The Golden Age of Pulp Fiction Megapack 01

by George Allan England

  “There shall be no false moves. Reason, deliberation, care will solve this problem like all the others. Given some fifteen hundred people, at a depth of five hundred miles, and given an aeroplane and plenty of time—”

  “Yes, of course, they can be brought to the surface. But after that, what? The dangers are tremendous! The patriarch died at the first touch of sunlight. We can’t afford to take chances with the rest!”

  “I’ve planned on all that. Our first move must be to locate a rocky ledge, a cave, or something of the sort, where the transplanting process can be carried out. There mustn’t be any exposure to the actual daylight for a long time after they’re on the surface. The details of food and water have all got to be arranged, too. It means work, work, work! God, what work! But—it’s our task, Beta, all our own. And I glory in it. I thank Heaven for it—a man’s-size labor! And if we’re strong and brave enough, patient and wise enough, we’re bound to win.”

  “Win? Of course we’ll win!” she answered, her faith in him touching the sublime. “We must! The life of the whole world’s at stake!”

  Night came, and redder glowed the firelight in the gloom. They spoke of life, of love, of destiny; and over them seemed to brood the mystery of all that was to be.

  The very purpose of the universe enwrapped itself about their passion, and the untroubled stars kept vigils till the dawn.

  Daylight called them to begin the epic campaign they had mapped out—the rescue of a race.

  After a visit to the patriarch’s grave, which they decked anew with blossoms and fresh leaves, they prepared for the journey in search of a suitable temporary home for the Folk.

  Nine o’clock found them once more on the wing. Stern laid a southerly course along the edge of the Abyss. He and Beatrice had definitely decided that the new home of humanity was not to be the distant regions of the East, involving so long and perilous a journey, but rather some location in the vast, warm, central plain of what had once been the United States.

  They judged they were now somewhere in the one-time State of Indiana, not far from Indianapolis. So much warmer had the climate grown that for some months to come at least the Folk could without doubt accustom themselves to the change from the hot and muggy atmosphere of the Abyss to the semitropic heat.

  The main object now was to discover suitable caves near a good water supply, where by night the Folk could prosecute their accustomed fisheries. Agriculture and the care of domestic animals by daylight would have to be postponed for some time, possibly for a year or more. Above all, the health of the prospective colonists must be safeguarded.

  It was not until nearly nightfall of the next day, and after stops had been made at the ruins of two considerable but unidentified towns—for fuel, as well as to fit up an electric searchlight and hooded lamps to illuminate the instruments in the Abyss—that the explorers found what they were seeking.

  About half past five that afternoon they sighted a very considerable river, flowing westward down a rugged and irregular valley, in the direction of the chasm.

  “This can’t be the Ohio,” judged Stern. “We must have long since passed its bed, now probably dried up. I don’t remember any such hilly region as this in the old days along the Mississippi Valley. All these formations must be the result of the cataclysm. Well, no matter, just so we find what we’re after.”

  “Where are we now?” she asked, peering downward anxiously. “Over what State—can you tell?”

  “Probably Tennessee or northern Alabama. See the change in vegetation? No conifers here, but many palms and fern-trees, and new, strange growths. Fertile isn’t the name for it! Once we clear some land here, crops will grow themselves! I don’t think we’ll do better than this, Beta. Shall we land and see?”

  A quarter-hour later the Pauillac had safely deposited them on a high, rocky plateau about half a mile back from the edge of the river cañon. Stern, in his eagerness, was all for cave-hunting that very evening, but the girl restrained him.

  “Not so impatient, dear!” she cautioned. “‘Too fast arrives as tardy as too slow!’ To-morrow’s time enough.”

  “Ruling me with quotations from Shakespeare, eh?” he laughed, with a kiss. “All right, have your way—Mrs. Stern!”

  She laughed, too, at this, the first time she had heard her new name. So they made camp and postponed further labors till daylight again.

