Figure it Out For Yourself (22 page)

'In here,' I panted, pushed her through the archway and staggered in after her.

We found ourselves in a big, lofty cave. As I swung the beam around, lighting up the walls, I saw a great pile of wooden boxes standing in the middle of the cave.

Paula cried, 'There's no way out, Vic!'

She was right. We had blundered into a cul-de-sac. There was no escape now. We couldn't go back. The rats were already rushing down the outside tunnel.

'Quick! Block the entrance with those boxes! It's our only chance!'

We rushed to the pile of boxes, grabbed one apiece, staggered with them to the entrance, dumped them and jumped back for two more. We had the first row in place when we smelt the rats.

There was something blood-curdling and ghastly in the smell that drifted into the cave as the pattering feet came rushing down the long length of the tunnel.

'As fast as you can.'

I grabbed hold of two boxes, dragged them across the floor, swung them into place. As Paula ran back for another box, I turned the beam of the torch into the outside tunnel. The sight that met my eyes sent a chill up my spine.

The whole of the narrow floor of the tunnel was carpeted by a heaving mass of brown, furry bodies. The sound of their shrill squeaking, the rustling tails and pattering feet made a nightmare sound of horror.

I snatched out the .25 and fired twice into the seething mass. The crash of gunfire rolled down the tunnel, deafening me, and setting up echo upon echo.

The awful brown carpet swerved, but there was no room for them to retreat. Swarms of rats, stretching the length of the tunnel, prevented those in front from getting away.

The two bullets had brought down three of the monsters, and the rest of them flew at the bodies, piling one on the other, their razor-like teeth slashing and hacking while the air was filled with their horrible, piercing squeals.

I grabbed a box from Paula and set it in place, rushed back and dragged two more across the floor and heaved them up.

As Paula lifted hers into position, a rat sprang through the gap and knocked her over.

Her frantic screams brought me rushing to her. She was flat on her back, hitting out at the rat with both hands, while it snapped viciously, trying to get past her beating hands to her throat

I smashed the gun butt down on its back, grabbed it and threw it over the wall of boxes in one movement.

There was no time to find out if she was hurt. I slung the box she had dropped into the gap and rushed back for more.

She was on her feet now, and came staggering over to help me. We had completed the second row, making a wall four feet high, but it wasn't enough. The entrance to the cave would have to be entirely blocked if we were going to be safe. Even then, with their numbers and weight, the rats might push over our improvised wall.

'Keep going,' I panted. 'A double row.'

We toiled on, dragging the boxes across the floor, slamming them into place, rushing back for others.

The noise outside was horrifying, and every so often the boxes swayed as the mass of struggling bodies thudded against them.

'There's another in!' Paula screamed

She dropped her box and backed away, her hands protecting her throat.

I swung the beam of the torch, saw something streaking at me through the air, and threw up my arm.

The brute bit into my sleeve, just missing the flesh and hung, its feet scrabbling at my arm.

I dropped the torch, grabbed at its neck, missed, fumbled, and felt its teeth snap into my hand. As it snapped again, I got my grip and broke its back. I tossed it through the remaining gap in the wall and lifted the last box, pushed it into position, sealing the wall.

Paula picked up the torch and came over to me. We examined the wall of boxes. The rats were scrabbling at them, but they were holding.

'Come on,' I said. 'One more row and we'll be safe.'

'You're bleeding.'

'Never mind. Let's get one more row in place.'

We dragged more boxes across the floor and piled them into position. We were both practically out on our feet, but we kept on somehow until the third row was built up. Then we both flopped down on the floor, exhausted.

After a few moments, Paula made an effort and sat up.

'Give me your handkerchief and let me fix your hand.'

She bound up the wound, and then flopped down beside me again.

'What wouldn't I give for a bottle of Scotch?' I muttered, slid my arm round her and gave her a little hug. 'Well, you can't say we don't get some excitement, can you?'

