Doc Savage: Skull Island (The Wild Adventures of Doc Savage) (30 page)

Above this ferocious activity loomed a head. Towering. Gigantic. Unreal.

A bestial face peered down. Doc Savage found himself looking into simian eyes which possessed a quality that brought forth his amazed trilling in a confused tangle of musical notes.

For the eyes looking down at him—large as the husks of coconuts—were a startling amber-gold hue!

The creature regarded Doc for a moment, its ferocious expression shifting to one of monkey-like interest. Wide nostrils quivered. Then he reached down with one massive paw.

Normally, the bronze giant might have evaded it in time. But he did not. Astonishment held him rooted in place. The titanic creature, the uncanny way it had come up behind him unsuspected, caused Doc to doubt his senses.

Great fingers clamped about him, firmly but without the excessive pressure.

They carried him aloft.

Below, a brown-and-gold slasher had been sneaking up behind the bronze man. But taloned feet are not designed for perfect quiet. A fallen branch snapped like a dry bone underfoot.

Kong—for there was no doubt that this colossal monster was he—calmly lifted a foot and brought it down on the bizarre feathered thing with distressing finality.

The slasher became as flat as a flapjack against the ground. No outcry escaped its vomiting mouth.

The huge fingers bore Doc high into the air, dropping him into its opposite palm.

It felt like landing on a hot leather trampoline.

For a moment, Kong turned the bronze giant—that term seemed laughable now—in his great hairy paw, and made odd noises. His gigantic mouth hung open, revealing formidable teeth larger than shovels. The smell of Kong’s breath was an overpowering mixture of fermented vegetable matter laced with the distinct stink of raw meat.

Then, noticing more slashers stamping and scattering like wild turkeys about his feet, Kong placed Doc in the crown of a tree and went to work obliterating them all.

The great gorilla—or whatever he was—casually reached down and took up flailing slashers in each hand. He did not bother to examine them as he had Doc. He simply flung them away, to smash their lives out against rocks or bushes or tree boughs.

Soon, the frenzied flailing and screaming had ceased. The jungle became still.

Brutish head swiveling around on its truncated neck, Kong decided that the task was finished.

He went to the nearest slasher body and picked it up. Examining the dangling legs, he noticed that they still quivered with nervous life. Opening his mouth, the colossal creature inserted one limb, then another, into his mouth, stripping the still-warm meat off the raw bones with his powerful incisors. Then he discarded the rest disdainfully, like a man finished with stripped chicken bones.

Reaching back for Doc Savage, Kong groped amid the tree branches, hairy visage distorted by various apish expressions.

But the bronze man was already clawing through the trees, hampered by his hide poncho and the loss of confidence occasioned by the failure of his weapons and the unexpected arrival of the towering simian, Kong.

Behind him, a bough cracked as a wrist as wide as a railroad tie forced it aside.

Precariously perched, Doc rolled and dropped to a lower branch. Thick black fingers grasped and groped.

Looking up, Doc spied the eyes of Kong questing about over impatiently flaring nostrils, his nearly-neckless head swiveling menacingly. Excited grunts spilled from his thick, mobile lips.

Again, it struck him with the force of a blow to the solar plexus that the orbs of the great brute were uncannily like the eyes of the family from which he was descended. They lacked the golden flakes of his own, but their resemblance to those of his grandfather, Stormalong Savage, made Doc think he was hallucinating, or in some fevered nightmare.

But this was no dream. Kong now sought him. The ape reached out, began separating boughs, impatiently breaking off limbs as thick around as oak boles.

Doc scrambled deeper into the interlacing trees. He found vines, yanked one loose with a mighty surge and attempted to fashion a lariat from it.

But Kong would not be denied. He pushed his unstoppable bulk inward. His narrow hips collided with a palm. It splintered, toppled.

Another got in his way. Reaching down, the growling monster took it firmly in both hands and began twisting and wrenching, grunting with effort at every turn.

With a cracking sound, the palm was pulled up by its clumpy roots and Doc Savage clearly understood what had happened to the proud masts of the clipper ship,
Courser.

Kong pushed in. His shoulders shrugged aside entire leafy crowns, which groaned loudly, then broke with a mad splintering.

