Andre Norton - The Science Fiction anthology

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Quedak said. “We have talked long enough. I am prepared to kill one man in the next five minutes. Are you or are you not going to join me?” Sorensen looked at Drake. Drake turned on the transmitter.

Gusts of rain splattered on the roof while the transmitter warmed up. Drake lifted the microphone and tapped it, and was able to hear the sound in the speaker.

“It’s working,” he said.

At that moment something flew against the netting-covered window. The netting sagged; a fruit bat was entangled in it, glaring at them with tiny red-rimmed eyes.

“Get some boards over that window!” Sorensen shouted.

As he spoke, a second bat hurtled into the netting, broke through it and tumbled to the floor. The men clubbed it to death, but four more bats flew in through the open window. Drake flailed at them, but he couldn’t drive them away from the transmitter. They were diving at his eyes, and he was forced back. A wild blow caught one bat and knocked it to the floor with a broken wing. Then the others had reached the transmitter.

They pushed it off the table. Drake tried to catch the set, and failed. He heard the glass tubes shattering, but by then he was busy protecting his eyes.

In a few minutes they had killed two more bats, and the others had fled out the window. The men nailed boards over both windows, and Drake bent to examine the transmitter.

“Any chance of fixing it?” Sorensen asked.

“Not a hope,” Drake said. “They ripped out the wiring while they were at it.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.”

Then the Quedak spoke to them over the walkie-talkie. “I must have your answer right now.”

Nobody said a word.

“In that case,” the Quedak said, “I’m deeply sorry that one of you must die now.”

VII

Rain pelted the iron roof and the gusts of wind increased in intensity. There were rumbles of distant thunder. But within the copra shed, the air was hot and still. The gasoline lantern hanging from the center beam threw a harsh yellow light that illuminated the center of the room but left the corners in deep shadow. The treasure-hunters had moved away from the walls. They were all in the center of the room facing outward, and they made Drake think of a herd of buffalo drawn up against a wolf they could smell but could not see.

Cable said, “Listen, maybe we should try this Quedak Cooperation. Maybe it isn’t so bad as—”

“Shut up,” Drake said.

“Be reasonable,” Cable argued. “It’s better than dying, isn’t it?”

“No one’s dying yet,” Drake said. “Just shut up and keep your eyes open.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Cable said. “Dan, let me out.”

“Be sick where you are,” Drake said. “Just keep your eyes open.”

“You can’t give me orders,” Cable said. He started toward the door. Then he jumped back.

A yellowish scorpion had crept under the inch of clearance between the door and the floor. Recetich stamped on it, smashing it to pulp under his heavy boots. Then he whirled, swinging at three hornets which had come at him through the boarded windows.

“Forget the hornets!” Drake shouted. “Keep watching the ground!”

There was movement on the floor. Several hairy spiders crawled out of the shadows. Drake and Recetich beat at them with rifle butts. Byrnes saw something crawling under the door. It looked like some kind of huge flat centipede. He stamped at it, missed, and the centipede was on his boot, past it, on the flesh of his leg. He screamed; it felt like a ribbon of molten metal. He was able to smash it flat before he passed out.

Drake checked the wound and decided it was not fatal. He stamped on another spider, then felt Sorensen’s hand clutching his shoulder. He looked toward the corner Sorensen was pointing at.

Sliding toward them were two large, dark-coated snakes. Drake recognized them as black adders. These normally shy creatures were coming forward like tigers.

The men panicked, trying to get away from the snakes. Drake pulled out his revolver and dropped to one knee, ignoring the hornets that buzzed around him, trying to draw a bead on the slender serpentine targets in the swaying yellow light.

Thunder roared directly overhead. A long flash of lightning suddenly flooded the room, spoiling his aim. Drake fired and missed, and waited for the snakes to strike.

They didn’t strike. They were moving away from him, retreating to the rat hole from which they had emerged. One of the adders slid quickly through. The other began to follow, then stopped, half in the hole.

Sorensen took careful aim with a rifle. Drake pushed the muzzle aside. “Wait just a moment.”

The adder hesitated. It came out of the hole and began to move toward them again....

And there was another crash of thunder and a vivid splash of lightning. The snake turned away and squirmed through the hole.

“What’s going on?” Sorensen asked. “Is the thunder frightening them?”

“No, it’s the lightning!” Drake said. “That’s why the Quedak was in such a rush. He saw that a storm was coming, and he hadn’t consolidated his position yet.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The lightning,” Drake said.

“The electrical storm! It’s jamming that radio control of his! And when he’s jammed, the beasts revert to normal behavior. It takes him time to re-establish control.”

“The storm won’t last forever,” Cable said.

“But maybe it’ll last long enough,” Drake said. He picked up the direction finders and handed one to Sorensen. “Come on, Bill. We’ll hunt out that bug right now.”

“Hey,” Recetich said, “isn’t there something I can do?”

“You can start swimming if we don’t come back in an hour,” Drake said.

In slanting lines the rain drove down, pushed by the wild southwest wind. Thunder rolled continually and each flash of lightning seemed aimed at them. Drake and Sorensen reached the edge of the jungle and stopped.

“We’ll separate here,” Drake said. “Gives us a better chance of converging on him.”

“Right,” Sorensen said. “Take care of yourself, Dan.”

Sorensen plunged into the jungle. Drake trotted fifty yards down the fringe and then entered the bush.

He pushed forward, the revolver in his belt, the radio direction finder in one hand, a flashlight in the other. The jungle seemed to be animated by a vicious life of its own, almost as if the Quedak controlled it. Vines curled cunningly around his ankles and the bushes reached out thorny hands toward him. Every branch took a special delight in slapping his face.

Each time the lightning flashed, Drake’s direction finder tried to home on it. He was having a difficult time staying on course. But, he reminded himself, the Quedak was undoubtedly having an even more difficult time. Between flashes, he was able to set a course. The further he penetrated into the jungle, the stronger the signal became.

After a while he noticed that the flashes of lightning were spaced more widely apart. The storm was moving on toward the north, leaving the island behind. How much longer would he have the protection of the lightning? Another ten or fifteen minutes?

He heard something whimper. He swung his flashlight around and saw his dog, Oro, coming toward him.

His dog—or the Quedak’s dog?

“Hey there, boy,” Drake said. He wondered if he should drop the direction finder and get the revolver out of his belt. He wondered if the revolver would still work after such a thorough soaking.

Oro came up and licked his hand. He was Drake’s dog, at least for the duration of the storm.

They moved on together, and the thunder rumbled distantly in the north. The signal on his RDF was very strong now. Somewhere around here....