THE NIGHT PROWLERS
"Where the devil are we?" demanded Dan. "I can't see anything--much
less with these cursed glasses."
"Put them back on!" said Freddie sharply.
They had run into a gale from the north, soon after crossing over
Cuba. It would have been accounted a storm-wind, before the days
of the Great Change. But such winds now were common. A steady,
fifty-mile-an-hour blow. Flying with it, they had made great speed.
Over Jamaica, across the Caribbean, to strike the Colombian coast near
the mouth of the river below Baranquilla.
It was a race against the dawn; by daylight they would be seen by
Graff's watchers, before they could get near the barrage; and to wait
another day, with the Red Madness stalking the earth, was unthinkable.
At Baranquilla they were flying low. No lights showed. From Baranquilla
to Cartagena had been one great city of small farms. It was deserted
now. Graff and I, in that swing up to the coast, had cut a swath
through it; and the people all fled.
Freddie and Dan swept southeast. A vast territory; mountains, with
mines all abandoned; and the forests, and lower farm lands, uninhabited
now.
The dawn must have been very near. Dan was anxiously, fearfully
watching for it. The Infra-red glasses turned everything a dull, dead
gray; the ear-grids muffled sound to an annoying hush.
Dan occasionally would cast them off. The red things were riding the
night with the plane. They hovered outside the small inclosed cabin
in which Dan and Freddie were sitting. They seemed crowding the cabin
itself, their voices jabbering over the muffled motor-throb.
"Keep on those glasses!" Freddie repeated sharply. "Think I want to
take any chances, cooped up here with you!"
"I'm all right," Dan growled. "Where the devil are we? You said we were
almost there."
"We'll see it shortly. I'll look." Freddie raised the goggles from his
eyes. Faintly, far ahead through the overcast night, the crimson glow
of Graff's barrage was streaming above the horizon.
"It's there, Dan! Don't look! I'll descend--"
They swung down, barely skimming the tree-tops; over the roofs of
dark farmhouses, white lines of fences, empty fields--abandoned farm
country. The barrage came fully over the horizon; they could see the
points of concentrated light at intervals around its base where the
ground projectors stood. With the glasses on, it seemed to vanish.
It was soundless through their ear-grids; without them its howl was
plainly audible.
They were over devastated country now--a dead gray, blank waste.
Skimming close over it. Three miles from the barrage. Dan had taken the
controls. Freddie was fumbling with the heat-projector and with the
Essen-Bloc gun beside it. They donned their black gloves, dropped their
masks over their faces; their heads were black-hooded.
"Easy, Dan! Not too low!"
Dan swung them up. Freddie lifted his glasses. He hoped he would see
some sign of the Red Control ray streaming through the barrage. They
must determine the location of the Control--And then rush at it--
"Off, Dan! Close enough!"
"Too close!" Dan murmured. "If they spot us--"
It would be failure; they must locate the Control first. They swung to
the left, paralleling the barrage. Every moment they feared it would
tilt suddenly down with its beam darting at them. They could withstand
it, but their plane could not--
"Freddie! What's that?"
On the dead-gray surface of the ground ahead of them, figures showed.
Two black blobs. The crimson light faintly edged them. Dan swung the
plane up, then down, undecided. Two black-garbed figures, running
along the ground, away from the barrage. Men! A man, and a half
grown boy. The boy leaped ahead; then waited. The man was running
steadily--heavily--
* * * * *
From the Control house--that brief scene when Graff had turned the
current into the crimson globe--Zetta and I were led back to the
encampment. Graff gave orders to my guard, and left us, busy with his
other duties. The guard was alert, but he seemed out of earshot. I
whispered:
"Zetta, you never want to talk to me any more! I must do something
to-night--stop that damnable thing--"
"Peter, hush! He'll hear you!"
"I can't help it. Zetta, listen--"
In truth I had no clear idea of what I wanted to say. Some desperate
plan! To remain idle and let that crimson globe broadcast madness upon
our world was dastardly. My hand went to Zetta's arm, but she drew away
sharply.