Attempting to fling off his cumbersome Triceratops poncho, Doc was momentarily still. That was enough. Two blunt fingers pinched the poncho, tugged at it.

Doc discovered that he was being dragged inexorably in to the open. Metallic hands seized branches, attempted to hold on. The serpentine boughs broke under the tremendous pressure.

Twisting, the bronze man fought to extricate himself from the heavy garment. His great strength, intensified by two decades of remorseless exercise, proved sufficient. The thick hide tore with a groan. Doc pulled free. He lunged for the shelter of entwined branches.

An animal voice grunted as the poncho was revealed, empty! Then the other great simian hand clamped around him, plucking Doc out of the trees. It was irresistible. He went up into the air as if riding an elevator, abruptly stopped.

Once more, Doc found himself face to face with the creature called Kong. Seen up close, it was an unlovely visage. The cicatrix of a long gray scar had twisted the right cheek out of shape. The parted mouth was a malodorous cave of yellowed canines, striated with age.

The eyes regarding him possessed a monkey-like curiosity. But behind them lay an open intelligence as well. More remarkable still, unlike simian eyes, the pupils showed white all the way around them. Their structure was astoundingly human-like.

This creature is no gorilla,
thought Doc.

The expression in Kong’s amber eyes was not menacing. It was vaguely warm, intrigued.

Below, a voice could be heard bellowing.

“Son! Son!”

Doc called down, “Father! Come no closer. It has me.”

“Can you tear loose?”

Doc put his mighty muscles to the test. Placing both hands against a warm right finger, he applied pressure. Kong’s digit gave slightly. The creature gave a surprised
cheep.
He pushed back. Doc could not budge the blunt finger after that.

“Keep your head down!” Captain Savage warned. “I am going to shoot the brute with my Very pistol. No doubt it fears fire!”

“No!” called Doc. “It has intelligence. And if he drops me from this height, I might not survive.”

This heated exchange did not go unnoticed by Kong.

Head swiveling, his amber eyes fell upon Captain Savage, Chicahua crouched by his side. The Mayan lifted his blowgun.

With his massive foot, Kong scuffed dirt in their direction. It was a minor gesture from the viewpoint of the terrible simian, but a crushing storm of loam mixed with blood and dinosaur matter cascaded over the two.

They were forced to retreat from the dark rain.

Satisfied, Kong turned and began stalking in the general direction of Skull Mountain, Doc Savage carefully cupped in both hands.

Having no choice in the matter, Doc surrendered to the journey. Any attempt to escape would have to come later…when he was no longer vised in Kong’s hot, unbreakable grip.

Chapter XXXVII

KONG STRODE OVER the plateau comprising Skull Island like the lord of all he surveyed.

Below, armored dinosaurs of many fearsome varieties swerved out of his path. Above, devil-tailed pterosaurs gave cry and took to the air. Nothing stood before him. Nothing dared stand before him. All fled. For he was Kong.

Striding purposefully, the tremendous creature that walked like a man made his unswerving way to his lofty lair, whose bald dome shone in the brilliant sun, appearing as white as true bone, its shadowed eye sockets contrastingly black as twin pits.

After a time, a strange and eerie calm settled over Doc Savage, cupped in his hairy hands. Perhaps it was the memory of his grandfather’s story of being Kong’s captive and held safely for many years. Possibly it was some instinct that told him that no harm would befall him.

Or perhaps it was simply the obvious and undeniable fact that Kong was carrying him the way one might convey a valued pet or property to his still-smoking retreat.

Soon, Kong came to the winding stream Stormalong Savage had dubbed the River of No Return. He followed its course until he reached a spot where it came cascading down from the highest point on the plateau. Skull Mountain.

Coming to the broad base of Skull Mountain, Kong began his ascent. For this, he transferred Doc to one leathery-palmed paw, holding him firmly but without undue pressure. He seemed to know or understand exactly how tightly he could squeeze a human without reducing their ribcage to kindling. Doc began to suspect that Kong had done this many times in the past.

The climb was perilous, arduous. Once, Kong stumbled when one foot came to rest on a loose ledge. Shale cracked. Kong stumbled and scrambled for better footing. But he succeeded.

