Doc Savage: Skull Island (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) (17 page)

Satisfied that they were disarmed, Doc slid down the trunk.

The men of the village approached warily.

Doc ducked behind a monstrous tree of another type. It reminded him of a sprawling baobab tree, which were native to Africa.

When the warriors had mustered up sufficient courage to creep around the fat trunk in search of the bronze man of great prowess, he was no longer there.

In fact, Doc had climbed the far side of the tree, reached the topmost branches and by walking along them barefooted, reached an adjoining tree, silent and unseen as a slithering serpent.

From this, he leaped to another. Then another, feeling very much like the storybook character, Tarzan.

Finally landing in a bushy tree isolated from the others, Doc looked about for a way to the wall that would not put him at risk of ambush.

There was little danger of that, the natives having failed to figure out where the bronze giant had gotten to. But Doc had begun enjoying this method of traversing the thick forest.

Locating a strong vine, he cut it with his knife, until it was of a usable length. Fastening a loop, he employed it to lasso a high branch farther along, thus vindicating his summer spent on a Wyoming cow ranch when a mere stripling.

Snagging a bough, Doc launched himself into space.

He swung a fair distance, and cushioned his landing against the target tree with his great steel-thewed legs.

After that, he climbed the vine to the anchoring branch, where the bronze giant undid the lasso.

A few more maneuvers like that, and Doc Savage came within easy reach of the massive wall.

UP close, the structure was even more imposing than it had been, seen from afar. The wall was plain and pale, apparently faced with some form of mortar that withstood the ages. Simple railless staircases built into either side of the frame led up to the wide top of the structure.

The ponderous double doors were of wood, constructed from great vertical planks fitted together, and framed in iron. A colossal bar, also of hardwood, was fitted into huge decorative brackets, as if to bar the portal from something on the other side gaining entry.

Examining its details gave Doc Savage a disquieting sensation. It seemed impossible that human beings could have constructed such a Cyclopean arrangement.

Doc moved closer to better study the only decorative element, the ornate iron brackets. And as he absorbed the details, his trilling piped out briefly.

For the designs were uncannily similar to a pair of stylized dinosaur skulls! Triceratops, Doc decided from its huge horny brow projections.

From the other side, Doc heard disturbing sounds. Thrashings as of disturbed branches. Snapping noises. A roar. Other commotion. It was quite a contrast to the relative peace of the native village sitting on a long spit of jungle and tranquil beach.

Doc considered the twin staircases built into the face of the wall, on either side of the massive portal. They represented the handiest way up. Unfortunately, they were too exposed. To mount either one would risk disclosing his presence to the inhabitants of the village.

Gathering up his lariat, Doc moved further along until he reached an area so thick with trees, it concealed that stretch of wall. Giving the lasso a spin, he tossed it expertly, snaring a projectile on the wall itself. Swinging toward it was impractical, if not unnecessarily dangerous.

So Doc solved the problem by tying the loose end to the tree trunk. The vine was stout. Doc used it to go hand over hand, as a circus performer might. The expression on his features was untroubled by worry. He might have been unconcerned about the perilous fall to the jungle floor below, or he might have been enjoying himself immensely. It was impossible to tell.

Finally, Doc reached the wall at a point beneath the ornate ebony frame that upheld the great beaten-brass gong.

Climbing up to the top, he stood and looked over to the other side.

Death’s Peak brooded over all. In its hollow eye-sockets, twin fires blazed and crackled. He could imagine their roar. Black smoke curled from some natural aperture, like a chimney, above the smooth dome.

Doc’s trilling came, low and melodious. A kind of awe threaded it.

For the bronze man knew at a glance that this was no natural configuration. Human hands had shaped the rocky summit into the semblance of a human death’s head, and had done so such a very long time ago that the ages had eroded and smoothed out its stark lines, giving it the appearance of a freak natural formation.

Sealing his lips, Doc suppressed his sound of surprise.

Something was shaking a cluster of palms due east of the peak—something moving through the jungle growth. Something large enough to cause towering trees to react to its passing!

