-
- THE BLUE BLADE
Heroes of the Golden Age in…
DARING MYSTERY COMICS
By Travis Hiltz
Dateline: Hollywood, California: Rising starlet, Myrna Bancroft still missing! The JD Studios beauty disappeared three nights ago, after leaving the premiere party for her latest picture. Despite rumors that JD Studios has received a ransom note for Miss Bancroft, police believe the disappearance to be a publicity stunt.
In one of Hollywood’s least glamorous neighborhoods, two rough customers were standing watch at the desk of a seedy hotel that had seen better days. The tough at the desk was playing solitaire while his partner chewed on a toothpick and occasionally glanced out the lobby’s one dust coated, window.
“I tell you, Mitch,” The toothpick chewer said.” The papers say everybody thinks us snatching the girl ain’t nothing but a stunt. So, if the cops don’t care the Studio has got to pony up the money, right?”
“Maybe and maybe not,” Mitch said, playing a red ten on a black jack. “Or maybe the papers are just saying that to get us to make a mistake.”
“Ya think so?”
“No, but the Boss thinks so, and his is the only thinking that matters. So Tommy, quit thinking and keep watching the street. Any sign of the cops?”
“Nah, street’s quieter than a hermit’s hut out there tonight. Not a… what the Sam Hill? Mitch, get a look at this!”
Mitch left his cards to join his partner at the window. As soon as he looked out into the street, he knew what had gotten Tommy’s attention.
“Guy’s a little early for Halloween, ain’t he?”
Strolling down the street was a man dressed in a flamboyant blue, swashbuckling costume. He wore a wide brimmed hat with a white ostrich plume, a domino mask and short cape. He was bare-chested and wore a pair of pantaloons that stopped just above his knees. Gloves and boots were the same shade of blue as his cape and there was a rapier tucked into his broad buckled belt. He sported luxurious blonde hair that touched his shoulders, as well as a waxed mustache and a neatly trimmed goatee.
He strolled along the street in such a loose, casual manner as to make you think he was a bit on the tipsy side. Coming up to the door of the hotel, the masked man knocked firmly, and then rocked casually on his heels, as he waited.
“Whatta we do?” Tommy asked.
“Can’t leave him out there,” Mitch growled. “Let’s see what he wants and get rid of him.”
Mitch opened the door and glared down at the masked swashbuckler.
“Yeah?”
The masked man was a good head shorter than the thug. He was thin, but athletic. He peered up at Mitch with an open, friendly grin.
“Evening, good sir,” the newcomer announced, in a drawl with a hint of an English accent. “If you would be so kind as to inform Miss Bancroft that her escort is here, it would be most appreciated.”
Mitch gaped in surprise for a second then grabbed a hold of the masked man’s cape collar and yanked him into the dusty lobby, slamming the door shut behind them.
“What did you say?” he demanded. “Who are you?”
“To answer your questions in reverse order,” he replied in the same friendly manner. “I, sir, am the Blue Blade, my sword and my soul are dedicated to the cause of justice, and I am here as escort to MIss Myrna Bancroft. It would be inappropriate for a single maiden of such grace, talent and beauty to roam the streets unaccompanied. So, if you would be so kind…”
The two thugs stared, completely dumbfounded. After several moments of awkward silence, the Blue Blade leaned forward, expectantly.
“Miss Bancroft is in residence here, is she not?” he asked, casually.
“Well, yeah…” Tommy began, before Mitch silenced him with a well placed elbow to the ribs.
“What makes you think she’s here?” He asked, a hint of menace in his voice.
“I made certain inquiries,” The Blue Blade replied, cheerfully. “I do admit, I had a devil of a time finding the address, but with a bit of persuasion, several gentlemen were quite helpful. Though, a gentleman by the name of Lefty was unreasonably rude and I felt the need to, shall we say, rebuke him. Well, here I am. I know I should have called ahead, but in my boyish enthusiasm, the thought of such a courtesy slipped my mind.”
“I don’t believe this,” Mitch muttered. “Look, pal, the lady ain’t going nowhere with you, unless you happen to have five G’s tucked in your little cape.”
He cracked his knuckles and glared down at the thin swashbuckler.
“Alas, I am a bit short when it comes to currency,” The Blue Blade said with regret. Then, in a blur of movement, his sword was out and tapped Mitch’s Adams apple. “But, I must insist the lady be allowed to accompany me.
“What the…!” Tommy breathed, reaching for the Blue Blade. In another blur of motion, Tommy staggered back, nursing a gash across the back of his left hand. The tip of the rapier quickly returned to M itch’s throat.
“I see we will be unable to resolve this like gentlemen,” The Blue Blade said, with a slight frown. “Ah, well.”
There was a flurry of movement, and for several seconds it seemed as though there was a swarm of sword points, rather than the one. By the time the rapier had halted, both thugs were on their knees, their shirts and coats cut to ribbons, their hands and faces gashed and bleeding. The Blue Blade then used his weapon to fish guns out of both men’s shoulder holsters and toss them onto the nearby battered sofa. He pressed his sword against Tommy’s collarbone.
“Where might I find the young lady?” He asked.
“Uh… upstairs… ruh…room…sixteen.”
The Blue Blade saluted the two wounded and dazed thugs, resheathed his sword and bounded up the stairs.
He reached the third floor, slightly out of breath, fished a silk handkerchief out of a glove, patted at his forehead and returned it, as he strolled along the narrow, dimly lit hallway.
“Let us see,” he said, as he walked. “Fourteen, Fifteen… Ah, here we are!”
He knocked, genteelly at the door. “Miss Bancroft?”
“Mmmm-huh-mphf!” came from the other side of the door.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t entirely catch that.” The Blue Blade replied.
“Ah sahd…Mah-mmm-huh…!”
“I’ll take that to mean, ‘please enter.’.” he said, opening the door.
Myrna Bancroft, a beautiful and stylish young blonde, even when she had been wearing the same designer gown for three days in a row was gagged and tied to a chair.
“Ah,” he said, lunging forward and kneeling behind the chair to untie her. “I apologize for being so forward, but I feel time may be of the essence. I’m not being too presumptuous in thinking you’ve had enough of Tommy and Mitch’s hospitality?”
“Who…?” Myrna gasped, as her gag was loosened, and her rescuer stood in front of her. “Ah, thanks, I… um …what nut hatch did you escape from?”
“I am the Blue Blade!” he announced, taking off his hat and making a sweeping bow. “An agent of justice and an admirer of your artistry. May I?’
He offered her a hand and helped the young actress to stand. He then offered his arm and escorted her out of the room. As they reached the landing, loud voices could be heard from below.
“Bother,” The Blue Blade muttered.
“What?” Myrna asked anxiously. “What’s going on?”
“It seems Mitch and Tommy have recovered their courage quicker than I had anticipated,” he explained. “I would be less than a gentleman if I were to expose you to the risk of violence. I don’t suppose you could direct me to another exit?”
“I was blindfolded when they dragged me here.” Myrna replied. “You have done this before, haven’t you?”
“Third time this week, actually,” The Blue Blade told her, absently, while he looked around the hallway. “Hmm…Doors look to be to other rooms. We’re on the third floor… those stairs must lead to the roof… other buildings are too high… let me see…”
He stroked his beard in thought, as the noise from below got louder and closer.
“Um… I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but…!” Myrna said, nervously tugging at the Blue Blade’s cape. “It sounds like those two guys have asked a couple friends over and they don’t sound happy about whatever you did to them.”
“Yes, they were uncouth fellows. Can’t imagine their friends are any more refined. Well, I suppose when needs must, a bit of improvisation is called for.”
The Blue Blade moved down the hallway, trying each doorknob until he found one that opened. He made an ‘after you’ gesture to Myrna and quickly followed her into yet another dingy, tiny room. The Blue Blade locked the door, wedged a chair under the doorknob and then tapped his bottom lip in anxious thought as he scanned the room and its few furnishings.
“You’ve got a plan, right?” Myrna asked, leaning against the door.
“Of course,” The Blue Blade replied. “Discretion is the better part of valor…”
He moved over to the window, slid it open and peered down. There was a rusty, not terribly sturdy looking fire escape.
“Ah! Perfect. Let us away, Miss Bancroft.”
“You’re kidding, right?” She said, joining him at the window. “That thing will come loose if we look at it hard. How long have you been doing this mystery man racket?”
“No wonder there are no poems that include the words ‘gratitude’ and ‘woman’ in the same line,” The Blue Blade muttered to himself.
Both of them turned at the voices coming closer to the door. Then the knob turned.
“Whose company would you favor, dear lady? Mine or Mitch and Tommy’s?”
“All right, I’m going,” she grumbled, hiking up her evening gown and climbing out the window.
There was a thud, as a shoulder struck the door and the cheap lock began to give.
“Away, Miss Bancroft! I will hold off these rogues!”
“Uh…okay. Good luck.”
She had just ducked out of sight when the lock cracked and the door flung open. A short thug, in a cap, and an overweight, bald man in a shiny gray suit, had joined Mitch and Tommy.
“That’s him, Boss!” Tommy exclaimed, to the bald man.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking, get him!”
The trio rushed the Blue Blade.
“Engarde!” he exclaimed, drawing his rapier.
The three men drew guns from their jackets.
‘Hands up, Captain Blood,” Mitch growled.
“Is that the best you can do?” The Blue Blade asked, with a laugh, lunging forward. “Have at you!”
The tip of his rapier plugged neatly into the barrel of the nearest gun. He then flicked his wrist and yanked the gun out of Tommy’s grip. It spiraled up in the air, and while the quartet was momentarily distracted, the rapier jabbed Mitch in the knee. The thug yelped and stumbled about, clutching at his injury, he then fell against the distracted Tommy.