Enclosed in his hot paw, Doc rested unharmed. Escape was impossible.

Approaching the granite summit, the air became heavy with smoke. Doc placed his hands over his mouth to keep out the lung-abrading fumes. They seemed more pungent than ordinary wood smoke, and Doc realized that something had been introduced into the fires calculated to produce a noxious pall intended to deny Kong his refuge.

Reaching the great cliff beneath the eye sockets of Skull Mountain, Kong was forced to use both hands. Here, he simply placed Doc on one shoulder, forcing the bronze man to cling to coarse hair with both hands.

The air here was a gray haze. The fires had evidently gone out, exhausted after days of burning. But the thickness of the lingering smoke was almost unbearable. This suggested hot spots still smoldering.

Giving vent to an angry roar, Kong deposited Doc on the ledge and began batting at the eye-socket entrance to his lair with impatient paws. The effort accomplished little.

Soon, Kong clambered in. Doc followed him with his eyes and saw that the interior was a cavernous chamber decorated with scattered calcium stalactites and stalagmites. In places, they met like closing fangs. Further in, there was a dark pool where water had collected.

Going to this, Kong began scooping up great sprays of water, dousing the smoldering remains of two bonfires—the same blazes that had made the hollow orbs of Skull Mountain burn so menacingly before.

This caused the last lingering smoky hot spots to be quenched.

Gradually, the air began to clear. A round hole in the top of the granite dome permitted some smoke to escape skyward. From this, natural illumination leaked, making it possible to see deep into the gloomy interior.

By this time, Doc Savage was endeavoring to work his way downward. Unfortunately, the rattle of the bullets in his pocketed magazine clip gave him away.

A massive black paw reached out and drew him back in, carefully depositing him on a high, inner ledge. The hand moved away.

Crouching there, Doc Savage studied the interior. It was like a spacious natural cathedral. The greater portion of the choky smoke had been drawn upward. Now the flue effect was acting to sweep out the last remnants. In a surprisingly short period of time, the air became breathable.

Kong sat down, facing Doc. Again their eyes met, and something resembling recognition came into the great quasi-gorilla’s sensitive orbs.

But this was not a gorilla grown by some freak of nature to leviathan proportions, Doc saw at once. Kong’s legs were too long. He tended to walk upright, which according to Science only man could do. The shape of his head was not the blunt bullet form of a gorilla’s skull, yet he was nearly neckless.

Whereas Doc’s wartime friend, Monk Mayfair, greatly resembled a terrestrial gorilla, Kong suggested both man and gorilla, while clearly being neither. His stomach was flatter than the gorilla’s enormous paunch. His chest was a tangle of matted hair and multiple long-healed scars, in contrast to the bare hide gorillas showed in that area. And most amazing of all, the amber orbs were framed in white, imparting to them a nearly human aspect.

After several minutes of study, Doc Savage realized that he did not know into what category of animal to classify Kong. He belonged to no known genus or species. That he was an anthropoid ape was undeniable. But no ape stood twenty-five feet tall—which was Doc’s final estimation of his height.

Mentally, Doc began filing facts in his head for a monograph he intended to write about this creature. Even as a captive, the bronze man retained unbounded confidence in his eventual escape. He noted that in places the bristling black hair that covered the apish form was turning gray, suggesting that Kong was very old, if not ancient.

After a period in which the great ape studied the bronze man from a respectful distance, Kong clambered to his feet and began a strangely human array of activities.

First, he picked up a dead palm tree that seemed to have been carried up to this aerie for the express purpose of serving as a cleaning tool. The dead cluster of dried fronds had largely fallen away from use, but Kong nevertheless wielded it as if it were a broom or rake. He used this to scrape all the simmering wet burnt wood into one corner of the chamber.

Once Kong had done this, he used his hands to heave out the detritus in large clumps. It went rattling down the side of Skull Mountain, coming to a clattering pile far below.

Satisfied with his toil, Kong looked at his paws. The gray-black ashes had smeared them, although outward inspection showed no color change.

Evidently, Kong was not pleased with the ashy deposit on his fingers and palms, for he ambled over to the dark pool and dunked his hands in. After splashing them around for a while, he dried them on the sides of his legs.