“.Now we won’t be able to reason with her!” Waldo was moaning over and over again. “We won’t be able to reason with her!”
“She’s stinko,” I agreed. “Utterly plastered!”
I had turned to gaze at the Professor, and he had turned beseechingly toward me, neither of us knowing what to do next. And when we turned our heads back to Nellie, she was gone again!
With her destructive burden of U-235, Nellie had vanished into thin air.
I glared wildly about the dank cellar. The Professor was on his hands and knees, peering under wine barrels, making clucking noises with his throat in a vain attempt to lure Nellie out into the open.
Then I noticed the door. It led from the cellar up a short flight of stairs and into the alley. It was ajar, and in our excitement we had overlooked it.
I jerked the Professor to his feet. “Come on,” I yelled. “Nellie must have ducked into the alley!”
We emerged into the alley less than ten seconds later. Emerged to see a heavy, ten ton truck pulling away from the back of our tavern. Lettered on the tailgate was the cheerless warning: DANGER, HIGH EXPLOSIVES.
The Professor’s hand clawed at my arm, jerked me around. His watery eyes were fastened on the back of the truck. “N—n-nellie!” he blurted.
“N—n-nellie, I—
I shook him hard. “You sound like a broken record. What is it? Get in the groove!”
“I saw Nellie,” Waldo croaked hysterically. “She climbed a rope leading to the tailgate of that truck. Then she crawled inside!”
My knees started knocking like castinets. Nellie in a truckload of high explosives—with a bellyful of liquor saturated U-235!
My reaction was instantaneous—and sound. “Come on,” I jerked Waldo’s arm. “Let’s scram. When that explosion comes we don’t want to hear it. We want to hear about it!”
“No!” Waldo jerked his arm free, and for a moment he stood there looking like a reproduced painting of Horatius At The Bridge. “No!” he repeated, his voice horrified. “You can’t be serious. Millions of innocent people might suffer if we shirk our duty. We have to find Nellie. We have to prevent that explosive in her stomach from becoming active!”
“Active?” I snorted. “The year’s winner for understatement.” But I knew I’d have to give in. The Professor was looking at me like a recruiting sign with Uncle Sam saying, “I Want Youse!”
“Okay,” I snapped. “I’m with you. This is either going to be my biggest story or my last. Maybe both.”
WE didn’t waste any time. In thirty seconds we had whipped over to the street intersection, and in another ten seconds had flagged a cab and crawled inside.
A block ahead of us the wide rear of the truck containing Nellie and the dynamite—not to mention the U-235—was still visible, rumbling away from us.
“Follow that truck up ahead! See it?” I yelled to the driver.
The cabbie grinned over his shoulder. “Hell, it’ll be a snap. That’s a construction truck headed for the Lake Street Subway shaft, carrying dynamite.” He paused. “It carries explosives,” he repeated.
“You’re telling me,” I muttered.
It was only a matter of four minutes later when we arrived at the Lake Street shaft. A gang of sand hogs was unloading sacks of blasting powder from the truck, which had arrived before us. Both Waldo and I tumbled out of the cab like candidates for an acrobatic troupe, and in a second had raced to the back of the truck.
“Hold it!” I hollered. “Hold it! Hold it!”
A huge red-headed fellow who had been unloading the stuff from the tailgate suddenly paused, putting his hands on hips. “Whatsa matta?” he asked.
“Look,” I said excitedly, “Did you see a mouse around here?”
The red head looked at me curiously for an instant and then his face hardened grimly. “You’re rushing the season,” he snapped. “April Fool’s Day is still a coupla weeks off. Now clear out of here before I have you and your buddy thrown in the brig for trespassing. And make it snappy. We’re getting ready to blast.”
“Now wait a minute,” I yelled, “I’m no practical joker, I’m serious.”
“So am I Bud,” the red head said menacingly, “and if you don’t get moving, I’m—”
“Look,” I cut in, “I’m a news reporter. Hoskins of the Blade.”
