THE OTHER WORLD - Vb-tech.co.za

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx THE OTHER WORLD xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
ordinarily the chemical did the rest. In this
case, the mercy bullets splattered harmlessly
on the tank-truck cab.
The tank truck went out of the oatstubble
field sounding like a frightened red
hog, pulling a funnel of dust after it.
A dark, loose-jointed object tumbled
from the speeding truck. The regular driver.
They had thrown him out.
Chris Columbus, beside himself with
rage, squalled, “They’re gettin’ away!” He
sprang out of the plane and ran after the
truck in a hopeless and somewhat silly
chase.
Renny and Ham raced for Doc’s
rented car, which they had parked in the
farmer’s orchard.
Doc himself lunged to the plane
controls, made an effort to start the engines.
It was hopeless, as he had suspected. The
motors would never start on the low-grade
fuel that was in the tanks; it was a miracle
that they had operated on the stuff, even
after they were hot.
Monk was rolling over and over on
the ground, holding his stomach with both
arms.
“They shot me!” Monk howled. “They
shot me in the stomach!”
Doc flung out of the plane, shouted,
“They’re escaping in the truck!”
Monk got to his feet and began to
run toward their rented car. He traveled in an
awkward spraddle-legged lope, squalling
things that were angry and violent.
While he ran, Monk tried to pull up
the front of his shirt to see if the rifle bullets
had really penetrated the bulletproof mesh
undergarment he was wearing. The
undershirt was made of an alloy on which
Monk had expended his best chemical skill,
but he was doubting the efficiency of the
thing.
Ham and Renny had some difficulty
starting the rented car, so that all of them
reached the machine in time to pile aboard.
The man who had been thrown out
of the truck—his uniform showed that he was
the driver for the local oil company—had
gotten to his feet. He was standing still and
swearing at the top of his voice, the last they
saw or heard of him.
At all speeds above fifty, the rented
car had a knock that sounded as though a
blacksmith was at work on the motor with a
hammer.
19
Doc shouted, “You saw the other
man in the truck, Columbus?”
“Yes.”
“Was it the mystery man, Decimo
Tercio?”
“That was him. Two Wink and
Fancife are holding him prisoner. They made
him bring them out here. I think they were
going to use his plane.”
“How did you happen to show up?”
“I’ve been watching them, trying to
get Tercio away from them. I didn’t get a
chance. They had rifles, and they were also
looking for me to bump me off. I found their
hideout, listened outside the window,
overheard Tercio finally tell them where his
plane was. I beat them out there. I intended
to wait in the plane and waylay them. Wasn’t
far enough ahead of ‘em, dammit!”
“Why didn’t you go to the police with
this?”
“And have the cops lock me up for
crazy after they heard my story?”
It was a dirt road. The truck ahead
sucked up an incredible amount of dust. Doc
nosed into it; they coughed and gagged. The
bronze man was forced to slow. There was
not car-length visibility.
Doc Savage drove far out on the
edge of the road to avoid as much of the dust
as possible—which was fortunate.
Suddenly a blackness loomed
ahead. The bronze man stamped the brake,
wrenched the wheel. The car eased over in
the grader ditch, but there was not enough
room. Came a big gnashing sound of metal.
Their off wheel and fender dug into the
grader bank. The car slowly upended on its
radiator, turned over, and they were an
aching tangle inside.
Monk forgot his midriff pain and
shouted: “They broad-sided the truck!
Figured we’d crash into it in the dust!”
A RIFLE bullet went in one side of
the car and out the other, the double impact
sounding almost like one report.
Doc said, “Out and into the ditch!”
The doors were jammed. Doc kicked
one; it gave, and they crawled out into the
swirling pall of dust.
Renny stood up, fired four short
bursts from his machine pistol in four
different directions. Then he dropped and
listened, hoping the rifle would discharge