his perturbation heedless of the look she gave him. He took her hand. “Come, we must get out of this! It’s too—too near the—”

  “The what? What is it, Allan? Tell me, have you seen them? Do you know?”

  Even excited as the engineer was, he realized that for the first time the girl had called him by his Christian name. Not even the perilous situation could stifle the thrill that ran through him at the sound of it. But all he answered was:

  “No, I don’t know what to call them. Have no idea, as yet. I’ve seen them, yes; but what they are, Heaven knows—maybe!”

  “Let me see, too!” she pleaded eagerly. “Is it through that crack in the wall? Is that the place to look?”

  She moved toward it, her face blanched with excitement, eyes shining, lips parted. But Stern held her back. By the shoulder he took her.

  “No, no, little girl!” he whispered. “You—you mustn’t! Really must not, you know. It’s too awful!”

  Up at him she looked, knowing not what to think or say for a moment. Their eyes met, there in that wrecked and riven place, lighted by the dull, misty, morning gray. Then Stern spoke, for in her gaze abode questions unnumbered.

  “I’d much rather you wouldn’t look out at them, not just yet,” said he, speaking very low, fearful lest the murmur of his voice might penetrate the wall. “Just what they are, frankly, there’s no telling.”

  “You mean—?”

  “Come back into the arcade, where we’ll be safer from discovery, and we can talk. Not here. Come!”

  She obeyed. Together they retreated to the inner court.

  “You see,” he commented, nodding at the empty water-pail, “I haven’t been to the spring yet. Not very likely to get there for a while, either, unless—well, unless something pretty radical happens. I think these chaps have settled down for a good long stay in their happy hunting-ground, after the fight and the big feast. It’s sort of a notion I’ve got, that this place, here, is some ancient, ceremonial ground of theirs.”

  “You mean, on account of the tower?”

  He nodded.

  “Yes, if they’ve got any religious ideas at all, or rather superstitions, such would very likely center round the most conspicuous object in their world. Probably the spring is a regular voodoo hangout. The row, last night, must have been a sort of periodic argument to see who was going to run the show.”

  “But,” exclaimed the girl, in alarm—“but if they do stay a while, what about us? We simply must have water!”

  “True enough. And, inasmuch as we can’t drink brine and don’t know where there’s any other spring, it looks as though we’d either have to make up to these fellows or wade into them, doesn’t it? But we’ll get water safe enough, never fear. Just now, for the immediate present, I want to get my bearings a little, before going to work. They seem to be resting up, a bit, after their pleasant little soirée. Now, if they’d only all go to sleep, it’d be a walk-over!”

  The girl looked at him, very seriously.

  “You mustn’t go out there alone, whatever happens!” she exclaimed. “I just won’t let you! But tell me,” she questioned again, “how much have you really found out about them—whatever they are.”

  “Not much. They seem to be part of a nomadic race of half-human things, that’s about all I can tell as yet. Perhaps all the white and yellow peoples perished utterly in the cataclysm, leaving only a few scattered blacks. You know blacks are immune to several germ-infections that destroy other races.”

  “Yes. And you mean—?”

  “It’s quite possible these fellows are the far-distant and degenerate survivors of that other time.”

  “So the whole world may have gone to pieces the way Liberia and Haiti and Santo Domingo once did, when white rule ceased?”

  “Yes, only a million times more so. I see you know your history! If my hypothesis
is correct, and only a few thousand blacks escaped, you can easily imagine what must have happened.”

  “For a while, maybe fifty or a hundred years, they may have kept some sort of dwindling civilization. Probably the English language for a while continued, in ever more and more corrupt forms. There may have been some pretense of maintaining the school system, railroads, steamship lines, newspapers and churches, banks and all the rest of that wonderfully complex system we once knew. But after a while—”

  “Yes? What then?”

  “Why, the whole false shell crumbled, that’s all. It must have! History shows it. It didn’t take a hundred years after Toussaint L’Ouverture and Dessalines, in Haiti, for the blacks to shuck off French civilization and go back to grass huts and human sacrifice—to make another little Central Africa out of it, in the backwoods districts, at any rate. And we—have had a thousand, Beatrice, since the white man died!”

