Doc Savage - The Monsters Part 14

"Get your chemical bombs," Doc directed. "Better leave the pig."

Down the street, Doc and Monk found Trapper Lake asleep. Street lamps -- they were electric bulbs which dangled from wires spanning the thoroughfares -- had been extinguished long ago. A light burned in the depot of the Timberland Line railroad.

The town had only one cab. Finding it at this hour was out of the question. Doc and Monk headed north, running. Monk, considering his short, bowed legs, was capable of surprising speed.

They were nearing the edge of town when sounds of shot came rapping to their ears.

"Rifles'." Monk e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "The fight!"

A bullfiddle of a moan suddenly drowned the other gun noises.

"It's Renny!" Monk howled. "That noise was made by one of our machine pistols!"

A MOMENT later, Monk found himself running alone. The homely chemist had thought he was running fast, but Doc had left him behind so suddenly that it seemed to Monk that he had turned around and traveled backward. Until this moment, Doc had been skeptical of the phone call. It was the sort of thing by which a trap would be sprung. But hearing the moan of the supermachine gun had alarmed him more than a little. The weapons were not public property. Doc manufactured them himself; the only ones in existence were those in possession of his men.

For some distance, Doc followed the rutty roadway. This sloped downward and became more rugged, the wilderness on either side more impenetrable.

More rifle shots sounded, and the superfirer blared hoa.r.s.ely. The sounds came from the left.

Doc veered over. He was forced to go slowly, for the darkness was intense.

He could hear Monk come thumping up. The homely chemist was trying for speed rather than quietness.

His approach was anything but silent.

From far down the road -- from a point which Monk had pa.s.sed -- a whistle shrilled. It was a blaring whistle of the sort used by policemen. Doc Savage jerked to a halt and listened.

"Monk!" he yelled. "Duck under cover somewhere. Stay quiet."

The bronze man's great voice reached the homely chemist and halted him. Most convenient shelter was the ditch beside the road. Monk flopped into it.

He listened. There was only the fluttering of leaves as they were moved by the night breeze. Monk jammed an ear to the ground. Borne by the earth came thudding noises which might have been gigantic footsteps.

The thumpings approached. Then there was loud breathIng -- tremendous breathing, such as they had heard the night before on the lake sh.o.r.e.

Doc's powerful voice crashed, "The gas bombs, Monk!"

Monk clawed at a pocket and brought out a gas mask of very compact construction -- merely a nose clip and a mouthpiece. From the latter, a tube led to a breath-purifier which was not as large as Monk's hand.

Doc, Monk knew, would be donning a similar mask. The gorillalike chemist stood erect, preparatory to hurling his gas bomb. But he never threw it.

A rasping, metallic voice thundered out. In volume, it was gigantic.

"They've got gas!" it said. "Don't take chances. Beat it! Get Griswold Rock!"

The metallic nature of the huge voice indicated it was issuing from a loud-speaker. And it was the voice of the rednecked thug, Hack.

Obeying the order, the monster wheeled and charged off in the direction of town. It was followed by another, then a third, and a fourth. Monk's hair all but stood on end as he listened to the thunder of Gargantuan footsteps.

But he was not too unnerved to whip out his flashlight and spray it after the monsters. The things were beyond thick brush. He saw nothing to give a clew to their nature.

Over where Doc Savage was positioned there sounded a sharp report, and powder flame spurted. Doc was shooting. Running, Monk joined Doc. He found the bronze man with an ordinary 4l0-gauge shotgun-like pistol. As Monk arrived, Doc again fired at the sound of the fleeing monsters.

The big bronze man was charging the weapon with the special cartridges which he had manufactured during the afternoon.

Doc Savage fired his over-size pistol twice more from where he stood. Then he ran to the road and sent more of his special bullets down it.

"It was a trick to decoy us out of town," he said grimly. "They've gotten one of our machine guns, somehow."

