James Chase - Figure It Out for Yourself

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.