For good measure, The Blue Blade made several slashes in the air with his sword, inches away from the two nearest thug’s noses. This was the finishing touch that sent the whole crew staggering back thorough the door to collapse in an untidy heap in the hallway. While they cursed and struggled to their feet, the Blue Blade kicked the door closed once more and ran for the window. He was several feet down the fire escape when he nearly collided with Myrna who was rushing back up.
“Ah, just the flower of loveliness I was looking for. Aren’t you traveling in the wrong direction though?”
“Take a gander that way,” she replied, pointing down.
The Blue Blade caught a glimpse of another trio of thugs making their way up the fire escape.
“This situation is becoming most vexing,” The Blue Blade said. “It is a true man who is willing to admit when he needs help.”
The Blue Blade put his fingers to his lips and let out a shrill whistle. He then hooked his arm through Myrna’s and steered her down the landing to the second floor.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “Don’t we want to get away from the men with guns?”
“Not to fret, dear lady, behold!”
From out of a nearby alley galloped a white horse wearing a pristine saddle and bridle.
“Now, I’ve seen everything,” Myrna said. “How do we get past the gunsels?”
“This next bit is a touch tricky,” The Blue Blade said, returning his sword to his scabbard and scooping the young starlet up into his arms. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t scream on the way down, it effects my concentration.
“What…? Oh no, you don’t… aaaaggghhh!”
With a roguish grin, the Blue Blade leapt off the fire escape, landing with a solid thud and a wince, on the horse below.
“Let us away, Dumas!” he said, digging his heels into the horse’s flanks.
The horse galloped down the street, quickly out of range of the thug’s guns and shouts. The Blue Blade shifted Myrna until she sat in front of him. He kept one arm around her, while the other took hold of the reins.
I can’t believe we made it!” Myrna exclaimed. “You could have gotten us killed! Next time I get kidnapped, I’m holding out for the Human Torch or Moon Man!”
“In a perfect world, there’d be a sunset for us to ride off into,” The Blue Blade replied.
The headquarters of the Interplanetary Secret Service was a nondescript dome in the business district of Luna City, on the moon.
The main door irised open and ‘Whirlwind’ Carter walked in. He was a tall, broad shouldered man, with well-trimmed blonde hair. He wore a pine green body suit, with gold belt and trim, at the cuffs that accented his athletic frame.
He made his way down the main corridor and past the receptionist. The young woman at the white plastic desk spared him a glance and an appreciative smile as he passed.
The office he entered was large, with a wide desk, an anti-grav sofa, two pieces of modest holographic landscape art and a computer terminal. Seated behind the desk was an overweight, older man in a plain beige body suit.
“Ah, Carter, good,” he said, looking up from his work. “Have a seat, we have need of your services.”
“What can I do for the I.S.S.?” Carter asked, getting comfortable on the sofa.
“How much of the news did you follow while you were on Venus?”
“Not much. The med center has a strong belief that solitude is a great help towards health and wellbeing. Would your call have anything to do with this rumor that the Martians have finally decided their schemes of conquest have gotten them nothing but defeat and enemies?”
‘Yes, they’ve been making tentative inquiries into a settlement and the Galaxy Council has agreed. EarthGov is brokering peace talks between the Martian Warlord and representatives from the five colonized planets to take place within the next three days. I don’t have to tell you what this would mean if EarthGov can work out an agreement.”
“It could change the very face of the Interplanetary Alliance,” Carter nodded. “Impressive. I’m no fan of the Martians, but if they’re honest in wanting a peace settlement and channeling their resources to something besides trying to subjugate the rest of the Solar system, who knows what the Alliance could accomplish.”
“Quite right. Wolverton space station has been designated neutral territory and will be the meeting place.”
“So, what can I do to help? Oversee security arrangements?” Carter asked.
“No. I need your special skills to look into something a bit more delicate.”
“I take it all is not peaceful with the peace talks?”
“I don’t know. Since the beginning of negotiations there have occurred a string of a rather coincidental … accidents, shall we say.”?
“What sort of ‘accidents’?’ Carter asked, sitting forward attentively. “You think the Martians are up to something?”
“That’s the puzzling thing. They’ve been as affected as anyone involved. One of the key Martian diplomats had to drop out after being injured. One of the EarthGov members was replaced due to what was reported as illness. It turned out to be food poisoning. There’s a list of about a dozen other incidents of the same sort. On their own seem innocent enough, but together…”
“You start to see a pattern,” Carter nodded. “Who’s behind it?”
“I don’t know. From what we’ve come up with, they’re nothing more than bad luck, but this close to the negotiations is suspicious. It’s not enough to put a halt to the talks or point to any specific person or group. Officially, there is no investigation.”
“I’m a bit of added insurance.” Carter said. “Fair enough.”
“There is an added complication. My Martian counterpart has voiced a similar suspicion and we have agreed to pool our resources…”
“What?” Carter frowned, standing up. “You want me to partner with an agent of the main suspect? “
“There are no ‘main suspects’, Carter,” The older man snapped. “There are factions on both sides who would be happy to see these talks fail. Every planet in the alliance has its share of militants. Except, perhaps the Venusians. They’re so serene; one has to wonder if they’ve even noticed we’ve established a colony on their planet. “
“You suspect someone in Earthgov of being involved in these accidents?”
“I’m telling you that no single government or group has been cleared or accused. We have no solid evidence either way, and in fact it would have taken operatives on both sides to make these accidents happen.”
“Some third party, trying to undermine the talks?”
“I’m not ruling out any theory, and neither should you.” The older man reached across his desk and held up a blue, palm sized data disk. “Here’s all the information we’ve gathered, as well as information on where to make contact with your new partner. We’ve worked up a full file on him as well. Good luck, Carter, and try not to live up to your nickname on this one.”
“Yes sir.” Carter nodded, as he turned and left, his brow furrowed in frustration. He quickly strode out of the dome and caught the nearest available auto-taxi. His Martian contact would meet him at Wolverton station. Carter spent the trip reading over details of the upcoming talks, as well as the mysterious accidents.
Arriving at Luna City spaceport, he was able to book passage on the earliest ship traveling to Wolverton. He spent his wait before the flight studying the information he’d been given and occasionally glancing over the other beings in the waiting area.
Maybe the details of this assignment were making him paranoid, but since leaving the I.S.S. dome he’d felt unseen eyes on him. Was he being followed or was landing such a potentially big assignment right after his medical leave throwing him off? Last thing he needed, on top of being saddled with an unwanted partner, was if he felt he couldn’t trust his own instincts.
When the boarding call for his flight sounded, Carter tucked the data disk into his belt, took a last appraising look at the crowd, and decided his best bet was to take it one step at a time and trust his instincts, until proven wrong.
Wolverton Space station was a huge metal and plastic doughnut, home to nearly seven million beings from across the solar system, several dozen corporation headquarters, a healthy tourist trade, and a major hub of any and all forms of interplanetary travel, from cargo haulers to luxury cruise ships.
Even so, it was still rare to see many Martians, so Carter was able to easily spot his contact at the Starbucks by the main docking terminal.
The Martians on the whole were a very distinctive looking race. Carter’s new partner was a prime example, a short, ape-like body covered in grey-green hair, so coarse as to appear spiky. His face was made up of heavily fanged jaw, and a pronounced reddish snout of a nose. The Martian surveyed the rest of the patrons with fierce, owl-wide eyes. His only clothing was a bandolier type harness that held numerous pouches and holsters for at least three weapons.
The Martian had an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. He was tapping upon the tabletop with dagger sharp talons.
“Don’t like the coffee?” Carter asked, sitting down.
“Actually, it is my third,” The Martian growled in reply. “One of the few admirable things you humans produce is Espresso.”
“Good choice,” Carter said, typing an order into the robo-waitron. He laid his identity disk on the table, for the Martian to see.
“Aaah, Carter,” the Martian nodded, fishing a Martian data cube out of a pouch and laying it next to Carter’s disk. “I am Erb, of the Warlord’s elite.”
Carter nodded appreciatively. If the Martian warlord was sending one of his top operatives, then they were treating this situation as seriously as the I.S.S.
“So, tell me what your people think about these ‘accidents’?” he asked. “Who do you suspect?”
“Besides you Earthers?” Erb asked back.
Several cups of coffee later, the two agents of different worlds had gotten slightly past their natural animosity and suspicion and come to the conclusion that too many delegates to the talks had been affected by the accidents for it to be the work of any one government or planet, which left them with the option of some third party, possibly made up of a mix of nationalities.
They devised a list of three main suspects: The Starlin Corporation, Heg, a Martian official and Jared Binks, a member of a minor extremist political group. All were currently located on Wolverton station.
Carter and Erb decided to separate to investigate Binks and Heg. They would then regroup before deciding on how to handle the Starlin corp.
Carter nodded farewell to the Martian and left the coffee shop to flag down an auto-taxi to his hotel. The feeling came back that someone was watching him. A few calls from his hotel room got him the information he needed to track down Binks. He had a rented room down on the lower levels and to frequent a local bar.
Carter had no sooner left his hotel, than the accidents started.
The travel tube to take him to the stations lower levels stalled, then the auto-taxi he hailed skipped the curb and he was forced to jump back to avoid being clipped.
The lower levels of the station were crowded and nowhere near as bright and shining as the main five levels. Carter made his way through a series of dimly lit, dingy corridors, made narrower with trash and crowds. Binks’ living quarters had been abandoned and rented to a new occupant. This left Carter the ‘Bistro Illegal’ as his only lead. He wasn’t sure if the name was a bit of unintentional irony or if all the good names for a bar had already been taken.