  Morning found them early astir and at work. Together they traversed the tropic-seeming woods, aflame with brilliant flowers, dank with ferns and laced with twining lianas.

  In the treetops—strange trees, fruit laden—parrakeets and flashing green and crimson birds of paradise disturbed the little monkey-folk that chattered at the intruders. Once a coral-red snake whipped away, hissing, but not quick enough to dodge a ball from Stern’s revolver.

  Stern viewed the ugly, triangular head with apprehension. Well he knew that venom dwelt there, but he said nothing. The one and only chance of successfully transplanting the Folk must be to regions warm as these. All dangers must be braved a time till they could grow acclimated to the upper air. After that—but the vastness of the future deterred even speculation. Perils were inevitable. The more there were to overcome the greater the victory.

  “On to the cliffs!” said he, clasping the girl’s hand in his own and making a path for her.

  Thus presently they reached the edge of the cañon.

  “Magnificent!” cried Beatrice as they came out on the overhang of the rock wall. “With these fruitful woods behind, that river in front, and these natural fortifications for our home, what more could we want?”

  “Nothing except caves,” Stern answered. “Let’s call this New Hope River, eh? And the cliffs?”

  “Settlement Cliffs!” she exclaimed.

  “Done! Well, now let’s see.”

  For the better part of the morning they explored the face of the palisade. Its height, they estimated, ranged from two to three hundred feet, shelving down in rough terraces to the rocky débris through and beyond which foamed the strong current of New Hope River, a stream averaging about two hundred yards in width.

  Up-current a broader pool gave promise of excellent fishing. It overflowed into violent rapids, with swift, white waters noisily cascading.

  “There, incidentally,” Stern remarked, with the practical perception of the engineer, “there’s power enough, when properly harnessed, to light a city and to turn machinery ad libitum. I don’t see how we could better this site, do you?”

  “Not if you think there are good chances for cave-dwellings,” she made answer.

  “From what we’ve seen already, it looks promising. Of course, there’ll be a deal of work to do; but there are excellent possibilities here. First rate.”

  Fortune seemed bent on favoring them. The limestone cliff, fantastically eroded, offered a score of shelters, some shallow and needing to be walled up in front, others deep and tortuous. All was in utter confusion.

  Stern saw that the terraces would have to be blasted and leveled, roads and stairs built along the face of the rock and down to the river, stalactites and stalagmites cut away, chambers fashioned, and a vast deal of labor done; but the rough framework of a cliff colony undeniably existed here. He doubted whether it would be possible to find a more favorable site without long and tedious travels.

  “I guess we’ll take the apartments and sign the lease,” he decided toward noon, after they had clambered, pried, explored with improvised torches, and penetrated far into some of the grottoes. “The main thing to consider is that we can find darkness and humidity for the Folk by day. They mustn’t be let out at first except in the night. It may be weeks or months before they can stand the direct sunlight. But that, too, will come. Patience, girl—patience and time—and all will yet be done.”

  Yet, even as he spoke, a strange anxiety, a prescience of tremendous difficulties, brooded in his soul. These were not cattle that he had to deal with, but men.

  Could he and Beatrice, r
ulers of the Folk though they now were, could they—with their paltry knowledge of the people’s language, superstitions, prejudices and inner life—really bring about this great migration?

  Could they ravish a nation from its accustomed home, transplant it bodily, force new conditions on it, train, teach, civilize it? All this without rebellion, anarchy and failure?

  “God!” thought the engineer. “The labors of Hercules were child’s play beside this problem!”

  His heart quaked at the thought of all that lay ahead; yet through everything, deep in the basic strata of his being, he knew that all should be and must be as he planned.

  Barring death only, the seemingly impossible should come to pass.

  “I swear it!” he murmured to himself. “For her sake, for theirs, and for the world’s, I swear it shall be!”

  At high noon they emerged once more from the caverns, climbed the steep cliff face, and again stood on the heights.