'I'd rather not have it,' Paula said, her voice shaky. 'I've never been so scared in all my life. Do you think they'll go away?'

To judge by the hideous uproar going on outside, they were set for weeks.

'I don't know. Not for some time, anyway. But don't worry, they can't get in.'

'But, Vic, we can't get out. And if they do go away, we still haven't found how to get out of here, and the torch won't last much longer.'

While she was speaking, I examined the walls of the cave with the beam of the torch. Finally the beam rested on the remaining boxes in the middle of the floor.

'Let's see what's inside these boxes,' I said, getting stiffly to my feet. 'You take it easy while I look.'

I pulled down one of the boxes and found the lid nailed down. By dropping it on its corner I got it open. Inside, I found row upon row of neatly packed cigarettes.

'Reefers!' I exclaimed. 'This must be Barratt's storehouse. What a haul! There must be millions of them.'

Paula struggled to her feet and came over.

'He couldn't have carried all this stuff down that outside tunnel,' I said excitedly. 'Hunt around. There must be another way out of here.'

The walls were solid enough, so I turned my attention to the floor. It was Paula who found the cunningly concealed trap-door. By treading on one end, the other lifted sufficiently to get a purchase on it.

Together we lifted the trap. A blast of fresh air came surging into the cave.

'This is it,' I said, and flashed the torch into the darkness, below. Rough stone steps led down into a passage. I went first. As we reached the bottom step, we could see sunlight coming into the far end of the tunnel.

We went forward down the passage until we reached the opening. The strong sunlight blinded us for a moment. Below us was a wilderness of scrub bushes and sand. We seemed to have come out on the side of a deep quarry. A zigzag path led from the opening of the tunnel down into the quarry.

I was standing in the sunlight, with Paula behind me, when I heard a distant shout

It was only then that I saw, far below me, two big trucks, half hidden in the scrub and half a dozen or so men staring up at me, and pointing. As I stepped hastily back into the darkness, they began to run towards us.

'THEY'RE Barrett's men!' I said, pushing Paula back into the tunnel. They can't have seen you. I'm going out there to draw them off. The moment you think they're out of the way, make a dash for it. Grab one of their trucks if you can. Get to a telephone and call Mifflin. Bring him out here in a hurry. Okay?'

In an emergency, Paula never argued. She squeezed my arm, nodded to show she understood, and I left her, running out into the sunlight again.

Below me, the men were coming up the zigzag path. They were moving as fast as they could, but the angle of climb was steep, and they hadn't made much progress. They yelled at me, as I looked hastily above me, getting the line of country.

The path continued past the opening of the tunnel and led a few yards farther on, to the top of the quarry. I ran up the path, now in full sight.

I reached the head of the quarry. Before me stretched sand dunes, scrub and rising ground of the desert which lies at the back of Monte Verde Mine. To my left lay the San Diego Highway: my way of escape, but Paula's way of escape too. If I went that way, she would come up behind the pursuing men. I had to draw them away from her. If I was to help her, I had to go to the right: into the heart of the vast track of sand and waste-ground which afforded plenty of cover.

I ran easily over the loose sand, zigzagging a little to keep the various bushes between me and the men behind.

After I had covered a couple of hundred yards or so, I paused to look back over my shoulder. They hadn't reached the top of the quarry yet, and for a moment I wondered if they had found Paula. But I could hear them shouting, and judged they'd appear in a minute or so. I ducked behind a thick bush and waited.

Almost immediately the first head appeared above the edge of the quarry. Then four men appeared. They stopped and looked to right and left. Three other men joined them.

They were big, tough-looking birds: four of them in red-and-white striped sweat shirts, the kind worn by the fishermen who lounge along the waterfront of Coral Gables. The other three were city characters, in ill-fitting sports clothes, typical street-corner loafers.