It was even dirtier, more crowded and dimly lit than the rest of the surrounding neighborhood. That description also matched the patrons.
“Gargle-blaster, extra gitz,” Carter said, sidling up to the bar. He refrained from leaning against it, as there were stains. Several of them were fresh and one looked like blood.
“Bit overdressed for here, aren’t ya?” The Bartender said, beginning to mix Carter’s drink.
“Looking for someone.” Carter explained. “Jared Binks. Know him?”
“Binks? Hope he don’t owe you credits.” the bartender said, handing over the drink “He scampered months ago.”
Carter took a sip of his drink. Bit too much Jovion fizz, but tolerable.
“Any idea where he might have gone to?”
The bartender shrugged, shook his head and moved off to get other orders.
Carter sipped his drink and glanced around the bar. Aside from a few curious looks, he was getting little attention from the other patrons. This looked to be a dead end, so he finished off his drink and left the bar. He’d only gone a couple feet away when he realized he was being followed. He took a right hand corridor and then turned around quick and found himself facing a trio of men in coveralls.
“What’s on your minds, citizens?” Carter asked.
“You’ve been asking about Binks,” the tallest one snarled. “The Separatists know all that happens on this level and we don’t like people asking after our members.”
All three pulled guns out of their coveralls and pointed them at Carter.
“I don’t like guns,” he said.
“Well, then this should go easy.” the leader of the trio smirked.
“No, when I say that, it’s not out of fear,” Carter told them. “It’s that since I don’t like guns, I have this compulsion to take them away from people.”
His foot snapped up and kicked the pistol out of the leader’s hand. Before the others could recover from their surprise, Carter had grabbed the front of one’s coverall and yanked him hard enough to send him staggering into the other two. He snatched the gun out of the man’s hand.
“Just because I don’t like guns does not mean I’m ignorant about how to use them. So, why are the Separatists so interested in disrupting these peace talks?”
“Peace talks?” one of them groaned. “What’re you talking about? What’d you do with Binks?!”
“What?” Carter muttered. “Let’s try this again, what did happen to Binks?”
“Don’t know,” one of the Separatists replied. “He said something ‘bout making contact with somebody that could help the cause. That was the last we saw of him.”
“This happened about a month ago?” Carter asked.
The trio nodded.
“Well, I’ll tell you, I don’t know anymore about his disappearance than you do. So, I’ll apologize now, while you can still remember it.”
Carter adjusted a dial on the side of the gun and before the trio could react, fired a wide beam, which enveloped all three. They immediately collapsed to the floor. He tossed the gun aside and walked back the way he’d come, out onto the main corridor for the level. “Seems like there’s more to their friend Binks than I thought. He’s been missing a month, and yet the info disk I was given shows him close to where several of the accidents occurred. I wonder…?”
Before he could finish the thought, something struck him from behind and it all went black.
Carter returned slowly to consciousness. He winced as he moved.
“Careful, Earther,” a gruff, familiar voice said.
“Never thought I’d be happy to see a Martian,” Carter muttered, sitting up. ”Where are we?”
The room had originally been white, but was now a dingy gray with various containers scattered about.
“Storage room,” Erb replied. “There’s a slight vibration in the walls, so I’m, guessing we are in some manufacturing facility.”
“Any idea how we got here?”
“I’d just confronted Heg,” Erb explained. “And was leaving the building, there was a problem with the travel tube, so I used the stairs. I was struck from behind.”
“Another accident, right after you talked to one of the suspects,” Carter said, rubbing at the back of his head. “We’re on the right track, for all the good it’s done us.”
He got up and began to wander the room, pushing plasti-crates and canisters aside.
“What are you looking for?”
“Got it!” Carter replied, crouching down in the corner. “Look at this.”
There was a plate, set into the wall and on it engraved into the metal…
“Starlin corp.!” Erb growled. “We must be in one of their buildings. Then it is you earthers that are behind this!”
“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Carter replied, running his fingers over the seam in the plate. “Heg’s involved and who owns Starlin corp. has always been vague. I’ve got an idea, but first we need to get out of here. If I could get this loose….”
“One side,” Erb said, pushing past Carter. He flexed his right hand, extending a set of sharp talons. “You humans and your need for tools…!”
He jammed his claws into the seam and after a moments effort pulled the panel from the wall.
“Not bad,” Carter admitted, peering into the small alcove in the wall. “Hmm, maintenance diagnostic controls… here we go….” He pushed several buttons then pulled loose several colored wires. In the distance they could hear a muffled siren.
‘What did you do?” Erb asked.
“I think I told the building computer that this room is on fire. Or possibly that there’s a party with the music playing too loud…. either way, somebody will have to come check on us and when they do…”
Erb cracked his knuckles, an evil grin spreading across his face.
“Leave them to me.” he advised.
Ten minutes later, a Starlin corp. security guard in a slightly disheveled uniform, was seen escorting a Martian out of the building. Once at the curb, the duo jumped into the nearest auto-taxi and sped away.
Erb sank back into the cushion. He winced from a gash on his shoulder and a set of bruised knuckles, but still managed a triumphant grin.
“Maybe there is something to this ‘subtlety,'” he said. “The ones guarding us were fighters. I would not have liked the odds of tangling with a building full.”
“True,” Carter said, dabbing at a cut lip, and switching on the auto-taxis view screen. “Bit too well combat trained for security guards at a minor corporate holding. Still feels like I’m missing something about all this. How are they able to infiltrate such a variety of places…?”
Carter trailed off, distracted by the images on the station news feed playing across the screen. He pushed a button to freeze the image.”
“I think we’ve got them!” he exclaimed. He quickly tapped the command screen and reprogrammed their taxis’ destination.
Government Center was a vast pillar of white that towered over all other structures near it. At the base, delegates, their entourages and security personal were gathering in preparation for the upcoming peace talks. A vast wall of reporters, tourists and protesters surrounded them.
No one noticed a lone auto-taxi that pulled up at the edge of the crowd. Carter and Erb quickly jumped out and made their way through the ocean of people.
Carter finally made it through the outer circle and rushed over to one of the groups of delegates from EarthGov. He grabbed a blonde man in a green body suit by one of his broad shoulders and spun him around.
“Hate to do this…!” he said, socking the blonde man on the jaw.
There was uproar from the crowd as security moved in.
“Carter!” One of the security men exclaimed. “What’s going on? Why did you clobber… by the seven moons! Carter, that guy…it’s you!”
“It is you, earther!” Erb added, wide wide-eyed. “How?”
“I spotted him… uh… myself, on the news feed,” Carter explained. “That gave me the final piece to who was behind this.”
“Look!” An onlooker shouted, pointing at the unconscious other Carter.
Before their eyes the body of the impostor Carter began to blur and when it reformed it was replaced by another form. An alien form, lying there was a green biped being. Its head dominated by pointed ears and a furrowed lantern jaw.
“What is it?” Erb asked.
“A Skrull,” Carter replied. “A race of shape shifters from outside the solar system that tried to invade earth before. They were driven out beyond the system. There hasn’t been a known sighting of a Skrull in years. Looks like they’ve been keeping an eye on us though, and decided now was the time to make their move.”
“Then Binks and Heg were kidnapped and replaced by Skrulls?” Erb said.
“…And most likely several executives and security staff at that Starlin corp. building we were held at,” Carter added.
“What now?” one of the delegates asked. “Do we go ahead with the talks?”
“You have to,” Carter told him. “If the Skrulls have returned, then our only defense is for all the worlds of the solar system to come together. If we let our differences keep us separate and hostile towards each other, we make the Skrulls job that much easier. Only together can we keep the System safe and free!”
In the jungle, time is not looked at the same way as in other parts of the world. For animals and even a good portion of the native population, it does not dictate every waking moment of the day. In the jungle there is day and night, time to hunt, time to sleep, now and not now. Some tasks require a bit of urgency, but they are few and far between.
Zara, having been raised in the jungle shared this view of time. There had been urgency in the task of rescuing a young native boy from Arab slavers, but once the boy was safe, that sense of hurry evaporated on the trip back to the native village. The boy now sat straddling the neck of a mighty elephant, all fear replaced by wonder. Zara sat behind him, enjoying the slow sway of the mighty animal as it ambled along.
It was the dry time of year and the air was hot and still. Even so, there was a quiet to the land that made the raven-haired jungle girl a bit uneasy.
The Savannah gradually gave way to jungle, and Zara and the boy had to occasionally duck tree limbs as they came closer to the native village.
Through the broad leaves, Zara could make out the huts of the boy’s village. With a pat and a murmured word, she commanded the elephant to halt and kneel down, so they could dismount. There was no noise from the village, and as Zara and the boy stepped out of the jungle, they saw not a single soul.
”Strange,” Zara said, taking her hunting knife from its sheath. She steered the boy back towards the nearest hut. “Stay here. Let me look around.”
She crept cautiously through the village. Nothing but empty huts, abandoned chores and several still smoldering cooking fires. Zara was passing by a hut, when the scent of blood caught her attention and distracted her from movement inside. Then, the jungle girl felt the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed into the small of her back.
“All right, don’t move!” a gruff voice demanded. “Now, we’ll…ooofff!”
Zara had spun, one hand caught the wrist of the gun hand, and the other she drove into the man’s solar plexus. He dropped the gun and fell to his knees.
Zara grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him up.
“You will tell me… oh! Captain Graves!”
As Zara pulled the man out of the dark hut and into the sunlight, she immediately recognized him as the British soldier in charge of overseeing the area. She let go of him and picked up his pith helmet from where it had fallen in their struggle.