Chapter XXI

IMMEDIATELY, DOC SAVAGE began wishing that he had brought along his Annihilator submachine gun. This intuition struck him even before he could obtain a glimpse of the thing moving through the jungle.

A blunt black head poked up, craned about. Its skull was a glossy black, and had the pebbled and plated look of snakeskin. The black hide was shot with short threads of orange, like that of a salamander. Beginning at the top of its forehead, a crest of irregular horns paraded down its spine.

On either side of the dark head, small green eyes peered about. They had the look of lizard orbs, slit-irised and cold as gems dug out of a cave. Surrounding these orbs was a pattern of smooth skin, forming an effect of interlocking curved blades alternating black, red and white. This pinwheel-like ornamentation had the hypnotic effect of drawing attention to the tiny staring eye, as well as magnifying it to terrifying proportions.

Doc Savage watched closely. He knew that no dinosaur hide had ever survived to be studied by modern scientists. So only theory existed. Most assumed that reptiles of this magnitude displayed brown, gray or green skins, as befitting their lowland environments.

But this monster was a smooth reptilian black. Its coloration was fabulous in its unusualness. So striking were the markings that it took the best part of a minute before Doc Savage realized he had no clear idea what he was looking at.

A few seconds more and there was no question about it.

Here was a creature that might have descended from a full-grown
Tyrannosaurus rex!
A monster out of primeval times. A thing that once ruled the Earth, but lived no longer. It seemed preposterous, utterly impossible.

Yet there it was. Stalking about on its massive hind legs, muscular forelegs grasping and releasing tree branches as it pushed aside those which impeded its progress.

Doc’s trilling filtered out, held, and careened up and down the musical scale. It seemed a fitting sound for the occasion. It might have been the ululation of a prehistoric creature—whether bird, lizard or other—of this lost island. In civilization, Doc had come to feel self-conscious about it, and quickly throttled it. Here in the wilderness, the bronze man gave it free rein.

Finally, Doc allowed the sound to trail away, and he began thinking.

Whoever had built that formidable wall with its double doors had unquestionably done so to keep something terrible at bay. There was no doubt that the creature crashing through the close-packed trees was a likely candidate.

And if there was one loose, no doubt there were others. No dinosaur could survive into the Twentieth Century without having parents and forebears—if not siblings.

Doc considered his options. He reflected on his mission: To seek any sign of Stormalong Savage. It was by no means certain that Old Stormy had been shipwrecked on this spot. But Doc could not assume otherwise. Not if there was any chance that his grandfather still lived.

Doc decided to walk the length and breadth of the wall before executing his next move.

Farther along, to the south, he discovered a hut-like dwelling place built atop the broad runway. It was uninhabited, but clearly this was not normally the case. Remains of a meal lay about, along with other signs of recent habitation.

There were items of a sophistication that seemed unconnected to the simple villagers who were certainly now in search of him. One was a mirror. It might have been taken off any shipwreck or vessel that passed by. But it was the product of a manufacturer, not an artisan.

Doc left everything as he found it and continued his traverse of the imposing wall.

The promenade was scrupulously maintained, and showed signs of having been swept of wind-blown dirt and debris regularly. It appeared to function as a long watchtower, for the purpose of monitoring the jungled plateau beyond.

DISCOVERING nothing else of interest, Doc decided that there remained only the quest. To push on into the high plateau, or retreat to the
Orion
for further instructions or reinforcements.

It did not help his decision-making that one hour of the allotted three had already been exhausted. The sun was slowly setting.

The decision was taken out of his hands when a pair of enamel-red wings lifted off from somewhere in the misty distance below. Doc recognized that a pterosaur was on the hunt.

After swinging about aimlessly, it began beating toward the wall. As it neared, Doc could see its eyes resolving. Their color was a chilly bone-white.

Watching it, Doc sensed that those glittering orbs were focusing on him. Flashing to reach shelter, the bronze giant got behind the great brass gong.

Running may have been a tactical mistake, for the metallic blur of his sprint attracted the searching thing’s attention. It arrowed in, showing itself to be covered in a kind of feathery down that brought to mind a cardinal on the wing.