One of them, a short, square-shouldered man, seemed to be in charge. He was giving directions. Four of the fishermen ran off to the left. The remaining men spread out in a halfcircle and began to move towards me.

Keeping behind the shelter of the bushes, I ran, bent double over the sand, to another line of scrub. Again I paused to look back. The line of men had stopped. They couldn't make up their minds which way I had gone.

I decided if I wasn't careful they might go back to the tunnel and catch Paula, so I moved out into the open.

A yell behind me told me I had been seen, and I broke into a run. The evening sun was setting fast now, and threw a red glow over the desert; but it was still hot, and running over the hot sand was hard work.

I kept glancing behind me. The four fishermen had joined in the chase. They were now strung out in a wide arc, driving me farther into the desert, and cutting me off from the Highway. But they weren't making much progress. The heat seemed to be bothering them more than it did me. If I could keep the distance between us, until the sun dropped below the horizon, I stood a good chance of giving them the slip.

The idea seemed to have occurred to them, for there came a crack of a gun behind me and a slug zipped past my head.

I didn't worry a great deal about being shot at so long as I kept moving. You had to be a pretty good shot with a revolver to hit a moving target, but I kept swerving every now and then to be on the safe side.

Again I glanced behind me. The figures were falling back now. They kept coming, but I had greatly increased the distance between them and me, and I slowed down, panting a little, and feeling as if I were in a steam-bath.

I was worrying about Paula. If someone had been left to guard the trucks, she might be caught. But there was nothing I could do but keep on. There was no hope of doubling back. The line of men was too spread out, cutting off all retreat to the Highway. They knew, so long as they could keep me penned up in this half-circle, sooner or later they would come up onme.

The set-up reminded me of the game of fox and geese. At the moment the line behind me was unbroken. In a little while I would have to turn and see if I could pierce it. But I couldn't do that until it was dark.

I went on, no longer running, but moving at a jog-trot. The men behind me had also slowed down, and the distance between us remained the same.

Away to my right, I could see the first of the foothills. This worried me. Before long, they would make a barrier, and would allow the line of men to swing in on my left. If I didn't look out I could be trapped.

I decided to make the attempt to break their line before I got into the foothill country.

Breaking into a run, I sprinted ahead, then began to wheel sharply to my left.

There was an immediate shout behind me.

Glancing round I saw three men pounding across the sand to cut me off. I increased my speed, but I had a lot more ground to cover. I was panting now, and every now and then I stumbled in the loose sand.

One of the fishermen, a big, powerful guy, could run. His long legs flew over the ground as he headed me off.

We raced for the gap between the first of the foothills. If I could beat him I would be out in the open country again. If he beat me, I'd be bottled up in a narrowing strip of desert where, sooner or later, I would be trapped.

I judged the distance and saw he was gaining on me. Gritting my teeth, I increased my speed. I pulled ahead. The other men, all running now, were hopelessly outpaced, but this one guy stuck to me. The gap loomed nearer. I could see him now: see the red, hard face, the sweat running down from under his cap, the fixed grin. He swerved towards me, came at me like a charging bull.

I tried to dodge, but he was ready for that. He closed in on me, his hands grabbing my coat.

I swung at him, but he ducked, his arms encircling me in a bear-like hug. We stumbled, wrestled and went down in the sand.

I slugged him on the side of his head, but it was only a half-arm blow and didn't carry much steam. He raised himself off me and clubbed down at my upturned face with his fist. I just managed to get my face out of the way and belted him in the chest, a good, solid punch that sent him over on his back.

I scrambled to my feet in time to stop his rush with a jab to his face. His head went back, and I sailed in, punching with both hands. I caught him on the side of his jaw and his knees buckled. A long, looping right-hand punch sent him to the sand.

The way was open now, but my breath had gone, and I could scarcely move one leg after the other.

'Hold it!'

The menace in the voice made me turn.

The short, square-shouldered character had come pounding up. In his right fist he held a .45, pointing at me.

I stopped.