That was all. Sparks ran down the batteries trying to raise them again
for more answers, but no response. When the batteries went dead he
checked the generator that had kicked off. It was out of gasoline. The
drums were on the beach. Now we were without lights, power and juice for
our other radios.
We kept alive the first few days by staying half drunk. Then Cleve's
case of whiskey gave out and we began to get hungry. Sparks and Sellers
set fire to one of our straw-ticking mattresses and used it as a torch
to burn their way over to the supply tent about thirty feet away. It
worked fairly well. The silky webs flashed into nothing as the flames
hit them, but they wouldn't support the fire, and other webs streamed
down behind the two. They had to burn another mattress to get back with
a few cases of food.
Then we dug a well under the floor of our tent. Hit water within a few
feet. But when we cut through the screen floor it cost us sentry duty.
We had to have one person awake all night long to stamp on the spiders
that slipped in around the edge of the well.
Through all of this Cleveland has been out on his feet. He has just
stood and stared out through the screen all day. We had to force him to
eat. He didn't snap out of it until this morning.
Sparks couldn't stand our radio silence any longer, so he talked Sellers
into helping him make a dash for the gas drums on the beach. They set
fire to two mattresses and disappeared into the tunnel of burned webs
that tangled and caved in behind them.
When they were gone, Cleveland suddenly came out of his trance and put a
hand on my shoulder. I thought for a moment he was going to jump me, but
his eyes were calm. He said, "Well, Fred, are you convinced now that
we've been attacked?"