Merian C. Cooper's King Kong (19 page)

Good, Ann thought. As long as you have his tail, his jaws can't reach you! She realized that as terrifying as Kong was, he had not hurt her. She knew the meat eater would not be so inclined.

Ann sensed that Kong's strength was returning, and while holding the base of the tail with one arm, he mercilessly hammered the narrow hip area of the dinosaur. The creature writhed in pain as it jerked in all directions. Finally, one of the great beast's legs gave way and it landed hard on its knee. Ann heard the loud snap of its thighbone and winced at the sound. Kong let go, and the creature gave out a deep-throated growling hiss. Its sudden inability to stand on two legs forced it to roll painfully onto its side, its one free leg stabbing wildly at the air.

Ann knew the end was near. Kong gave no quarter, and as his tiring adversary attempted to rise, he scrambled onto its back. From behind, he grabbed its head, and twisting its skull with both arms, he forced it to roll agonizingly back down to the ground. Kong quickly maneuvered atop the writhing beast and again wrenched its neck. While leveraging his weight atop the gasping creature, Kong managed to free one arm. Again and again, he smashed his fist against the head of his foe. He shattered enough of its teeth to gain a grip with both hands between the gaping jaws. The monster writhed and hissed as Kong pulled with all his might in an attempt to rip the jaws apart. The dying predator made a last futile attempt to shake Kong loose with a twist of its neck, but it was no use.

Kong's shoulders knotted in effort. Ann screamed as she saw the dinosaur's jaws finally yield. With a sickening crack, the joints gave way. Kong grabbed the upper jaw, twisted it, and pushed down with all of his might, breaking the beast's neck.

At last it lay twitching in its death throes: reflexive jerks, then random shudders, slower, slower. Kong stepped back and grunted. He then advanced and quizzically manipulated the limp lower jaw before dropping the head to the ground. The form lay still. Kong prodded it. No movement. With a growl, he pounded with both fists on the prostrate dinosaur. Nothing.

The island's king threw back his head and, while beating his chest, gave out a triumphant shout that shook leaves from the surrounding trees. He stopped and then repeated his victory cry.

Ann covered her ears as she stared up at him. As soon as Kong stopped, he swung his arms slowly at his side and breathed heavily. He then turned to gaze down and make direct eye contact with her. She saw his hand reach for her. Every nerve in her body tingled. Trapped beneath the ancient trunk, her emotions overtaxed, Ann screamed one last time and lay still.

*   *   *

From fifty yards away, standing on a ledge in the near side of the ravine, Driscoll had seen the whole battle. He felt an agony of concern when the tree collapsed, wondering what had become of Ann. Now he saw Kong lift her limp form from the ground, hoist her to his shoulder, and turn away from the fallen dinosaur. Kong carried Ann like a doll out of the clearing and down the far slope.

Driscoll sensed a clear purpose in Kong's movements. He felt sure the creature was headed for the lair he had not been able to reach before. Now, no longer fretted by the pesky small men who had trailed him from the altar, safely past the morass into which the triceratops had driven him, and secure from the hungry pursuit of the meat eater, Kong seemed intent on bearing his prize home.

Driscoll climbed to higher ground, tracing Kong's progress through the brush by the disturbance the huge creature created, by the sudden bursts of birds from the foliage. He was sure Kong was keeping to a straight line and not moving very fast. He felt equally sure that he could follow the creature. He looked around, angrily wondering where the devil Denham could be. Almost at the same moment he heard a sharp whistle from farther along the rim of the ravine. Driscoll headed for it and soon saw a grinning Carl Denham on the far side of the chasm, holding a coil of vine rope.

Denham held it up and shook it. “I got this ready while the fight was going on!” he shouted. “I figured that if those two killed each other, you could get to Ann, and I could toss you an end of this, and together we could do something.”

For the first time since he had left the village Driscoll felt a surge of the old affection for his employer. Whatever else he was, visionary artist, obsessed professional, crazy risk taker, Carl Denham was a man to depend on. He could get a friend into plenty of trouble, sure, but he'd never stop trying to get him back out.