  Facing northward, their gaze swept the lower river-bank opposite, and reached away, away, over the rolling hills and plains that lay, a virgin forest, to the dim horizon, brooding, mysterious, quivering with fertility and wild, strange life.

  “Some time,” he prophesied, sweeping his arm out toward the wilderness—“some time all that—and far beyond—shall be dotted with clearings and rich farms, with cottages, schools, towns, cities. Broad highways shall traverse it. The hum of motors, of machinery, of industry—of life itself—shall one day displace the cry of beast and bird.

  “Some time the English tongue shall reign here again—here and beyond. Here strong men shall toil and build and reap and rest. Here love shall reign and women be called ‘mother.’ Here children shall play and learn and grow to manhood and to womanhood, secure and free.

  “Some time all good things shall here come to realization. Oppression and slavery, alone, shall be undreamed of. These, and poverty and pain, shall never enter into the new world that is to be.

  “Some time, here, ‘all shall be better than well.’ Some time!”

  He circled her with his arm, and for a while they stood surveying this cradle of the new race. Much moved, Beatrice drew very close to him. They made no speech.

  For the dreams they two were dreaming, as the golden sun irradiated all that vast, magnificent wilderness, passed any power of words.

  Only she whispered “Some time!” too, and Allan knew she shared with him the glory of his vast, tremendous vision!

  CHAPTER X

  SEPARATION

  They spent the remainder of that day and all the next in hard work, making practical preparations for the arrival of the first settlers. Allan assured himself the waters of New Hope River were soft and pure and that an ample supply of fish dwelt in the pool as well as in the rapids—trout, salmon and pike of new varieties and great size, as well as other species.

  Beatrice and he, working together, put the largest and darkest of the caves into habitable order. They also prepared, for their own use, a sunny grotto, which they thought could with reasonable labor be made into a comfortable temporary home.

  “Though it isn’t our own cozy bungalow, and never can be,” she remarked rather mournfully, surveying the fireplace of roughly piled stones Allan had built. “Oh, dear, if we only could have had that to live in while—”

  He stopped her yearning with a kiss.

  “There, there, little girl,” he cheered her, “don’t be impatient. All in good time we’ll have another, garden and sun-dial and everything. All in good time. The more we have to overcome, the more we’ll appreciate results, eh? The only really serious matter to consider now is you!”

  “Me, Allan? Why, what do you mean? What about me?”

  He sat down on the rough-hewn bench of logs that he had fashioned and drew her to him.

  “Listen, Beta. This is very serious.”

  “What, Allan? Has anything happened?”

  “No, and nothing must, either. That’s what’s troubling me now. Our separation, I mean.”

  “Our—why, what—”

  “Don’t you see? Can’t you understand? We’ve got to be apart a while. I must go alone—”

  “Oh, no, no, Allan! You mustn’t; I can’t let you!”

  “You’ve got to let me, darling! The machine will only carry, at most, three persons and a little freight. Now if you take the trip back into the Abyss I can only bring one, just one of the Folk back with me. And at that rate you can see for yourself how long it will take to make even a beginning at colonization. I figure three or four days for the round trip, at the inside. If you go we’ll be all summer and more getting even twenty-five or thirty colonists here. Whereas, if you can manage to let me do this work alone, we’ll have fifty in the caves by October. So you see—”

  “You don’t want to go and leave me, Allan?”

  “God forbid! Shall I abandon the whole attempt and settle down with you here, all alone, and—”

  “No, no, no! Not that, Allan!”

  “I knew you’d say so. After all, the future of the race means more than our own welfare or comfort or anything. Even our safety has got to be risked for it. So you see—”

  She thought a moment, clinging to him, somewhat pale and shaken, but with an indefinable courage in her eyes. Then asked she:

  “Wouldn’t it be possible in some way—for you can do anything, Allan—wouldn’t it be possible for you to build another machine? Surely in the ruins of some city not too far away, in Nashville, Cincinnati, or Detroit, you could find materials! Couldn’t you make another aeroplane and teach me how to fly, so I could help you? I’d learn, Allan! I’d dare, and be brave—awfully brave, for your sake, and theirs, and—”

  He gravely shook his head in negation.