“I’m so sorry.” She said, handing him back his hat. “Did I hurt you?”
“Hurt? Me?” Graves grumbled, leaning against the doorframe. He rubbed at his chest, and then accepted his hat from the jungle girl. He straightened up, and stroked his bushy white mustache. “Not at… um… all. Just caught me off guard. I was distracted… worried I might… hurm… hurt you.”
“Of course,” Zara smiled, putting her knife away and waving to the boy to join them. “What are you doing here? Where are the villagers? This boy’s parents?”
“Gone. Fled.” Graves replied, scooping up his pistol. “Something odd going on here. Crowd of them showed up at the outpost jabbering about several deaths. The rest of them packed up and are at the village down the river, all wide-eyed and refusing to come back. We’re stretched a bit thin, dealing with those slavers, so I decided to come down myself and see what the trouble was. Follow me.”
He turned and walked back into the hut. Huddled in the far corner was an elderly African. He wore only a loincloth, a necklace of bone and a blanket, wrapped around his thin body. Even in the heat, he shivered. Zara could make out several wounds on his neck and chest, crusted with blood.
“Jumba!” she said, rushing to his side. She recognized the old man as the village shaman from her other visits. “What happened?”
“Don’t know,” Graves told her. “He was attacked about the same time as a couple of men from here. He was the only one that lived. He’s got fever, can’t get a word of sense out of him.”
“Zuh-Zara…?’ Jumba rasped, his eyes struggling to focus. “Child of the jungle…listen to me….”
“I am here, Jumba. What happened? Who did this to your village?”
“N’Baka!” the old man gasped. “N’Baka wuh-walks the land…”
The effort of even that little bit of speech seemed too much for the old shaman and he collapsed in Zara’s arms.
“Let him rest,” Graves advised. “My men will be here in the morning and we can move him to the field hospital, whether he wants to or not.”
“We may not have that long,” Zara said, easing down Jumba onto his sleeping mat, and getting to her feet. “If we can’t move him, we need to make this hut safe. I’ll have the boy gather food and fire wood.”
“No need to worry,” Graves told her. “It’s just one night, whoever this ‘N’Baka’ character is, we can handle it.”
“I am not so sure.” Zara said, in an anxious tone. “Watch over the boy. I need to scout around. Do you know where the dead warriors were found?”
“Take that hunting trail that goes to the west,” Graves replied. “What are you getting so worked up over, girl?”
“Maybe nothing,” Zara said. “I will return before dark.”
With that, she jogged away, drawing her bow from where it was strapped across her back, as she ran.
Zara easily found the trail and made her way, quickly, but cautiously deeper into the jungle. The overlap of tree branches left the trail in perpetual shadow and the jungle was as silent as the village had been. The animals knew something was wrong, and unlike the white men, were smart enough not to question that feeling. The natives had understood that too. Zara, dwelling as she did with a foot in both Africa and the white man’s world, felt the same urge to flee, but needed to know. She had the instincts of the jungle, but the curiosity of the so-called civilized world.
The path branched off in several places, but Zara knew which one to follow. Her enhanced senses could smell the path that ended in death and while death is common in the jungle this one smelled wrong. It was not the usual smell of hunter and prey. She soon came upon a tiny clearing; no more than two men could have stood within its circle. Branches were broken, as though there had been a struggle and dried blood painted the trees.
In the center of the tiny clearing was a hole in the ground, no wider than the span of Zara’s two palms held together and only a foot deep. The edges were rough, as though someone had pulled something loose from the ground, a stump or rock. Zara ran a finger around the edge of the hole and along with the dirt on her skin came slivers of black. Her usually smooth and lovely forehead wrinkled in concentration, as a memory struggled to come to her.
Suddenly, it did and she ran furiously from the clearing. Zara circled around the village, keeping to the jungle till she came to a spot on the east side, and found a similar small clearing. This was even more overgrown than the first. Zara pushed through the vegetation until she reached the center of the clearing. There, sticking out of the ground was a large black rock. Roughly oval shape, it shown as though recently polished. There were symbols carved into it, but they worn down to the point of being unreadable. Zara knelt down by the stone and ran her hand over it, and frowned in thought.
The sun was almost touching the horizon as Captain Graves and the native boy sat by a fire, in front of Jumba’s hut. The boy had some strips of meat on a skewer, roasting over the fire. Graves sat with his rifle lay across his lap, his eyes darting about the village. He shook his head and frowned.
“Foolishness,” he grumbled. “That girl’s got me jumping at shadows. No way for one of his majesties’ soldiers to act.”
He gave a start as Zara leapt out of the gathering dark.
“We are in danger,” she said, kneeling by the fire and helping herself to one of the skewers. “N’Baka will come tonight.”
“Who is this N’Baka you and Jumba go on about?” Graves asked. “Never heard of the chap.”
“He is no ‘chap’,” Zara said. “A legend, a creature that stalked the land back before white men set foot on it. Now, it has come back.”
“What’s got you in such a bother, girl? You know better than to fall for all this native superstition.”
“I do,” Zara nodded. “But, I also know some of the village’s history. The deaths that frightened the villagers follow a tale from the earliest days of this land.”
She turned to the native boy.
“Do you know the story?” Zara asked.
The boy, wide eyed nodded and when he finally spoke it was in a quiet voice.
“When the sun hides and the land sleeps, N’Baka comes.
N’Baka is hungry
A drink of life and N’Baka dances through the night.
Stay by the fire
The eyes of god watch and you are safe
N’Baka runs from the sun and sleeps in his hut of stone.”
There was no sound once the boy stopped, but the crackle of the fire.
“That’s it?” Graves finally sputtered. “A fairy tale! I can understand the natives being scared of it, but you…!”
“Jumba knows all the stories of his people,” Zara said. “And was never one to treat them as more than ways to pass on the wisdom of his ancestors, yet he feared N’Baka.”
The boy shivered and drew nearer to the fire. Despite all his protests, Graves tightened his grip on his rifle.
“The eyes of god are a set of three black stones, they form a triangle around the village,” Zara continued. “One of them is missing. The stones kept the village safe. You saw where those men died, what could do that?”
“You can’t be serious?” Graves protested. “It could have been a rogue lion. It’s all foolishness, you getting yourself all worked up and frightening this poor boy.”
“I do not need you to believe,” Zara said, getting to her feet. “All I need is you to stay here, guard Jumba and the boy.”
With that, she left the fire and moved swiftly through the village, from hut to hut. As the sun sank lower, she soon had a good-sized collection of arrows, spears and a small pile of tiny bags made of animal skin. Graves sent the boy into the hut to get some sleep. He tied the flap of cloth over the doorway tight to seal it and joined Zara, at the hut where she had gathered her arsenal.
“This… boogieman… what is it supposed to do?”
“Starting to believe me, Captain?” Zara asked, not looking up from the arrow tip she was sharpening.
“No, but if I’m going to be any help, I need to know what’s going on. Still think it’s someone trying to scare the natives off. If you’re determined to run around in the dark, chasing shadows, I need to know where to shoot.”
“N’Baka only comes at night. The story says the sun god is their enemy. Stay by the fires.”
‘What about that ‘drinking life’ rubbish?”
“N’Baka drinks blood. The dead men had teeth marks on them?”
“Well, yes, which is why we thought…think… it’s a rogue lion or cheetah.”
“We may know soon,” Zara said, looking up towards the trees. Her nostrils flared and she slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder. She tied several of the skin pouches to her belt. “Go back to the hut. Do not move too far from the fire.”
“It’s just poachers or some crazed animal. You can’t…”
“Go!” Zara snapped. “Do not argue. Just keep Jumba and the boy safe.”
Zara leapt into the shadows and was gone. Graves stood for a moment, then nodded to himself and went back to the hut.
Zara moved silently among the huts, cautiously making her way to the edge of the village. As she moved, she watched the treetops. There was no sound, no scent of an animal, but every now and then branches would move, as though swaying in the wind, but the night was dry and still.
She watched the rustle of branches, and fitted an arrow to her bow. With one fluid motion she fired the arrow before the branches had ceased movement. There was a shriek and the movement in the trees became frantic. There was the sound of something moving away from the village.
Zara exhaled with relief. It was short lived as she then caught the sound of someone or thing making its way across the roof of the hut. It was a quick movement and then it abruptly stopped.
Zara quickly got another arrow ready, as she realized the sound had been something jumping off the roof of the hut. It landed roughly five feet in front of her, a scrawny looking thing, and skin like old leather pulled tight over bones. It wore a ragged loincloth. Its eyes were wide and its teeth were fangs, that even with its mouth closed, extended out past its lips.
“N’Baka” she breathed.
It glared at her for several seconds and then hissed at the jungle girl, as it lunged forward. Zara managed to fire an arrow while moving to dodge its attack. The arrow caught it in the chest and N’Baka staggered back. Two more arrows, fired in quick succession, pinned it to the wall of the nearby hut. Still the creature squirmed and hissed at her. The arrows seemed to hurt, but not stop N’Baka and it would soon pull itself free. Dropping her bow, Zara sprang forward, drawing her knife. She plunged it into N’Baka’s chest and gave it a vicious twist.
The creature shrieked in wordless anger and pain. Zara pulled her knife free and grabbed one of the pouches from her belt. She pinned the creature to the wall, with a slim white arm across its throat. Then, the jungle girl took a pouch from her belt, undid the throng tying it with her teeth, and jammed the contents into the gapping wound. The shrieks became even more high pitched and frantic. N’Baka’s struggles even more violent. It threw Zara off and wrenched itself free of the wall, flailing around, the arrows still protruding from its body. Then it appeared that the creature’s flesh began to melt, like a sped up film of some grotesque candle and in a matter of seconds the jungle girl was kneeling before a pile of bones.