"D'you reckon they got the weapon off Renny?" Monk asked uneasily.

Doc did not answer this, for it was not the bronze man's i habit to hazard guesses. He headed in the direction of town, running swiftly, Monk lumbering along behind.

They had covered scarcely a hundred yards when sudden, scalding white light washed over them. The beam came from some distance down the road.

Doc slammed against Monk. Together, they spun into the ditch.

Machine-gun lead moaned and ripped along the road. The volleying metal scooped clods and kicked dust into the ditch. The mingled buzz of ricocheting slugs was like the droning of oversized bees.

"This must be the guy who gave the command with the loud-speaker," Monk hazarded.

The homely chemist was tugging to get his superfiring machine pistol from its holster.

"I was afraid this lead-sprayer wouidn't stop the big babies," he growled. "I'm sure gonna use it on this cookie, though."

He reared up on his knees. His gun howled, and the light promptly went out.

"Got him!" Monk exclaimed, his usually small voice boisterous and gleeful. He ran toward the machine gunner.

But he had not gotten the fellow. That slight error would have cost him his life, had Doc not seized his leg and yanked him down. As Monk sprawled p.r.o.ne, a fresh storm of machine-gun slugs swept the road.

"Didn't you notice how steady the light was?" Doc inquired. "The fellow laid it on something."

While the machine-gun slugs were gnas.h.i.+ng at the opposite side of the road, Doc Savage lifted for a quick look. He could not detect the muzzle flame of the weapon.

"The gun must have a flame-digester on the muzzle," he said. "Otherwise, we could spot it."

The bronze man quitted the roadside ditch. Working to the right, he reached a ma.s.s of vegetation. He worked through this with a quietness little short of uncanny. In developing his ability to move silently, Doc Savage had studied the ways of the masters of stealth-the hunting carnivora of the jungles.

He listened, hoping to.locate his foe.

But it was another sound which caught his attention. Shrieks! Excited cries! Shots, the cras.h.i.+ng of timber and the squall of a fire siren! The uproar came from the direction of Trapper Lake. The monsters had fallen upon the town.

Chapter 19. THE MONSTERS RAID.

THE MACHINE gunner menacing Doc Savage could be heard running. He was making in the direction of Trapper Lake.

Doc plunged in pursuit.

The fleeing gunner turned off the road. There came a squeak of automobile springs, the metallic clank of a slamming door. An engine moaned and headlights came on' The car dived into the road and scooted away.

Doc Savage sprinted. Given a break, he might have overhauled the machine before it gathered too much speed. But the driver suddenly sprayed machine-gun bullets over his back trail, on the random chance that he might score a hit In addition, Monk started shooting from down the road.

To avoid being caught in the cross fire, Doc Savage was forced to retreat. The car's headlights were lost in the windings of the road.

Monk came lumbering up.

"Blast it!" he growled. "If there had been some kind of a target to shoot at, I'd have bagged him."

Falling silent, the homely chemist listened to the uproar from Trapper Lake. Women were screaming now. Pistols whacked; shotguns made cannonlike bangings. Men howled and cursed. Wood splintered, and large things upset with jangling noises.

Doc and Monk headed toward town.

After a time, they were conscious that, from the sky, beginning in the infinite distance and growing louder, had come a drone.

"A plane!" Monk e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "That'll be Rennyk!" Doc Savage drew his flashlight and pointed it at the plane sound. His thumb tapped the b.u.t.ton, and the lens spouted long and short bursts of light -- the telegraphic code.

A flashlight eye blinked answer from the plane.

"It's Renny!" Monk grunted. "He seems to be flying the gyro..

With his light, Doc directed Renny to land on the road. "We'll tackle this mess in Trapper Lake from the air," he advised Monk.

The windmill s.h.i.+p spun down and hovered overhead. Hood lamps under the wings spread a glare which illuminated the road. Then it landed.

