His fist came down on the desk.
"I'm going to see Lee Garth. Come on, men."
He led the way. Scoop piled into the car. Those who couldn't get into
the car, hung on the sides.
They came in sight of the tower of concrete. It was a squat fortress in
the starlight. There wasn't a light in it.
"There it is, men," the chief of police said. "Drive up to it. We'll
find out if Garth knows anything about this."
Suddenly, to the occupants of the car, the tower seemed to lean toward
them. The trees seemed to shiver in a blast of passing air.
But there was no wind. The air was very quiet.
How could trees dance in a wind when there was no wind?
The ground seemed to writhe. It seemed to twitch.
Men screamed.
The car left the drive, plunged forward into a tree. The motor
sputtered, coughed indignantly, died. Then the night was silent, except
for the deep, bull-throated roar pounding from the tower which Lee
Garth had constructed.
There wasn't a man in the car.
Scoop Martin never wrote his story that night. Nor any night thereafter.
* * * * *
Garth had slumped forward, his head on his arms. He awakened to the
touch on his shoulder, turned tired eyes up to the girl who had entered.
"You?" his voice was dull and low. "You still here?"
"Yes, Mr. Garth. Here, I have some breakfast for you." Her face was
pinched and drawn and only her eyes were beautiful.
He gulped at the food. While he ate, she went to a small opening and
looked out. She returned to him, and when he had finished eating, she
spoke.
"The militia, or perhaps they are national guardsmen, are here. They
have surrounded us."
"What?"
For a moment, he did not understand. "Oh. So soon? No! You must be
mistaken."
He went quickly to the opening, stared through it. Minutes passed. To
the woman who watched him, he seemed to grow older with each passing
moment.
He turned. She was still there. He faced her.
"You--you haven't asked why the militia are here?" It was a question
and not a statement.
"No sir."
Her answer left him momentarily at a loss for words.
"You don't know--what happened last night?"
"No. I do not need to know. I doubt if I could understand. It would
make no difference." She spoke quickly, the words blurring into each
other.
There was suddenly hunger in Lee Garth's eyes, the hunger that grows in
lonely men.
"Stella--"
The flat smash of an explosion coming from outside jerked him back
to the opening. A deep, angry drone sliced through the morning air.
Another explosion slapped the earth.
"Bombers! A squadron of planes! The fools! What are they saying about
me out there, I wonder? No matter. I did what I had to do. Or tried.
There is only one thing left to do."
There was no anger in his voice. There was only resignation.
"Stella," he said, "if you ran from the door, I think they would let
you escape. They want me instead of you. You could say I had held you
prisoner."
Her voice was level.
"But what about you?"
"I will stay," Lee Garth answered.
"Here?"
He nodded.
"No!"
"I really didn't mean I will stay here," he amended. "I will go there.
I am needed, I think."
She did not understand. No one else would have understood. But she
had no need for understanding. She knew the secret that surpasses
understanding.