“Thank you Jumba for telling me all those stories,” she whispered, before more noises in the trees grabbed her attention. Branches were moving in two different spots. Zara fired arrows into the trees until her arms began to ache, not worrying about accuracy, if she could drive the N’Baka away from the village.
There were more shrieks and the treetops moved as though a hurricane was whipping the branches around and two more forms leapt out at the jungle girl. They were identical to the creature she had already slain. One staggered and fell, riddled with arrows. The other had been luckier and merely bore numerous scrapes and gashes.
Zara only had time to drop her bow and draw her knife before the N’Baka were on her. Several quick slashes kept them from grabbing her, but one managed to rake its razor like fingernails across her shoulder. Zara gasped and in that moment the knife was wrenched from her hand.
The N’Baka grabbed Zara by the wrists. They lunged forward, fanged mouths open wide. She struggled fiercely; as the creature’s slavering fangs drew ever closer to her ivory white neck.
With a burst of strength, the jungle girl yanked one of her arms free and caught one by the throat. She brought her arms together, slamming the two creatures against each other. Once free of their grip, Zara leapt up, grabbed the edge of the hut roof and swung herself up and away from the N’Baka. They jumped and snarled, struggling to reach Zara.
She kicked at them to keep the bloodthirsty creatures from reaching her. She fished two more of the pouches from her belt.
Suddenly shots rang out and the N’Baka staggered and yelped in surprise.
“Graves, no!” Zara yelled. “Stay away!”
The old soldier came out from the shadows, still firing, until the N’Baka fell to the ground.
“That takes care of them,” Graves nodded, walking over to them. “I heard the sound of a fight and figured you could use my help.”
“Graves don’t go any closer to them.” Zara commanded.
“What? Look at the bounders! A couple of scrawny natives. Just shows women have no place in the… bloody hell!”
The N’Baka opened their eyes and grabbed for the startled soldier. His rifle was yanked from his grasp and the two creatures soon wrestled him to the ground.
Zara leapt from the roof, landing on one of the N’Baka with a sound of cracking bones. She grabbed the second by the hair and pulled its head back. With her free hand she quickly dumped the powdery contents of the pouch down its throat.
The N’Baka flailed and spit and then, like the other one, his skin began to run like hot wax. Graves jumped back. Stunned by Zara’s actions, he was caught off guard. The remaining N’Baka grabbed his ankle and sent Graves stumbling to the ground. Zara planted her foot on the back of the N’Baka’s neck, pinning it too the ground. As Graves scrambled free, she tossed him the last pouch.
“Quickly, sprinkle it over N’Baka!”
Graves, his hands shaking, sprinkled the powder over the creature. It too smoked and began to melt. Graves scrambled back, and sat, his eyes wide as he watched the grisly scene. Zara leaned against the hut wall, breathing hard, as she dabbed at her wounds.
“What?” Graves breathed, looking from the remains of the N’Baka to the jungle girl. “How did you do that, girl?”
“I listen to the stories, Captain Graves,” she replied. “I listened to Jumba. I remembered the stories of N’Baka. They stayed away from the fires, came after me. The pouches are good luck charms that Jumba makes to keep the village safe. Salt and herbs mostly, but it is a poison to N’Baka.’
Are there more?” Graves asked.
“. Yes, I think we’re safe tonight, but the village won’t be until we find who took the black stone!”
Next: Zara and the quest for the god’s eye!
Night fell on the city as a fog comes rolling in. Two figures, a man and a woman exit the back door of a local theater. The woman was a buxom young Eurasian in a modest, but fashionable dress and hat. The man was dressed more flamboyantly in a scarlet puffy sleeved shirt, yellow sash, black jodhpurs and boots.
They are Merzah the famous magician and his lovely assistant, Diana.
“One stop and then dinner,” Merzah said, as they walked towards a black town car.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” Merzah said, holding the back door open to her.
“How did the evening show go, sir?” asked the chauffeur, as the pair got comfortable in the back.
“Fine, Jose,” Merzah replied. “Good audience. West side Avenue, the Nevins building, if you would be so kind.”
“…And then dinner,” Diana added.
“You have a one track mind,” Merzah chuckled. “I promised Dale, my contact at the FBI, that I’d look in on Professor Collins before the scientific conference. Dale’s convinced someone has been targeting several of the scientists.”
“I take it these scientists do research for the war effort?” Diana asked.
“Guessed in one,” Merzah replied. “We’ll check in on Collins then it’s off to dinner. Seafood?”
“Guessed in one,” Diana smiled back.
The building was a squat, nondescript two-story block of concrete. The town car pulled up in front and Merzah and Diana got out.
“We’ll only be a minute, Jose,” Merzah said, as they got out of the car and headed towards the front doors. “Ah, here comes Collins now, I believe.”
A small, studious man with a gray beard came walking towards the duo. As Professor Collins reached the bottom of the stone steps a figure lurched out of the shadows toward him.
“Merzah, look!” Diana exclaimed.
The Mystic raced for the professor, reaching him seconds after the hulking figure. He was a large man, white as chalk, in plain work clothes. His jaw was slack, and his eyes as full of life as a pair of marbles. His large, pale hands immediately latched on to the older scientist’s throat.
Professor and mystic struggled frantically to break the attacker’s grip. Neither of them was able to pry his fingers loose. While the Professor’s struggles grew weaker, Merzah stepped back and pressed his fingers to his temples, unleashing his mental powers, since physical strength seemed to fail.
Merzah staggered back, as though he’d run into a stone wall. The pale man was unfazed and began to drag Professor Collins away.
Suddenly, a shot rang out. The attacker let go of the Professor. Merzah’s vision cleared. Diana caught his arm to help keep him steady. In her free hand she held a small, silver pistol.
“Best Christmas gift I ever bought,” Merzah muttered, rubbing at his forehead.
“Practical gifts are always best,” Diana replied. “Who in the world is that?”
Merzah shook his head, and straightened up. The Professor had gotten loose from the pale man, but immediately fell to his knees. Jose came running up, brandishing a tire iron.
“You want me to let him have it?” The chauffeur asked.
“Help Diana get the Professor to the car,” Merzah said. “I’ll handle this fellow.”
He lunged toward the pale man and drove his shoulder into the other mans’ solar plexus. When Merzah followed up with a punch to the jaw, he fell to the sidewalk.
Merzah winced and blew on his fist. Jose raced back from the car.
“You okay, sir?” he asked.
“Better than this fellow,” Merzah said, kneeling down and feeling the downed man’s pulse. “He’s dead. I don’t understand it. Diana only winged him and I certainly didn’t hit him hard enough… we have to find a phone. Professor Collins needs a doctor and I need to have a word with Mr. Dale.”
“So much for dinner,” Diana muttered.
With Professor Collins delivered to the nearest hospital and his attacker to the morgue, Merzah and company returned to their hotel room. Diana had ordered sandwiches from room service and an ice bag for Merzah.
“Can I get you any more ice, sir?” Jose asked.
“Only if it’s floating in brandy,” the mystic replied. “Oh, my head…!”
“So, was that palooka we tangled with really a zombie?” Diana asked, between bites of deviled ham.
“The FBI doesn’t think so, but they don’t have psychic powers,” Merzah said. “The man that attacked the professor was not drugged. When I used my telepathy on him it was … like looking into an abyss. There was no trace of mental energy in him. He was a complete blank slate.”
“So, there’s a… Nazi voodoo cult attacking scientists?” Diana asked. “That’s wild, even by our standards.”
“Well, being on the west coast it’s more likely to be a Japanese voodoo cult,” Merzah replied absently. The phone ringing interrupted him. He gestured for Diana to hand it to him. “Hello? Ah, Dale good. What did your lab boys find out?”
Merzah spent several minutes on the phone with his friend from the FBI. His part of the conversation consisted mostly of ‘I see’ and ‘Uh-huh’. He then hung up, looking thoughtful. His two assistants waited expectantly for several moments.
“Come on,” Diana scolded him. “That ‘mysterious’ bit might work on audiences and the FBI, but if you think you can try it on me…!”
“Not trying to be ‘mysterious’. Just puzzled. That attacker was a zombie, no mental energy at all, and Dale says his FBI lab found marks on its neck that were most likely made by a hypodermic needle.”
“So, it’s not voodoo, but some mad scientist type? We’ve tangled with them before.”
“It gets better,” Merzah said. “They’ve identified our zombie. He’s an escaped convict. One of a group of seven that were involved in a mass breakout just last month.”
“So, there are six more of these guys shambling around the city?”
“Seven still. The one we tackled had a miraculous recovery, strangled a morgue attendant and escaped. We have stumbled into something big here. Collins wasn’t the first man attacked. ” Merzah said, as Jose approached with his drink. “Ah, thank you. If I could only figure out our next move…?”
“What can we do?” Diana asked. “If these zombies are a mental blank how do you track them down?”
Merzah put his drink down on the table and sat up straight.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed, smiling at her. “We do have a way to track them!”
“How?”
“If the zombies appear to my mental powers as a blank spot, then all I need to do is concentrate on finding the blank spots. They’ll stick out among all the psychic background noise of the city. Jose, if you would get the car ready, I’m going to fetch the mental wave recorder.”
“I’ll get my purse,” Diane said, resignedly.