I whipped out my press card and shoved it under his nose. “Does this mean anything to you? This man,” I jerked a thumb at the Professor, “is Professor Waldo of the Chicago Foundation. The mouse we’re looking for escaped from his laboratory. We’ve got to find that mouse or the entire city might be destroyed. It sounds silly man, but it’s the truth.”
The red head scratched his head uncertainly.
“All right,” he grumbled, “I still ain’t convinced but you can look in the truck. It’s empty now, anyway.”
He was right. It didn’t take a second glance to see that the roomy inside of the truck was quite empty. Neither did it take a second glance to tell us that there was no sign of Nellie. I turned to the Professor despairingly. “Are you sure you saw her?” I asked desperately.
Professor Waldo looked helplessly into the empty truck. “I swear it,” he whispered hoarsely, “just as sure as I’m alive I saw Nellie climb into this truck.”
I was licked. The elevator had disappeared into the shaft carrying men and explosives down to the subway tunnel. The truck was empty, there was no trace of Nellie and I was uncomfortably aware of the red head’s suspicious glance.
“All right,” he growled finally, “you guys have had your look, now get moving. They’re setting the charges down there now and in a few minutes we’ll be blasting. And I got my orders to keep these streets clear. So start rollin’.”
I turned to Waldo and shrugged hopelessly. “We did our best,” I said. “It’s in the lap of the gods now.”
I felt sorry as hell for the old duck. His face was as white as chalk and his eyes were staring wildly. I could see that it was costing him a lot to keep from giving in to the hysteria that must have been gnawing at his self-control.
“I can’t quit,” he cried hoarsely, “I can’t. She must be somewhere. I’ve got to find her, do you hear me? I’ve got to find her.”
THERE wasn’t anything I could do and still I felt like hell. I heard a rumbling noise behind me and I saw the elevator rising in the shaft. I grabbed the Professor by the arm. “We can’t do anything,” I said, “and our time is up. They’re going to blasting here in a few minutes.”
“And I don’t mean maybe, chum,” the red head put in, “so take your friend’s advice and clear out.” He looked at us both disgustedly for a minute and then turned away shaking his head.
“Mice,” I heard him mutter to himself.
The workers and sandhogs were clambering off the elevator, and several of them were stringing along a coil of wire, an end of which ran down the shaft. I knew they meant business when I saw the blasting wire so I grabbed the Professor and started to hustle him away.
We had not gone more than six feet when I heard something that pounded into my eardrums with the force of a pile driver. For a split instant I was too stunned to act. When I did come to, I wheeled and raced back to the group of sandhogs who were assembling their equipment, preparatory to moving out of blasting range.
“Which one of you said it?” I shouted breathlessly, “which one of you said you saw it?”
“Saw what?” one of them asked. “The mouse,” I shrieked. “I heard someone say he saw a mouse. In the name of heaven who was it?”
“Me,” a stocky, black haired fellow answered belligerently. “Want to make somethin’ out of it?”
“Where’d you see it?” I tried unsuccessfully to keep the hysteria out of my voice.
“Down in the blastin’ chamber,” the sandhog evidently decided he was humoring a nut, “I tink he must have rode down wit us in de elevator. Anyway I’d just set fuses in the blasting chamber when I sees this little fellow running around. I tried to catch him .
. .”
“Her,” I corrected automatically.
“I didn’t notice,” my informant snapped with heavy sarcasm, “I think there was somethin’ wrong wit her. She kept staggering around like as if she was tipsy and I couldn’t catch her. Don’t waste time worrying about her cause in just about six minutes all her troubles are goin’ to be over. She’ll go out wit a bang, all right.” He grinned widely and nudged a fellow worker, “Get it? Out with a bang.”
I tried desperately to keep calm. Six minutes left. There was still time. “Professor,” I yelled.
I looked around and he was standing right behind me. One look at his face and I knew he knew the whole story. I didn’t waste words with him but I hurried to the red head, who seemed to be some kind of straw boss.
“Did you hear that?” I yelled at him. “The mouse is in the shaft, in the blasting chamber. You’ve got to postpone your blasting until we get her out.”