  “I know you would, dearest, but you mustn’t. Half my real reason for not wanting you to go with me is just this danger of flying. You’ll be safer here. With plenty of supplies and your pistol you’ll be all right. I know it seems heartless to talk of leaving you, even for three days, but, after all, it’s far the wisest way. We’ll build a barricade and make a regular fort for you and stock it with supplies. Then you can wait for me and the first two settlers. And after that you’ll have company. Why, you’ll have subjects—for, until they’re educated, we’ve simply got to rule these people. It’ll be only the first trip that will make you lonely, and it won’t be long.”

  “I know; but suppose anything should happen to you!”

  He laughed confidently.

  “Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “You know nothing ever does happen to me! Everything will be all right, my best—beloved. Only a little patience and a little courage, that’s all we need now. You’ll see!”

  Till late that night, sheltered in their cave, they talked of this momentous step. Redly their firelight glowed upon their walls and roof, where sparkled myriads of tiny rock-facets. Far below the rapids of New Hope River murmured a contra-bass to their voices.

  And in the cañon the sighing of the night-wind, pierced now and then by some strange cry of beast-life from the forest beyond, heightened their pleasant sense of security. Only the knowledge of approaching separation weighed heavy on their souls.

  From every possible standpoint they discussed the situation. Allan’s plan, viewed with the eye of reason, was really the only sane one. Nothing could have been more absurdly wasteful of time and energy than the idea of carrying the girl down into the Abyss each time and bringing her up with every return.

  Not only would it expose her needlessly to very grave perils, but it would bisect the efficiency of the Pauillac. Allan realized, moreover, that in the rebuilding of the world a time must inevitably come when he could not always stand by her side. She must learn self-reliance, harsh as that teaching might seem.

  All this and much more he pointed out to her. And before midnight she, too, agreed. It was definitely decided that he was to undertake the transportation work alone.

  Thus the matter was settled. But on that night there was little sleep
for either of them. For, on the day after the morrow was to commence their first separation since the time they had awakened in the tower, more than a year ago.

  Separation!

  The thought weighed leaden on Allan’s heart. As for Beatrice, though in the dark she hid her tears, she felt that grief could plumb no blacker depths save utter loss. Only the thought of the new world and all that it must mean steeled her to resignation.

  Morning dawned, aflare with light and color, as only a June morning in that semitropic wilderness could glow. Allan and Beatrice, early at work, resolutely attacked their labor of preparation.

  First of all they laid in adequate supplies of fruit and game, both of which, in that virgin wild, were to be had in a profusion undreamed of in the old days of civilization. With an improvised lance Ahan also speared three salmon in the rapids. The game and fish he dressed for her and packed among green leaves in the cool recesses at the extreme inner end of the cavern.

  “No need whatever for you to leave the cave while I’m gone,” he warned her. “I’m not forbidding you to, because I’m not your master. All I say is I’ll be far happier if you stay close at home. Will you promise me that, whatever happens, you won’t wander from the cave?”

  “I needn’t promise, dearest. All I need to know is your wish. That’s enough for me!”

  Together they set about fortifying the place. They built a rough but strong barricade of rocks across the mouth of the cavern, leaving only one small aperture, just sufficient to admit a single person on hands and knees.

  Allan fetched a rounded stone that she could roll into this door by night and arranged a stout sapling to brace the stone immovably. He supplied her well with fire-wood and saw to it that her bandoliers were full of cartridges. In addition, he left her the extra gun and ammunition they had found in the crypt under the cathedral.

  With a torch he carefully explored every crevice of the cave to make sure no noxious spiders, centipedes, or serpents were sheltered there.

  From the Pauillac he brought his own cloak, which he insisted on her keeping. This, with hers, would add to the comfort of the bed they had made with fragrant ferns and grasses.