Merzah’s car was soon winding its way slowly through the fog-shrouded streets. Diana and Merzah were settled in the back seat. A strange device lay on the seat between them. It was a black box, roughly the size of a show box, decorated with several dials and a small, glass panel. Merzah studied the panel intently, occasionally adjusting the dials and then giving Jose new instructions on where to go. The device was Merzah’s mental wave recorder, a marvel of science that allowed him to not only enhances his own already astounding psychic powers, but to scan and record the thoughts of others.
Diana had a map spread across her lap and was studying it with the help of a flashlight.
“I hate to say it,” Diana said.” but we’ve been driving around for three hours and haven’t found anything. Well, except those two robberies that we stopped and the spy ring operating out of the all night diner. Do you really think this will work?”
“We are trying to find seven men out of the population of a major metropolis,” Merzah replied. “It’s the psychic version of needle and haystack, but if I get even a hint of that same mental void, I can track it down and hopefully get some idea what this is all about. Do you want to go back to the hotel?”
“No.” Diana shook her head. “If I leave you boys alone you’ll only get in trouble. Let’s keep going.”
“Head for the north side, Jose,” Merzah instructed. “If this is the work of a…?”
“Of a what, sir?” Jose asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Diana asked, anxiously.
“There was… something…?” Merzah muttered. “Just for a second… Jose, back up! One of those side streets we just passed. We’re close…!”
He adjusted the mental wave controller with one hand, while he pressed the other to his temple. He closed his eyes.
“Very close… I can feel… take the next left…!”
“Are you sure?” Diana asked, peering out the window.
“What kind of neighborhood would you expect to find zombies in?” Merzah asked, opening his eyes. He scanned the passing buildings intently. The narrow side street had taken them into an older, rundown neighborhood, made up mostly of squat brick buildings and dilapidated two story houses. Several of the buildings were small businesses closed at night, giving the street an abandoned air.
“Stop here,” Merzah said. “That garage, I think, is where we want to be.”
“Awful small place for an evil mastemind’s digs,” Diana said. “We should try the side door.”
“‘We’ aren’t trying any door,” Merzah explained. “You are going to stay here, while I try the side door.”
“What do you want me to do, sir?” Jose asked.
“You stay here too.”
Jose gave a sigh of relief, and then passed a revolver over to his employer.
“No thank you, Jose,” Merzah said. “I’m going to have a look around. Keep an eye on the controller. I’ll signal if I run into trouble.”
“Be careful,” Diana said, handing him her flashlight.
“Always,” he smiled at her as he got out.
Merzah walked down the sidewalk, past the garage’s main door, and then ducked around the corner and to the side door. Several moments with a lock pick from his sash got him inside. The interior of the garage was barren, except for a healthy coating of dust. The grease pit had a tarp over it.
“Where…?” he muttered. “I can sense them, but where are they?”
Scratching his chin in thought, he spotted some footprints on the dusty floor. Merzah followed them to the grease pit. He pulled back the tarp and showed a light down in it. The pit was deep and wide enough that three men could have stood in it. Something in the corner caught Merzah’s eye. He climbed down into the pit. A thin line of light was shining out from the corner seam where the cement walls joined. Merzah felt along the walls.
“Must be a hidden door if I can only find the switch… aha!”
Part of the wall slid back, revealing a low ceilinged tunnel. Merzah shone his light and saw that the tunnel turned a corner after about ten feet.
“Of course,” he thought out loud. “Tunnels running under the buildings would give whoever is controlling these zombies a way to get around without being noticed. I bet this one connects with one of the local businesses. Not sure if I should be impressed with whoever’s behind all this or worried.”
As he turned the corner, several pairs of strong pale hands grabbed Merzah. He struggled to break free, but in the narrow tunnel there was no room to fight. Pulling away from his attackers, Merzah struck his head on the concrete wall.
Everything faded to black.
Merzah groaned, and struggled to open his eyes.
“Ouch! That could have gone better,” he muttered, as he worked at getting his eyes to focus. He was slumped in a straight-backed wooden chair, his wrists bound to the arms of the chair. Chains crisscrossed his chest.
The room was large and cluttered with work benches, several vats of odd colored liquid and some large pieces of equipment that Merzah couldn’t guess what they did.
“All right, now all we need is the demented little man in the lab coat.”
As if on cue, a short, balding man with a slightly hunched posture, wearing a lab coat entered the room. He peered through a pair of thick-lensed glasses at the machinery and then noticed Merzah.
“Well, our colorfully dressed intruder is awake,” the little man chortled. He moved closer, until he and Merzah were practically nose-to-nose.
“I don’t know you,” he muttered. “And unless the police or FBI have a pirate division, I can’t see you being in law enforcement.”
“No, I’m just a talented amateur, Doctor…?” Merzah prompted.
“Professor, actually. Professor Anatoli Mabuse.”
“Of the Berlin Mabuses, I presume?”
I don’t believe I caught your name…?” The Professor asked, sharply.
“In my talented amateur status, I’m known as Merzah the Mystic.”
“Mystic? Bah! Foolish superstition and hogwash!”
“Says the man creating zombies,” Merzah smirked.
“Yes, I am! My ‘zombies’ are no product of voodoo or some other claptrap. Mine are the product of science!”
“Really?” Merzah said, while subtly testing his bonds. “Shame. I’ve been wanting to witness a voodoo ritual.”
“Childish superstition,” Mabuse snapped. “My zombies may have the appearance of magic, but it is all done with scientific precision. Electrical current used to deaden pain receptors in the skin and muscle. Special chemicals to slow down all biological functions, while still maintaining life and the crowning touch, my own machines designed to dampen nearly all but the most basic brain activity. All done by the hand of science!”
“Nearly?” Merzah asked, his forehead beginning to furrow. “I thought they were completely brain-dead?”
“Ridiculous,” Mabuse replied, beginning to pace. “There must be some brain activity or they would be of no use to me. All higher function is dampened to the point where they are reduced to mere automatons of flesh and blood. Their will is gone and with them under my control, the world will tremble!”
“Oh dear,” Merzah said. “It’s like that is it? Planning on selling your formula to the Nazis or just getting some kind of petty revenge on your enemies?”
“You mock me?” Mabuse exclaimed, taking a clunky metal box out of his lab coat pocket and pressing a button. “I, who have gained control over men! A demonstration is called for!”
As he pressed another button, a metal door slid open and out lurched the seven zombified convicts.
Merzah eyed the control and then took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Soon, Mr. Merzah, you will see but the merest sample of the power I wield.” Mabuse said. “There are another half dozen criminals in my operating room, ready to be converted. Soon, I will have an army!”
He pushed several other buttons and the zombies marched over and formed a rough semicircle around the captive mystic.
Merzah’s eyes remained closed. His jaw clenched and his entire body trembled with some great effort. His face grew damp with perspiration. Then with a great sigh, he opened his eyes and peered intently at his zombie guards.
All seven shuddered and then turned and began marching on Professor Mabuse. The little scientist peered at them in thoughtful confusion for several second, and then began frantically stabbing buttons on his control device.
“Stop! I command you! Why won’t you stop?”
“Because, Professor,” Merzah said, from between gritted teeth. “You have the same weakness of so many of your kind. You had to brag over how clever you are and in doing so revealed the weakness in your ‘brilliant plan’. When I first encountered one of your zombies, I sensed only a lack of mental energy, but you went out of your way to tell me that the zombies aren’t brain dead, they’ve just had their brain activity suppressed by your drugs and machinery. Once I knew there was psychic energy still within them, all I needed was to focus my powers until I found it. Now I’m in control of your little army.”
The zombies tightened their semicircle, surrounding Professor Mabuse so closely that his arms were pinned to his sides.
“No! I am your creator! You must listen to me!”
“Looks like you’ve got things under control,” a voice said over Merzah’s shoulder.
“Diana!” he exclaimed, turning his head. “You found me!”
“Sure. Soon as we got a signal on the recorder, I sent Jose to call in Dale and his G-men, while I went to find you.”
“Diana…?”
“I know, I shouldn’t have, because it’s dangerous and I’m ‘the girl’, but the recorder signals have been flashing like Fourth of July fireworks, which is never a good thing.”
“Diana…?”
“I thought you might be in danger and would have been here sooner, but Jose had to be valiant and offer to find you while I called in the cavalry.”
“Diana, shut up!”
“Huh?”
“It’s taking all my mental energy to override Mabuse’s control device. My head is pounding like some has taken a hammer to it and you explaining why you didn’t listen to my instructions for the hundredth time is very distracting. I… can’t hold them much longer. We need to… get me free and then…uh… get that control device away from Mabuse.”
“Okay,” Diana nodded. “No need to snap. A simple ‘Diana, pleased to see you. Now shush and get on with rescuing me’ would have done it. What do I do?”
“I think I can get my hands free.” Merzah said. “Try and unlock the chains. Lock picks are in my sash.”
“I don’t know if they’ll help…?” she muttered, studying the sturdy padlock.
“Just do what you can. I can’t keep them under my control much longer!”
“Ooh…fine…!”
Bam!
As the gunshot went off, the chains gave way and Merzah tumbled out of the chair, landing on his knees on the floor. He felt light headed and it was a struggle to sit upright.
“Merzah?” Diana asked, putting an arm around his shoulder to help him up. “Are you all right?”
“I… lost… control… Mabuse controls them now….!”
“Oh dear,” Diana said, looking up and seeing the line of zombies coming shuffling towards them. The maniacally gleeful Professor Mabuse stood behind them Sorry. Shooting off the lock seemed like a good idea…”
“Yes… brilliant…!” Merzah muttered. “When are you expecting Jose and Dale to get here?”
“About five minutes too late,” Diana said, raising her gun. “Not sure how much good this will do. I’ve only got about three shots left.”