  She thought a moment, and shook her head.

  “What a story,” she murmured, “what an incredible, horribly fascinating story that would make, if it could ever be known, or written! Think of the ebb-tide of everything! Railroads abandoned and falling to pieces, cities crumbling, ships no longer sailing, language and arts and letters forgotten, agriculture shrinking back to a few patches of corn and potatoes, and then to nothing at all, everything changing, dying, stopping—and the ever-increasing yet degenerating people leaving the city ruins, which they could not rebuild—taking to the fields, the forests, the mountains—going down, down, back toward the primeval state, down through barbarism, through savagery, to—what?”

  “To what we see!” answered the engineer, bitterly. “To animals, retaining by ghastly mockery some use of fire and of tools. All this, according to one theory.”

  “Is there another?” she asked eagerly.

  “Yes, and I wish we had the shade of Darwin, of Haeckel or of Clodd here with us to help us work it out!”

  “How do you imagine it?”

  “Why, like this. Maybe, after all, even the entire black race was swept out along with the others, too. Perhaps you and I were really the only two human beings left alive in the world.”

  “Yes, but in that case, how—?”

  “How came they here? Listen! May they not be the product of some entirely different process of development? May not some animal stock, under changed environment, have easily evolved them? May not some other semi-human or near-human race be now in process of arising, here on earth, eventually to conquer and subdue it all again?”

  For a moment she made no answer. Her breath came a little quickly as she tried to grasp the full significance of this tremendous concept.

  “In a million years, or so,” the engineer continued, “may not the descendants of these things once more be men, or something very like them? In other words, aren’t we possibly witnessing the recreation of the human type? Aren’t these the real pithecanthropi erecti, rather than the brown-skinned, reddish-haired creatures of the biological text-books? There’s our problem!”

  She made no answer, but a sudden overmastering curiosity leaped into her eyes.

  “Let me see them for myself! I must! I will!”

  And before he could detain her, the girl had started back into the room whence they had come.

  “No, no! No, Beatrice!” he whispered, but she paid no heed to him. Across the littered floor she made her way. And by the time Stern could reach her side, she had set her face to the long, crumbling crack in the wall and with a burning eagerness was peering out into the forest.

  CHAPTER XXI

  EVE BECOMES AN AMAZON

  Stern laid a hand on her shoulder, striving to draw her away. This spectacle, it seemed to him, was no fit sight for her to gaze on. But she shrugged her shoulders as if to say: “I’m not a child! I’m your equal, now, and I must see!” So the engineer desisted. And he, too, set his eye to the twisting aperture.

  At sight of the narrow segment of forest visible through it, and of the several members of the Horde, a strong revulsion came upon him.

  Up welled a deep-seated love for the memory of the race of men and women as they once had been—the people of the other days. Stern almost seemed to behold them again, those tall, athletic, straight-limbed men; those lithe, deep-breasted women, fair-skinned and with luxuriant hair; all alike now plunged for a thousand years in the abyss of death and of eternal oblivion.

  Never before had the engineer realized how dear, how infinitely close to him his own race had been. Never had he so admired its diverse types of force and beauty, as now, now when all were but a dream.

  “Ugh!” thought he, disgusted beyond measure at the sight before him. “And all these things are just as much alike as so many ants in a hill! I question if they’ve got the reason and the socialized intelligence of ants!”

  He heard the girl breathe quick, as she, too, watched what was going on outside. A certain change had taken place there. The mist had somewhat thinned away, blown by the freshening breeze through Madison Forest and by the higher-rising sun. Both watchers could new see further into the woods; and both perceived that the Horde was for the most part disposing itself to sleep.

  Only a few vague, uncertain figures were now moving about, with a strangely unsteady gait, weak-kneed and simian.

  In the nearest group, which Stern had already had a chance to study, all save one of the creatures had lain down. The man and woman could quite plainly hear the raucous and bestial snoring of some half-dozen of the gorged Things.