“Oh is that so?” his voice was almost a whisper. “Well get this. You loonies have caused me enough trouble today. I got a schedule to keep up and I ain’t falling behind to accommodate any mouse.” He looked me up and down and added sarcastically, “or any rat either for that matter.”
I wavered for a split second and then with a silent prayer to whoever it is protects fools and drunkards, I let go with an uppercut that started from my shoelaces.
HE staggered back with a bellow of rage, but before he recovered his balance I was streaking for the elevator shaft, yelling my head off for the Professor. Waldo heard me and started running, reaching the elevator shaft before I did. I saw him jerk the descent cable, then the elevator started down and I jumped.
I dropped into the shaft, hit the elevator floor with a healthy smack and tumbled forward on my face. When I turned over and looked up I saw the baffled faces of the tunnel workers ringed around the shaft opening.
“Come back here,” the red head roared, “you crazy fools! There’s a hundred pound charge of dynamite ready to blow down there.”
A hundred pounds of dynamite! A mere bagatelle compared to the half ounce of U-235 that Nellie was carting around in her rum-soaked interior.
The elevator stopped with a slight jar and the Professor and I hurried into the tunnel. It wasn’t actually the tunnel, just a roomy underground chamber that served as a storehouse for heavy equipment. The tunnel itself led from this room. I grabbed a flashlight and raced into the blackness. The Professor was right behind me and we hadn’t traveled twenty feet before we collided with a heavy steel plate that completely blocked off the tunnel.
“I was afraid of this,” I groaned, “They’re blasting here. Nellie’s inside and we can’t get to her.”
I swung the light around and saw that the Professor was groping around on his hand and knees, grunting and muttering to himself.
“Listen,” I cried wildly, “You’re wasting your time. Nellie’s inside here. What are you—”
The Professor straightened up and smiled, “I was merely disconnecting the electric fuse that leads to the blasting chamber. With those wires disconnected we only have to worry about one explosion.”
“Oh,” I said, and then because I felt that this was slightly inadequate, I added, “Oh.”
The Professor rubbed his hands together briskly. For the first time since the hectic moment when we had discovered the absence of Nellie, he seemed cheerful.
“It’s a blessing,” he said, “that Nellie chose this chamber to hide herself. We have her locked in the blasting chamber and all we have to do is get her out.”
“Sure,” he said dubiously, “that’s all there is to it.”
I turned and looked at the heavy steel sheeting that separated us from the blasting chamber, and noticed for the first time an observation window of heavy wired glass that was set in the steel plating at just about eye level. The Professor noticed it too and without wasting any more time we pressed our noses against the glass and peered into the blasting chamber. The chamber was lighted with some kind of wall lights that cast a flickering illumination over the rocky walls and arched roof.
“There she is,” the Professor suddenly shouted. He was trembling with excitement as he strained closer to the thick glass. “It’s Nellie,” he cried wildly, “We’ve found her.”
“I don’t like to be a wet blanket,” I said, “but I don’t see her.”
“Well don’t worry,” Waldo said confidently, “You will. I can’t see her clearly myself because she’s in the shadow. But—wait—she’s moving now, you’ll be able to see her.” His voice rose with happy excitement. “Look,” he cried, “there she—My God!” His voice broke into an incredulous, hysterical babble and he staggered back from the window, his hands pressed to his eyes.
THE sound of his voice made my stomach do a flip flop. I was peering wildly through the window in an instant.
The sight that presented itself to my pop eyes was truly shocking. Nellie was stretched out on the floor, her dainty feet pawing the air. And no wonder. Her whole body was swollen to three times its normal size. She looked like a fur bearing football, blown up to the bursting point. She was obviously amazed at what had happened to her for her tiny head lolled from side to side to get a better view of her gargantuan proportions.
My mouth opened and closed wordlessly. I turned to the Professor and managed to stammer, “W-w-what is it? What’s the matter with her?”