Driscoll yelled, “That stuff may come in handy yet. Throw me one end!”

It took three tries, but finally Driscoll caught the end of the rope. He made it secure to a sturdy tree trunk, and he had Denham tie his end off in a similar fashion. “There, now you've got a way across, if you can find anybody foolish enough to come with you. You shove off back to the village. Arm a party and come back here.”

“I hate like hell to leave you, Jack.”

“What else can you do? The two of us could trail Kong, but what would we do when we found him? We've got to have some of your gas bombs to bring him down. You go get them. I'll mark the trail from here. We've still got a chance to save Ann.”

“I guess that's the only way.”

“You know it is.”

“Okay, Jack. Good luck!” Denham grinned and waved.

With a grimace, Driscoll returned the wave. “See you later. Maybe.”

Denham laughed, then turned on his heel and began to jog back toward the village. Driscoll crossed the clearing, where scavenger flying things, vulturelike but reptilian, had already landed on the body of the fallen dinosaur. They squawked and clattered and tore at the flesh. More wheeled in, and from the edge of the ravine a lizardlike creature more than six feet long appeared, its sharp head lifted, scenting death. The creatures paid no attention as Driscoll passed them by.

Driscoll followed the track of Kong down the slope. As he had expected, he found the trail easy to trace. He hurried along, and before many minutes had passed, he heard a crashing in the brush far down the hillside. Kong was moving deliberately, no longer aware of being trailed.

The screeches of the scavengers faded as Driscoll followed as fast as he dared. He forgot about the horrors he had left behind, the hungry things in the ravine, the fallen monster, the scavengers. Driscoll thought only of the dark enemy ahead, the huge and savage Kong.

16

SKULL ISLAND
MARCH 13, 1933

Denham ran for a hundred steps, then fell into a fast walk for a hundred more. Then more running, more walking. Alone and knowing the lay of the land, he made better time than the rescue party had on the way out. He crossed the stream before it widened into the lagoon, followed its edge, and eventually found the rushing stream that had cut the steep channel through the precipice. Denham scrambled down and then broke through waist-high brush as he made a beeline for the Plain of the Altar. Night was coming on fast, and what had at first looked like low, ruddy stars became the flickers of torches high upon the Wall. Enough daylight was left for Denham to see that the figures holding the torches were not natives, but Englehorn's crew, with the only exception being what looked like an old woman leaning on a staff taller than herself. Denham was too far away to see her face, but her posture showed that she was watching intently, gazing out across plain and forest. She moved, and Denham thought she might have said something.

Then a voice rang out from a structure atop the Wall, one as tall in itself as a single-story house: “Ahoy, Denham!”

Denham released a long-held breath in relief at recognizing Englehorn's strong voice. He snatched the white cap from his head and waved it in acknowledgment, and the red torches blurred as the sailors returned his salute, breaking into an excited gabble. Denham could make out nothing but his own name, and once someone asked a sharp question that ended in “—Miss Darrow?” Denham sagged in relief, recognizing young Jimmy's voice.

Englehorn beckoned Denham forward, and as the exhausted director took his last few stumbling steps toward the Wall, the huge gate began slowly to swing open, just wide enough for him to pass through. Hands reached to help support him, tugged him into the sheltering safety behind the Wall, and he heard the gates slam closed behind him, heard the rasp as the gigantic wooden bars slipped home. For a few moments Denham stood panting at the center of a circle of men, struggling for enough breath to speak. Then Englehorn was at his side, getting an arm around Denham's sagging shoulders. “I've got you,” he said. “Can't you men see he's done in? Help me with him.”

Denham made a feeble protest, but the sailors all but carried him to a log bench. He sank gratefully down, aware as if for the first time of the aches in his knees, his back, his lungs. He ruefully reflected to himself that he was no longer a young man, though he had forced himself to a speed few younger men could have matched.

“Hey, Denham, where's Mr. Driscoll? Where're all the others?” Jimmy demanded.

Englehorn turned on the man. “Don't worry about that!” he snapped. “Get him some whiskey and some food. And secure the gate so it doesn't open again!”