Doc hunkered down as the thing fluttered and flapped about the gleaming disk, perhaps seeking its last meal of the day before returning to its rookery.

The creature was stubborn, if not persistent. Whenever Doc switched sides to thwart it, the thing moved around to the other side. It made no outcry. Only the muscular creaking of its wing ligatures sounded, reminding Doc of squeaking bats on the wing.

Doc yanked his Colt from its worn holster and decided to risk a shot. Risky, because he did not want to attract any further human attention.

Before he could line up on the flapping harridan, it faltered in its flight, one claw-tipped wing inadvertently striking the brass gong.

The metal resounded, brought forth an answering roar somewhere in the jungle.

It also sent the scarlet pterosaur screaming into the sky, frightened by the unexpected noise.

Doc had conserved a bullet—but at what price?

The answer was soon in coming.

The echoing reverberation had naturally carried to the lumbering Tyrannosaurian carnivore. Its horned black head turned, and one mesmerizing eye fell upon Doc Savage retreating from the noisy gong. Dying sunlight glinting off wobbling brass also drew its attention.

The dinosaur started in the direction of the commotion.

The noise of its approach—a wild snapping of broken branches and trampled bushes—alerted Doc. The bronze man saw what was coming.

Retreating down the inner side of the wall made the most sense. There were handholds and purchases that allowed this. But just as Doc started down, a wild roar caused him to freeze in mid-action.

Jumping to the runway promenade, Doc took in a sight often depicted in the paintings of naturalists and others. It was a primitive struggle out of the dawn of time.

In its rapid progress—the speed of the thing was startling—the meat-eater stumbled across another monster of his original era.

It was a long-necked sauropod with a tail twice as thick and elongated as its other end, resembling a Brontosaur! It had not caught Doc’s eye because it was a dull brown in hue, dappled and mottled by patches of variegated green.

They were vegetarians, Doc knew. In fact, the head of the sauropod was inserted into the crown of a deciduous tree that resembled a magnolia. It had been munching on some tasty bulbs. Now it peered about with semi-sleepy orbs the color of walnuts.

As it happened, the mud-hued plant-eater was dining placidly in the path of the lunging Tyrannosaur. Now it swung its sleepy-eyed head in the direction of the approaching commotion, revealing a startling thing.

The sauropod possessed a long prehensile trunk, resembling that of a Mastodon, with which it had been feeding!

From his high vantage point, Doc Savage could see that a collision was inevitable.

Given that the black-and-orange Tyrannosaur—or whatever it really was—was a predator of unsurpassed power, Doc knew what was coming next.

In that, he was in for a surprise.

The upright dinosaur gave a roar that exposed yellowed teeth like gleaming stalactites in its cavernous mouth. The inner mouth was a pale pink, mottled with gray.

The piebald sauropod veered its small head on its long muddy neck, seeming slow to react. Its doom appeared almost upon it.

With a casual grace, the big brown brute swept its slab of a tail about, first in one direction, then in the reverse. The whip-like tip of its tail snaked upward. Like a cow flicking at a pesky fly, it laid it against the side of the meat-eater’s head. The sound of this impact carried as if a locomotive had landed atop an elephant.

There came an audible crack. The black Tyrannosaur gave a sideways lurch, vented a queer grunt that possessed no menace, then took two halting steps, after which it keeled over on one side and began beating its long spiked-ridged tail in its death throes.

The sauropod went back to its meal. The other did not rise again. Its skull had been caved in.

The most ferocious of dinosaurs, a relative of the fabled tyrant lizard—felled by a casual swipe of a sleepy saurian!

THAT decided Doc. He was going to investigate this lost land. He started climbing downward, this time on the inner side of the incredible wall. There was a portion veined with tough, thick creepers, and these tendrils were as handy as a ship’s ratlines for climbing purposes.

What Doc discovered moving downward caused him to fight the urgent impulse to trill in utter disbelief. He stifled the sound after the merest warble of melody.