The Professor had recovered to some extent and now he grabbed me suddenly by the shoulders and pushed me away from the blasting chamber. “Run,” he cried, “Save yourself while there’s still time. Hurry, my boy, don’t wait for me. Save yourself.”
“What’s the rush?” I gasped.
“Didn’t you see Nellie?” he demanded wildly. “Her swollen, bloated appearance.”
“Well, yes,” I admitted, “but I thought, well you know, I just figured,” I floundered lamely “just let Nature take its course.”
“Oh ye Gods,” he exploded. “That isn’t nature doing that to her—it’s U-235!”
“It’s becoming active,” he continued swiftly, “Minute particles of energy, electron volts, are emitting from the U-235 in her belly. Not in sufficient quantity to detonate the rest, or to destroy Nellie, but sufficient to extend the walls and to cause that bloated appearance. It’s just a matter of minutes until the complete force of the U-235 is released and that means total destruction. Nellie, the subway and anything within a mile radius of here will be blown to bits.
Now do you understand why you’ve got to clear out?”
I started to reply and then I closed my mouth and looked over my shoulder. The elevator was rising, evidently operated from above.
“It’s a hundred feet to the top of the shaft,” I said, “and the elevator is gone. I can’t jump as high as I used to.”
The Professor wrung his hands in desperation. “I can’t let you sacrifice yourself. You’ve got to make an attempt to save yourself. Already it may be too late. The complete force of the U-235 may release itself any instant. There’s nothing to hold it in check. Under normal circumstances it would have reached total activity some time ago.”
Then I heard a mighty encouraging sound. The elevator starting back again. Over the Professor’s protests I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the shaft. The car came into sight and with it came our buddy, the red head, and a lean erect old man, with snapping gray eyes and a mouth like a bear trap.
“I’m Ericson,” he snapped, stepping from the elevator, “Construction chief on this job. Now what’s the idea of you men holding up this blast?”
The red head was moving toward me but he stopped when I stooped down and picked up a spike maul and nonchalantly twirled it around my head.
Then the Professor was talking and the belligerent look on Ericson’s face faded to one of astonishment. For the next few minutes the air was blue with formulae, symbols, equations, figures, technical terms and about thirty dozen references to U-235.
WHEN he finished talking the lin
es on Ericson’s forehead had deepened to thick wrinkles that spread like wings over his eyes. Without saying a word he walked to the window and peered in at Nellie. When he turned to us again his face was grave and haggard.
“It’s monstrous,” he spoke with an effort. “The city must be warned. No time can be lost. Evacuation of this area must begin at once. Under normal circumstances, from what you’ve told me, the U-235 would already have released its energy.”
I started to follow them from the tunnel when something the Professor had said, and Ericson had just repeated stuck in my mind.
Under normal circumstances!
They had both used that phrase. They had both said that under normal circumstances Nellie would have been blown to smithereens long before this. I’m no scientist but even the cops will admit I’m a pretty fair amateur detective.
“Professor,” I yelled, “Mr. Ericson—wait a minute.” I dashed after them, a wild goofy idea popping around in my head. I grabbed Ericson first. “What is there in that blasting chamber,” I asked, “that is different from outside, or normal conditions?”
“Nothing,” he answered a trifle irritably, “Nothing, that is, except greater air pressure.”
I almost passed out right then from sheer shock at having guessed right. “Can you,” I asked shakily, “increase that air pressure?”
“Yes,” he barked, “but what in hades—”
“You’ll see,” I snapped, “If you want to save the people of this city you’ll do as I say. I want all the pressure you’ve got turned on in that air chamber.”
For an instant I suspected where he was going to tell me to go to, but I guess my fanatically sincere appearance must have changed his mind because he turned to the red head and said, “Turn on the pressure. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
I felt my knees filling with water and my whole body began to shake like—well any simile I can think of sounds weak so I’ll just skip it. I knew that the responsibility for countless lives was on my shoulders but it was too late to turn back now.
I hurried to the window and peered in at Nellie. She was still puffed up to her abnormal state. In fact she looked worse.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 9