She fired at the nearest zombie, hitting it in the leg so it staggered into the next one. They fell to the ground, tripping up the ones behind them, like a set of grotesque bowling pins.
“Okay, Two shots. Let’s go!”
“No. We don’t run.” Merzah said. “Get ready!”
Diana raised her gun; Merzah placed his fingertips against his temples. As Diana pulled the trigger, her arm jerked. The bullet missed the zombies all together.
“What?” she exclaimed. “You did that! Why did you make me miss!?”
“I didn’t. Look!”
Merzah pointed, past motionless group of zombies, to Professor Mabuse, who was cradling the shattered remains of his control device. He glared at the duo.
“Fools!” the scientist screeched. “You think you can stop genius?! Never!”
He turned to flee as Diana’s last bullet struck the doorframe, causing Mabuse to stagger back. Merzah, now on his feet, raced over and grabbed him by the shoulder.
“Oh no you don’t…” Merzah said.
Mabuse struggled frantically, breaking free of the weakened mystic’s grip. He caught the backs of his legs against the lip of the nearest vat of serum. Arms wind milling frantically, the little scientist toppled into the vat. As soon as the exposed wiring of the control device hit the mysterious liquid, it ignited! A column of flame shot up, burning Merzah’s fingers and scorching his sleeve as he tried to grab Professor Mabuse.
Within minutes you could hardly tell that the hunk of charcoal and gristle, floating in the vat, had once been a man.
“Come on,” Diana said, gently pulling him away from the vat. “There’s nothing you could have done. Let the G-men deal with cleaning this all up. Let’s go home.”
Three planes, Grumman fighters, soared through a cloudless, blue sky, high over an equally blue and clear ocean. They soared like a trio of scratched, dented and in need of a wash, birds of prey, in an arrowhead formation.
These planes belonged to the Sky Devils, flying soldiers of fortune!
Having just completed a job, escorting cargo ships to the Pacific to help the war effort, the trio of adventurers have gotten wind of what they had hoped would be easy money, before returning to war torn Europe. The young, daredevil son of a rich industrialist’s family has gone missing while trying to set a flight record.
Three hours in the air has begun to erode the team’s enthusiasm for the job.
“Okay, let’s take it over the south west,” K-4, the mysterious spy and aviator instructed his wingmen. “From his last radio check in, it doesn’t look as if the target’s plane wandered into Japanese air space, but it couldn’t hurt to look.”
“Captain,” a gruff voice, with a thick French accent responded. “We may want to face it, there’s been no trace of wreckage and not a speck of land as far as the eye can see. Not a peep from the radio or so much as an oil spill on the water. We are just wasting fuel at this point.”
“Considering we only took this job for gas money,” a cockney voice added. “It’s bloody ironic, I think.”
“Okay, you two, I know. No such thing as easy money,” K-4 replied. “Don’t understand it. Plane can’t just disappear…”
“Well, I don’t know bout that, Captain,” The British voice said. “Ocean is full of mysterious things…”
“Now you’ve done it,” The French speaker cut in. “Now, we will have to listen to Wolverstone’s stories of Atlantis and ‘Monster Island’ the whole flight back to base.”
“I didn’t say nothing bout Atlantis,” the Brit replied, in an offended tone. “Besides, we’re too far west, for Atlantis, but this area of the Pacific has all kinds of strange stories bout it. The Lost Island of the Bird men, sea monsters, ghost ships…and D’Auvergne only knows the name ‘Monster Island’ cause he read that pulp magazine I had in my ruck sack.”
“Enough,” K-4 interrupted. “We are wasting precious radio waves with you two arguing over lost cities and sea monsters. We give it another hour and then it’s back to the air base and more convoy jobs. So, eyes sharp, and not another word unless you spot something.”
“Uh… Captain…?” Wolverstone said.
“If this is because you thought of another lost island to add to your list, Lutienent…!” K-4 warned.
“No, nothing like that. I see something… starboard side… wot the hell…?”
“Mon du,” D’Auvergne said. “Looks like a fog bank, just floating in the middle of the ocean. It’s massive….!”
“Big enough to hide an island,” K-4 said. “Let’s check it out.”
The trio of plane’s arced down towards the mysterious fog bank. Flying low, the Grummans were able to break through the fog and see that it was in fact big enough to hide an island. It was a rugged piece of land, made of equal parts rocky terrain and foreboding jungle. Peering through the fog at it was like looking back into the Earth’s primeval past.
“Not too inviting looking, is it?” Wolvertone muttered.
“Beats ditching into the ocean,” K-4 said. “Over to your left there, that stretch of beach, we can land there. Follow my lead.”
Swooping lower, the trio of fighter planes was able to land on a crescent of white sand that traced the east shore of the island. The planes skidded to a stop and moments later, the three pilots emerged.
Lt. Ronald Wolverstone-Clodd was a slim Englishman with a beak of a nose dominating his thin face and an easy grin.
Lt. René D’Avuergne was older than his teammates, his hair and well-trimmed mustache streaked with gray. Along with his gun belt, he carried a scabbard for a fencing saber.
Their Captain, the man known only by his code name, K-4, was of medium height, with a compact muscular build. His brown hair rested against his head like a cap, seemingly impervious to the wind coming off the ocean.
“Spread out, but don’t move into the jungle without touching base with the rest of us. Wolverstone head to the end of the beach, and then I want you to keep an eye on the planes.”
“Right, Captain,” Wolverstone nodded, obviously not happy with his assignment, but too loyal to K-4 to argue.
“Think we’re in trouble?” D’Avuergne asked, strapping on his gun belt.
“Well, yes, but mostly, if I had to listen to any more of Wolverstone’s theories involving lost cities, I’d have to shoot him. Noticed about our ‘landing strip’?”
“It looks more like a sand bar than a natural stretch of beach,” the older man replied, as they walked towards the jungle. “How long do you think we’ve got?”
“Hard to tell, but from the looks of the waves, I’d say less than three hours and the planes will be swamped.”
“You think we’ll find him here?”
“Only piece of land for a hundred miles. If my plane were going down, I’d risk it rather than end up in the ocean. See how those tree branches are twisted and broken? Something came through here.”
“Right. I’ll go check up on Wolverstone and then go look around those rocks,” The French man said, heading back towards the plane. “Enjoy your walk in the woods.”
K-4 nodded back to his teammate, before pushing through the shrubbery and into the shade of the trees. The jungle was thick and wild with nothing even remotely resembling a path. The ground was uneven and there were soft spots that felt like holes that had been dug and then hastily refilled. K-4 wondered if maybe it was the result of earthquake or volcanic activity. Neither idea eased his already troubled mind.
Walking carefully, K-4 was distracted by a rustling in the underbrush, and stepping into a soft spot, and suddenly sunk calf deep in the dirt. He struggled to pull his foot free, but only managed to cause his leg to sink deeper. Then he felt hands grab at his leg and despite his struggles K-4 suddenly was pulled below the ground.
“See anything?” Wolverstone asked, rejoining D’auverge at the planes.
“Nothing, but more jungle and rocks. Funny place. Quiet, but not a quiet I trust.”
“Too bloody right,” Wolverstone nodded.” Feels like I keep seeing stuff out of the corner of my eye moving. Something is going on… what the…? Look!”
The older French pilot peered at where his teammate pointed.
“What?”
“There!”
“All I see is jungle and a hill…”
“That’s it, that hill wasn’t there before! When I was walking the beach there was no hill!’
“I think you need to get out of the sun, mon friend. Hills don’t move.”
The English pilot paced along the beach, peering accusingly at the offending hill. It was small, green and rounded, protruding just slightly above the trees.
“That one, right there,” Wolverstone muttered.
‘It is very picturesque looking. Maybe we’ll stroll over for a picnic after we find our quarry.” D’auverage replied. “Maybe we should… Sacre bleu! That hill just moved!”
“What have I been saying for the last couple of minutes?”
“You can say ‘I told you so’ later. Come on. We need to find out what’s going on here.”
The two pilots ran off into the thick foliage, after the wandering bit of the landscape.
Elsewhere, K-4 regained consciousness in a pitch-black chamber. Fishing out his lighter, he saw it was in fact a low ceiling tunnel. Floor, walls and ceiling were all dirt and stone. The tunnel had the feel of something dug, but there was no sigh of human construction.
K-4 stood up, having to crouch to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling. He felt along, trying to discover the hole he had been dragged through. He could find no soft spot, which lead him to wonder if he had been dragged away from where he had entered the tunnel. K-4 heard the scuffling sound from the further down the tunnel. He flicked his lighter shut, and while his eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, he slid his pistol out of his holster. Sitting statue still, he listened intently to the noise around him, ready to move at the first hint of danger.
The sounds came nearer, giving the impression they were made by several things or people and that they were moving to surround him.
Just at the point where K-4 felt that they, whoever they were, were within arms reach, he quickly flicked his lighter back on.
In the light cast by the small flame stood three small figures, no bigger than children. Their limbs were thin and their skin looked leathery and lemon yellow in color. The only clothing they wore was tattered loin clothes and upon their oversized heads they wore visors that looked like they’d been carved from wood or bone.
The subterrainians flinched back from the light. There were others, still in the shadows that fled past K-4, knocking the lighter from his hands. The aviator kept still, letting them trail past him, and then feeling around to retrieve his lighter. While he was sure the strange beings were who had dragged him beneath the earth, he was equally convinced they didn’t mean him any harm.
“It wasn’t an attack,” he muttered to himself. “Then what…? Did they drag me down here because they wanted me somewhere safe…? What’s up there, wandering around the island, that has them so scared? Better find my way out before whatever it is finds Wolverstone and D’uavage.”