  “Come away, you’ve seen enough, more than enough!” he whispered in the girl’s ear.

  She shook her head.

  “No, no!” she answered, under her breath. “How horrible—and yet, how wonderful!”

  Then a misfortune happened; trivial yet how direly pregnant!

  For Stern, trying to readjust his position, laid his right hand on the wall above his head.

  A little fragment of loose marble, long since ready to fall, dislodged itself and bounced with a sharp click against the steel I-beam over which they were both peeking.

  The sound, perhaps, was no greater than you would make in snapping an ordinary lead-pencil in your fingers; yet on the instant three of the Things raised their bulbous and exaggerated heads in an attitude of intense, suspicious listening. Plain to see that their senses, at least, excelled those of the human being, even as a dog’s might.

  The individual which, alone of them all, had been standing, wheeled suddenly round and made a step or two toward the building. Both watchers saw him with terrible distinctness, there among the sumacs and birches, with the beauty of which he made a shocking contrast.

  Plain now was the simian aspect, plain the sidelong and uncertain gait, bent back and crooked legs, the long, pendulous arms and dully ferocious face.

  And as the Thing listened, its hair bristling, it thrust its villainous, apelike head well forward. Open fell the mouth, revealing the dog-teeth and the blue, shriveled-looking gums.

  A wrinkle creased the low, dull brow. Watching with horrified fascination, Stern and Beatrice beheld—and heard—the creature sniff the air, as though taking up some scent of danger or of the hunt.

  Then up came the right arm; they saw the claw-hand with a spear, poise itself a moment. From the open mouth burst with astounding force and suddenness a snarling yowl, inarticulate, shrill, horrible beyond all thinking.

  An instant agitation took place all through the forest. The watchers could see only a small, fanlike space of it—and even this, only a few rods from the building—yet by the confused, vague noise that began, they knew the alarm had been given to the whole Horde.

  Here, there, the cry was repeated. A shifting, moving sound began. In the visible group, the Things were getting to their handlike feet, standing unsteadily on their loose-skinned, scaly legs, gawping about them, whining and clicking with disgusting sounds.

  Sudden, numbing fear seized Beatrice. Now for the first time she realized the imminent peril; now she regrette
d her insistence on seeing the Horde at close range.

  She turned, pale and shaken; and her trembling hand sought the engineer’s.

  He still, for a moment, kept his eye to the crack, fascinated by the very horror of the sight. Then all at once another figure shambled into view.

  “A female one!” he realized, shuddering. Too monstrously hideous, this sight, to be endured. With a gasp, the man turned back.

  About Beatrice he drew his arm. Together, almost as soundlessly as wraiths, they stole away, out through the office, out to the hallway, into the dim light of the arcade once more.

  Here, for a few moments, they knew that they were safe. Retreat through the Marble Court and up the stairs was fairly clear. There was but one entrance open into the arcade, the one through Pine Tree Gate; and this was blocked so narrowly by the giant bole that Stern knew there could be no general mob-rush through it—no attack which he could not for a while hold back, so long as his ammunition and the girl’s should last.

  Thus they breathed more freely now. Most of the tumult outside had been cut off from their hearing, by the retirement into the arcade. They paused, to plan their course.

  At Stern the girl looked eagerly.

  “Oh, oh, Allan—how horrible!” she whispered. “It was all my fault for having been so headstrong, for having insisted on a look at them! Forgive me!”

  “S-h!” he cautioned again. “No matter about that. The main thing, now, is whether we attack or wait?”

  “Attack? Now?”

  “I don’t think much of going up-stairs without that pail of water. We’ll have a frightful time with thirst, to say nothing of not being able to make the Pulverite. Water we must have! If it weren’t for your being here, I’d mighty soon wade into that bunch and see who wins! But—well, I haven’t any right to endanger—”

  Beatrice seized his hand and pulled him toward the doorway.

  “Come on!” cried she. “If you and I aren’t a match for them, we don’t deserve to live, that’s all. You know how I can shoot now! Come along!”