"Hush, Peter! Do nothing! Go to bed--jus' trust me--"
Trust her! The barrier she had built up between us seemed to fall.
"Zetta, dear, what do you mean? Have you some plan--something, later
to-night--"
She knew so much more of conditions here in the camp than I did; she
had had more freedom, living almost unguarded in a house with one old
woman. And she spoke the language of these Brauns. If she had a plan it
would be more rational than mine!
"What is it?" I demanded. "What did you mean by that?"
"Peter, hush! Trust me." She shook me off. "You go to bed. Please, I
ask that of you! Trust me--I know best."
She leaped away, leaving me standing there.
I occupied alone a little house which had been built for me by Graff.
It stood at an end of one of the cross-streets, where the gray blank
waste land stretched out to the distant line of barrage. The dry river
bed was near it.
My bedroom had one barred door and two barred windows. My guard,
relieved by another at intervals, sat by the door. Occasionally at
night I could hear him prowling about the house.
I went to bed, but could not sleep. The darkness of my room seemed
luminous with purple haze--the protecting purple glow which hung
throughout the camp. The world outside had no such protection. The
broadcast crimson vibrations were seeking out every tiny corner of the
earth.
I must have drifted off--I was awakened by a hand over my mouth; a dark
form was beside me in the blackness; a voice murmured in my ear.
"Peter! Be quiet! Don't struggle!"
Zetta's voice! I relaxed. Then I sat up. I could see her dimly. She
was dressed in a tight-fitting black smock; tight, long trousers to
her ankles, joining black cloth shoes. A black hood, pushed back with
dangling mask. Black gloves pulled up over her tight black sleeves.
The insulating fabric!
"Quiet, Peter! Here, put these on. Hurry!"
She thrust garments at me. In a moment I was dressed like herself. We
carried our Infra-red goggles and ear-grids in our hands. There was no
time for me to question; she gave me a long curved pod-knife.
"If you have to, use it, Peter. I will lead--hurry--"
I sensed her shudder. The knife was wet. I knew why; in the darkness
outside, my guard lay motionless, sprawled face down on the ground.
Zetta leaped, I stepped over him. She waited for me; then leaped
lightly forward again.
The camp was dark and silent; we avoided a low-humming purple
projector. I ran, with Zetta leaping ahead of me. We got safely past
the houses. The insects were quartered at the opposite end of the
town. None were allowed abroad at night; I was thankful for that. The
night was overcast, darker, it seemed, than before. I wondered how
near dawn it was; probably very near. Zetta came to the bed of the
dry water-course; jumped down into it. I climbed down, thirty feet,
perhaps. In the blackness I ran forward.
Zetta now was at my side, holding one of my hands, trying to draw me
on. Miles of this; it seemed hours. A guard from the bank appeared
suddenly over our heads. He called softly. Zetta answered. She leaped
up and stood beside him; spoke to him; held his attention. I crept up
through the gloom, lunged with the knife. He fell.
The barrage line at last was before us; its red glow bathed the bottom
of the river bed. Zetta stopped me.
"You mus' get your breath, Peter. Then, run fas'. We will be through it
in a few minutes. Oh, Peter, you go so slowly!"
"You run ahead," I told her. "Get through as fast as you can--then wait
for me." We were adjusting our glasses, strapping on the ear-grids.
"Zetta, where did you get these?"
"From Brea!" The red illumination showed her faint, ironical smile.
"We have been planning it for a long time. She was afraid again to try
and kill me. But she wants that I never see Graff again. Jealous--and
so she has help' us escape. I did not tell her--naturally not--that we
would try for the Control house."
"And me? Why help me escape?"
"You, Peter--I tol' her you love me. If she help you escape, then you
would marry me. You see? Brea wants that--then I will be los' to Graff
forever. So she waited a chance and steal these things--"
* * * * *
My arms went around her. What a time for love-making! But my emotion
took no account of the time.
"Marry you, Zetta? Oh, if you will let me! You said 'I am not pledged
to you yet, Peter!'" Those words of hers had been like a weight on my
heart; a weight which I wanted now to dispel forever. I held her close.