Renny thrust his somber features into view. He cut the exhaust into the m.u.f.fler cans, and the motor became silent enough to permit conversation.

"Got any flares?" Doc cabled to him. "Nope," Renny rumbled. "I unloaded all extra equipment;; to lighten this crate so it'd fly faster."

Doc and Monk piled into the gyro cabin. The s.h.i.+p, while not large, would lift Doc and his five men. Doc took the controls. "You just got in?" he demanded, as he guided the gyro into the air. "Just got here," Renny agreed.

"Was a supermachine gun stolen from you in New York?" Doc asked.

"Yeah -- how'd you guess it?" Renny boomed, surprise in his great voice. "I left the thing in the car while I was supervising the excavating. Some one lifted it."

"They were watching you!" Monk e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Whoever stole the gun probably came on by plane."

"What did the digging in New York yield?" Doc asked. "The dangedest thing!" Renny rumbled. "I'll show it to you now."

THE BIG-FISTED engineer twisted and dropped an enormous hand to a canvas-swathed package reposing on the floorboards in the rear of the cabin of the plane. He began Unwrapping it.

"Huh!" Monk muttered. "The darn thing, whatever it is, is almost as big as a suitcase.!"

"Get ready to have your hair stand on end," Renny boomed.

He flung back the last thickness of canvas.

Monk stared. His small eyes all but jumped from their gristle-walled pits. His oversize mouth opened as much as was possible.

"Whe-ew!" he exclaimed.

Up until that moment, Renny had possessed the biggest hand Monk had ever seen. Renny's paws were tremendous.

Yet, compared to this monster hand which had been swathed in canvas, Renny's was as the hand of a baby alongside that of a man. It was natural in shape, but unearthly in its hugeness.

Renny himself whistled in awe as he once more looked at it.

"Holy cow!" he boomed. "The guy who owned that must have weighed a ton."

The bronze countenance of Doc Savage exhibited no marked change as he inspected the t.i.tanic relic. It was as if he had expected something of the sort.

"Is this the only part of the monster you uncovered?" he asked.

"No," Renny said. "The rest of the body was there -- the fragments of it, that is. The thing was instantly killed in the explosion."

"For the love of mud!" Monk's tiny voice was wisplike. "So this hand belonged to the baby who reared up through the floor of Griswold Rock's house."

Doc Savage dropped the gyro down toward Trapper Lake. Their discussion, and Renny's exhibition of the colossal hand, had taken only a moment At two or three points in Trapper Lake houses were bun}ing. These scattered flickering red light over the rest of the town. The crimson-swathed scene was starkly fantastic.

The giants -- they were monster men -- had already raided the Guide's Hotel.

They were now retreating, skulking among the houses. They were like hideous men in a toy town. "Holy cowl" Renny boomed. "Any one of 'em would make two ordinary men!"

''The big babies are wearin' armor!" Monk breathed.

Monk had hardly spoken when they were witness to a potent demonstration of the effectiveness of the s.h.i.+ny steel plates which banded the giants' chests, heads, and legs -- even their feet.

A Trapper Lake citizen leaped out of his cabin. He held a rifle. Taking deliberate aim, he fired.

The bullet merely tilted a helmet over on the ear of a giant. This particular giant was a big black fellow.

His head, judging from the shape of his helmet, came to a conelike point, instead of being rounded.

"Remember the three pinhead savages from the circus?" Monk yelled. "That must be one of them!"

After adjusting his helmet, the pinhead giant charged the woodsman who had fired.

The rifleman ducked into his cabin, ran through it, popped out of the front door and scuttled into the concealment of high weed.

The pinhead thought the rifle wielder was still in the cabin. The black monster lowered his head and lumbered inside. A few moments later, he apparently became tired of moving about the interior.

A wall burst open and his tremendous shoulders and head appeared. He wrenched his arms free. He tore thin clapboard siding boards out bodily and threw them away. Finally he extricated himself from the ruined house.