“No,” Denham said with a gasp. “We'll be going through the gate again. Anyway, if Driscoll gets back with Ann, he'll want to come through that gate in a hurry.”

Englehorn leaned close, and in a low voice asked, “Where is Driscoll?”

“And Miss Ann?” Denham recognized this voice, too: old Lumpy.

Englehorn shook his head at Denham and said, “Let all that wait until he's rested. Where's that whiskey?”

Someone handed Denham a bottle, and as he tilted it back and let the fiery liquid pour into his throat, he closed his eyes for a moment. After that one gulp he handed the bottle back to the sailor who had offered it. His head was clearing now, and he saw how the men in the torchlit circle were studying him fearfully, taking in his ripped and muddy clothing, his cut and bruised flesh, his sagging, weary face. He sensed they waited with dread to hear whatever fearful story he had to tell. “Morgan and Jimmy both made it back all right?” he asked.

“Just minutes ahead of you,” Englehorn told him. “Morgan's taken a launch back to the ship to bring more bombs. I was just about to get up a new party. Where are the others?”

“Tell you later,” Denham said, not willing to add to the men's fears.

“Want to get back aboard the ship?” Englehorn asked in a voice that only Denham could possibly hear.

Denham wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “No, but I could use some grub if there's any handy.”

Englehorn nodded and barked out a command. One of the sailors turned reluctantly, and Englehorn's voice rasped as he harshly added, “Shove along!”

Denham straightened on his bench, feeling a little better already. He looked at the circle of eyes staring at him, questioning him. “I know you want me to tell you what happened out there,” he began.

“Maybe that had better wait,” Englehorn said. “Food's on the way.” His narrowed eyes signaled a warning, and Denham realized that Englehorn's men were still on the edge of panic, barely under control. Englehorn, Denham thought, must be afraid they'll break and run if they hear any more horrors. But then he'd never asked a man to do anything he wasn't willing to do first, and he realized that not letting them in on the dangers was a kind of betrayal he didn't want on his conscience.

“These guys can take it,” Denham said flatly. “And I won't give it to them soft. Listen up, men, and I'll tell you the straight of it. Everyone's wiped out except for Jack Driscoll and Ann Darrow. Jack's gone to help Ann, and I'm going to ask for volunteers to go along with me to help him. All I can tell you is that I've got weapons to deal with the brutes beyond the Wall, and now I've got a better idea of how to handle them. I can't promise that nobody will be hurt, but you men are used to danger, and I don't think there's a man among you that would leave a shipmate and a woman out there alone. Who'll come with me?”

The men looked uneasily into each other's faces, their expressions uncertain in the flickering light of the torches. One of them asked, “What do you mean—‘wiped out'?”

“Yeah, what happened out there?” another demanded.

“I mean wiped out!” Denham said sharply. “What do you think I meant? Listen, that hairy giant that made off with Miss Darrow isn't the only dangerous creature on this island. There are other animals out there, and I think we ran into half of them. Here's how it went.”

He spoke firmly, without mitigating any of the fear he himself had felt, telling the whole story straight through. He paused only when he reached the tragedy of the log bridge, momentarily overcome by a depressing sense of responsibility for what had happened. He swallowed that back and told the story to the end, with Driscoll setting off to follow the monster and himself running back to the Wall alone.

“I don't get that,” one of the sailors muttered. “If there's all these monsters out there, then how in the—I mean you—I mean—” He broke off in a mumble of confused words.

“You want to know how I got clear? That it? How did Driscoll and I manage to survive?” The man nodded, and Denham grinned fiercely. “We kept our heads, that's how! Listen, you men, if you don't panic, you've got a fighting chance, more than an equal chance, against those brutes. I tell you, I've got guns and bombs that can deal with anything this island could throw at us. But you've got to be disciplined, you can't panic. If I'd kept control of the bombs myself, we'd all be all right now, but I didn't, and when we lost them—well, if I'd had just a couple of bombs, we'd all be safe, and we'd have Miss Darrow back with us now. And I was safe from Kong because I was trying to see everyone safely across the log, so I was on this side of the ravine, and Driscoll had the sense to jump onto a ledge.”