"Zetta, you love me--"
She pushed me away; more rational always than I. "That I said--because
then the sacrifice to Graff might have been necessary."
"But now--it isn't?"
"No. Not now. Peter--come--run fas'."
At the edge of the barrage a guard was standing on the river bank. He
flung a tiny white beam down on us. Zetta called up to him, tried to
lure him down. But abruptly he shouted an alarm. From across the river
another figure came in a leap, sailing over our heads. We ducked into a
hole; above us the two guards stood consulting.
"Zetta, call again! Talk to them--I'll climb up."
I got behind them on top of the bank. I could hear Zetta calling up
something about Graff. I lunged at them. One stabbed at me with a short
purple flame; but it missed, or my black garments killed it. I struck
into them as they stood together; struck with my knife and flailing
arms. I could feel their flimsy bodies crack. They sank at my feet.
There seemed no general alarm given; these two guards doubtless were
the only ones within hearing at this section of the line. We went
through the barrage. Running. With the glasses on, it was all the dead
gray of night, and soundless. But I could feel it plucking at me; once
I got the impression I was almost wading through it, fighting it. A
panic of fear seized me; I laughed to ward it off.
I was laughing when Zetta gripped me, jerked off the glasses and my
mask. "Peter, stop that! You are all right!"
The cool night air steadied me. We were in the darkness, well beyond
the barrage. It was a mile, perhaps, to the Control house. We followed
the barrage line, creeping, running, taking advantage of every gully,
every hillock. Garbed in black, we were doubtless not easy to see.
There was no alarm given.
The dawn was near. We got back through the barrage, inside the line
again. A guard near the Control house came up to us. Fortunately he had
not seen from which direction we came. He was less suspicious than the
others; our masks, glasses and black garments were more to be expected
here by the Control than elsewhere. Zetta told him we were from Graff.
He sank soundlessly as my knife slashed at his throat.
The two guards in the outer room were almost equally easy. But one
screamed. The Control-keeper came out at us. My fist crushed his face.
We were in the Control room! The crimson globe stood there murmuring.
Diabolical thing! With my gloved hands I ripped at it; tore its wires;
tumbled it down; kicked and wrecked it with a passionate frenzy.
[Illustration: With my gloved hands I ripped at the wires of the
diabolical crimson globe; and I kicked with passionate fury at the
instrument of destruction.]
"Enough, Peter! Here, help me with this."
Zetta had been swiftly unfastening the inert purple globe. She gathered
up its mechanism, handed it all to me.
"Here--be ver' careful."
It weighed only a few pounds. It seemed not unduly fragile, and I put
it under my arm. We were outside again in a minute or two. No one
accosted us this time; there seemed no one about but the three sprawled
figures; one was twitching as he lay there.
Again we ran. At the barrage I stuffed the globe under my jacket to
protect it. When we were outside the red area I could feel the skin of
my stomach and chest burning where the light had entered. But we were
safe. We ran north, over the gray empty country. The barrage faded to
a radiance in the distance behind us. A mile--two miles--I was on the
verge of exhaustion. I could not run much further now. But I forced
myself. If we could get far away before the dawn we would escape being
seen. Then, rest. And by daylight, travel on.
But what a distance! I figured that heading northeast was our best
chance, but it might be a hundred miles or more before we encountered
any one. The wrecked Control would be discovered by Graff. Pursuit
would overtake us. Perhaps I had better send Zetta on ahead with this
purple globe. Send her on to safety.
To one side of us, up in the darkness, a shape suddenly took form. A
small aero, flying low. An earth airplane! This could be no enemy!
Zetta had been leaping ahead of me, waiting after each leap as I plowed
my heavy way along. We stood together. I waved my arms.
A small white searchlight caught us as the plane passed close over us.
I flung back my hood and mask to meet the light. The plane circled,
came back, landed on the level gray expanse.
In a moment we were with the amazed Dan and Freddie; the precious
purple globe was safe on board. The twilight of dawn was silvering our
plane as we headed northwest, flying for Miami.