He got back to his feet, and slowly made his way down the tunnel, in the opposite direction than where the subterrainions had gone. K-4 figured they’d run for safety and in their minds that would mean deeper into the tunnels.
The floor of the tunnel slopped upwards slightly and then made a turn to the right. Just as K-4 went around the bend in the tunnel, someone slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.
K-4 grabbed wildly and caught a handful of cloth. He then swung with his free hand and caught someone under the chin. There was a groan and whoever had grabbed K-4 let go.
He flicked his lighter back on; He had a hold of a young man with a pencil thin mustache, wearing dirty and torn aviator gear. K-4 gave him a little shake and the man blinked unsteadily at him.
“Ah, Mr. Howard Stark, I presume?” K-4 asked.
“Uuuhhh… should I be happy to see you?” Stark asked.
“Maybe not at the moment, but later you might change your mind. I was hired by your father to find you and get you home.”
“Then I am willing to forgive my sore jaw,” Stark said. “Let’s go!”
“Any idea what’s going on here?” K-4 asked. “What were those… creatures? What’s going on with this island?”
“How should I know? This wasn’t an arranged vacation. I crashed here and have done nothing but run from… things since I got here.”
“Things?” K-4 asked, suspiciously. “What ‘things’? I’ve got men up there. What are you and those… mole men so afraid of?”
K-4’s gaze pierced through the faint light and young Stark looked away.
“Monsters.” he muttered.
Back at the planes, Wolverstone had his guns drawn and was glancing around anxiously. Whatever strange creature he and D’uvargune had mistaken for a small hill had wandered off. The sound of trees being crushed faded as the ‘hill’ wandered off.
Both pilots had been visibly shaken by the sighting and were concerned with their leader not having returned. Duaverge had immediately begun rummaging through his plane’s storage section.
“What are you looking for?” Wolverstone asked. “We need to go find the Captain…!”
The French man crawled out of his plane; he held a large machine gun over one shoulder and a ruck sack bulging with grenades and ammo over the other.
“The Captain told us to guard the planes,” D’Uverage replied, setting his gun and ruck sack down on the ground. “The tide is coming in, within an hour our ‘landing strip will be under water.”
‘Then let’s go!’
“But, I am not going stomping through the jungle, especially if things like… like whatever that was are crashing about, with only a pistol. Catch.”
He tossed the ruck sack to Wolverston.
“Use the grenades to string up a perimeter,” D’uverage said. “That’ll keep the planes safe while we hunt for the Captain.”
Minutes later, the perimeter is set and the two pilots were tramping through the jungle, trying to follow K-4’s trail.
‘I don’t get this,” Wolverstone said, peering at the ground in frustration. “Trail’s clear until we hit that sandy stretch and then … nothing. It’s like the ground just swallowed him.”
“Ground’s all churned up, as though there were a bunch marching through here or someone’s been digging…?” The older Frenchman added. “Wolverstone, did you see something move over by those black rocks…?”
“What?” Wolverstone asked, glancing up. His eyes grew wide. “Cor…! Look!”
The rocks themselves stood up, becoming a squat, roughly man shaped form. It got to its blocky feet and stretched, before turning to peer at the two pilots. It began stomping towards them.
“I am beginning to feel nostalgia for the days when we just had Nazi’s shooting at us,” D’Uverage muttered.
Wolverstone drew a pair of pistols and began firing at the rock creature.
“What are you doing?” Duverage shouted. “That’s not going to stop it!”
“I’m trying to find a vulnerable spot!” Wolverstone replied.
“It is a rock!”
The two pilots backed away from the creature, Wolverstone still firing, the French pilot scanning the jungle for any signs of their chief.
“Stop shooting,” D’Uverage snapped. “If it’s going to chase us, let’s see if we can lead it back to the beach. I’ve got an idea.”
“The beach? You want to lead that lummox to our planes?”
“Just follow me and make sure to go slow enough that it can keep up with us.”
The duo ran through the jungle, firing the occasional shot to keep it focused on them.
Elsewhere, below ground…
“Did you hear gunshots?” K-4 asked, glancing toward the tunnel ceiling.
“No, but I do hear foot steps coming towards us.” Howard Stark replied.
‘All right, enough of this stumbling around waiting for those mole men to strike. We’ve got to get out of here.”
K-4 reached up and began pressing against the ceiling. In one spot, his fingers sank into the dirt. The pilot nodded to himself, and handed his lighter to Stark.
“Use that if our friends get too close. They don’t seem to like the light.”
Just as another group of the little yellow skinned men crept down the tunnel towards the two men, K-4 drew his pistol and fired it into the soft spot. The noise and resulting shower of dirt and rock panicked them and they fled back down the tunnel.
“Let’s go,” K-4 ordered.
“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Stark replied, as the pilot boasted him up.
They crawled out through the makeshift exit and soon found themselves on a long clear stretch.
“Can’t be a road?”K-4 muttered. “Maybe a dried up riverbed…? We need to find our way back to the beach. Tides coming in any minute.”
He offered Stark his canteen and one of his guns and then started down the roadway.
“Whatever this is,” Stark commented, between sips. “I’m not sure it leads to the beach. Seems to go towards that hill… waita minute…! I don’t feel any tremors, but it looks like that hill moved….”
“Run,” K-4 snapped, and then grabbed a hold of his stunned companion and dragged him into the jungle.
“We are going to die here,” D’uverage muttered.
“Relax, I know what I’m doing. This’ll work,” Wolverstone replied.
“Exactly what pulp mag did you read this plan in?”
“You got a better one?” Wolvertone snapped. He and the French man were crouched behind some rocks, up at the peak of a sand dune at the edge of the beach. The rock monster lumbered along in angry confusion.
What Wolverstone’s plan entailed was a grenade lodged under the largest boulder, with a string tied to its pin. The string was then strung around the boulder to where Wolverstone held the other end.
“Give him a little encouragement, would you?” Wolverstone asked.
“I’m going to regret this,” D’uverage muttered, before standing up and firing a couple shots off. The bullets only accomplished to chip a bit off the monsters rocky skin and enrage it. It stomped towards the French pilot and the boulders.
“Pull the string,” he said, under his breath.
Wolverstone shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Idiot! Just pull the damned string!”
“Wait.”
“For what?”
Just then, the rock monster stomped down, and its massive foot sank into the sand till it was ankle deep.
“That,” Wolverstone smirked, pulling the string. “Race you!”
Both men ran from the boulders and the monster. Seconds later, the grenade blew up, sending the boulders tumbling down the sand dune. The collided with the rock monster and when he fell over, the ground collapsed.
K-4 and Howard Stark came racing out of the jungle and nearly collided with Wolverstone and D’uvarge.
“Captain!” Wolverstone exclaimed. “Bloody hell, are we glad to see you!”
“Aren’t you supposed to be keeping watch on the planes?” K-4 asked.
“Long story,” D’vurage said. “There was this hill…”
“And it moved!” Wolverstone added, breathlessly.
“Never mind,” K-4 interrupted, glancing over his shoulder. “I think I know what came next. We need to get to the planes.”
“What’s up, Captain?”
“Your hill is chasing us!” Stark said.
The men raced out of the jungle and down the beach towards their planes. The ocean was staring to wash over the landing gear.
“We are cutting it close,” Wolverstone said.
“We’ve got to get moving,” K-4 snapped. “Stark, you’re with me.”
A sound, like something between an elephant’s trumpeting and and a foghorn came from the jungle. The trees shook and they could see the distant hill coming closer.
“To your planes!” K-4 commanded. “Taxi towards the west end of the beach. Move.”
“See you in the air, Captain,” Wolverstone saluted and jogged to his plane.
The roar of the planes engines competed with the sound of the hill monster as the planes taxied across the quickly disappearing beach.
“Going to be tight,” K-4 announced over the radio. “We are running out of runway. Once you two are in the air…”
“Sorry to interrupt,” D’vurage said. “But, you first, Captain. You’ve got Stark. Wolverstone and I will be right behind you.”
Not happy with the situation, but realizing D’vurage was right, K-4 taxied past the other two planes, and with a bump as they rolled off the sand and onto the rocky ground, took off.
“My god! Look at that!” Stark exclaimed, as they rose up above the island. The mysterious moving hill turned and with yellow eyes the size of manhole covers; it watched the plane gain altitude.
Too busy with his plane, to do more than nod in agreement with Stark’s exclamation, K-4 banked his plane into a turn.
As, the other two planes took off; the monster shook off some of its surprise and raised massive hands to grab at its escaping prey.
“Look at that thing!” Wolvertone shouted. “Its paws are big as the plane! Got a mouth like a train tunnel.”
“Don’t waste ammo on it,” K-4 instructed, reaching a safe height and leveling off, circling the island while waiting for his teammates. “Bank hard and stay out of its reach.”
D’Vurage’s plane raced past the monster’s head, the wind and heat of the engines causing the gargantuan creature to flinch back in surprise. It flailed its massive arms around, catching Wolverstone’s plane a glancing blow. The plane wobbled and dipped slightly, but the young British pilot wrestled it back under control and swooped up to rejoin his flight mates.
“All under control?” K-4 asked.
“Not rid of me yet,” Wolverstone replied. “Take more than Monster Island to do away with this Yorkshire boy.”
“Monster Island?” Stark muttered over the radio. “Sounds like something out of a comic book.”
“What was that place?” D’vurage asked. “What were those creatures?”
“Who knows?” K-4 said. “We’ve got a passenger to drop off, a fee to collect and a war to fight. When all that’s been dealt with, maybe we’ll come back to try and make sense of it.”
And they did, but that’s another story…
Recent Comments