Dave Dawson at Truk Part 11

Eventually, he heaved a long sigh, stretched his arms over his head, drew in a deep breath, and then let it out in another long drawn out sigh of complete contentment.

"Some night, hey, Freddy?" he grunted. "Boy, this is sure one swell spot, war or no war. Me for this place in my old age, and no fooling.

After I make my million in civilian life, of course. How about you, little man?"

There was no comment from Freddy Farmer. Dawson turned and started to open his mouth to repeat his words, but he snapped it shut instead. For perhaps five full seconds he stared pop-eyed at the spot where the English-born air ace had been walking by his side. But Freddy wasn't there anymore. He had disappeared; completely vanished as though the ground had swallowed him up. Shadowed moonlight all over the road, but not a sign of Freddy Farmer.

"Hey, Freddy!" Dawson suddenly let out a yell. "Where the heck are you, fellow?"

The silence of the night swallowed up the echo of his words. He slowly turned all the way around and searched with puzzled eyes in all directions. A wave of annoyance suddenly flooded through him. He had the urge to go on walking along the road, but on second thought he curbed it.

"Okay, funny man!" he snapped. "Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Come on, Freddy! I don't feel like playing _that_ kind of a game! Snap into it, fellow!"

And the silence again swallowed up the echo of his words. There was nothing but the moonlight, the shadows, and the soft velvety silence of a Pacific night. Real anger flamed up in Dawson, and then suddenly the anger was touched by the finger of cold fear. A clammy, eerie sensation rippled across the back of his neck. For no reason at all he suddenly remembered when once as a kid he had fallen out of bed and awakened on the floor of his room. The room was black as pitch, and the feel of the carpeted floor as frightening to him as the feel of a rattlesnake. His yells that night had been heard five houses down the block. But he didn't make a sound now. The very air that he breathed seemed to clog in his throat.

And then without warning the strangled cry came to him from out of the depths of the night-shrouded trees that bordered the road on the left.

"Dave! Help! Come quick! Dave! Dave!"

The last was choked off by what seemed like a gurgling moan that made Dawson's heart stand still, and the blood in his veins turn to ice. For perhaps two seconds he stood paralyzed, and then he spun and plunged into the dark trees. But he had taken only half a dozen steps when something caught him sharply across the forehead. Something else slammed into his right side. And as his head seemed to spin off his shoulders, and the rest of his body to go cras.h.i.+ng downward, he was vaguely conscious of hissing sounds, and the dank, musty smell of something crawling and loathsome!

CHAPTER NINE

_Room Of Death_

When he again opened his eyes, a smell that was something like that of dead and rotting flower blossoms filled Dave Dawson's nose, and seemed to clog up his throat. For several seconds he stared bewildered at a world of murky shadows. Then suddenly he realized that he was in some kind of a room, and that he was lying on his side on the floor of that room. And the air he was breathing was heavy with the smell of rotting sweet things. Like perfume that had turned bad. Or still more like cheap perfume mixed with a dash or two of ether. It stung his nose, and his eyes, and made him gag.

"What the heck?" he heard his own voice mumble.

The sound of his own mumbling voice gave him the idea to sit up and take immediate stock of his crazy, c.o.c.keyed surroundings. But the idea remained just an idea. That is to say, he soon found that he could not sit up. And he couldn't because his wrists were bound tightly behind his back. His ankles were bound tightly, too. And a rope connecting his bound wrists and ankles was drawn so taut that the only movement he could make was to roll over on his face. And that didn't do any good because then he couldn't see anything. And the strain on his wrists and ankles made white dots of pain dance about in front of his eyes.

Gasping and panting for breath, he managed to flop back onto his other side. But for a couple of minutes he could see nothing but blurs because of the dancing white spots. Then as his vision cleared he saw the huddled form of Freddy Farmer on the floor not four feet from him.

Freddy was trussed up, too, and his eyes were closed tight as though in deep sleep. A terrible fear gripped Dawson as he stared at his flying pal, and then his heart began to beat again when he saw that Freddy was breathing regularly.

Over beyond Freddy on the opposite wall was a small window. But it was so high up from the floor that it was more like a skylight. And when Dawson twisted his head back so that he could look up at it, he saw four pale squares of light. The pale light from outside seeped down through the four small panes of gla.s.s that made up the window.

"Dawn," he muttered. "It must be close to dawn, or else that gla.s.s is plenty dirty. I'll ... _Dawn?_ But it was early evening when it happened. Well, not later than nine o'clock, anyway. Yeah! Freddy disappeared, and then yelled. I went hunting for him, and ... bingo! I got clouted, and there was a funny smell. Something like this, and ..."

He cut off the rest with a groan and closed his stinging eyes tight as he tried to force his brain back in memory and recall what else had followed. But he couldn't remember anything else. Yes, a sort of hissing sound, that dank, musty smell, and then ... and then the lights had gone out for him.

He groaned again, opened his eyes and looked at Freddy Farmer. He tried for a moment or two to wiggle and edge closer, but the white pain in his wrists and ankles made him give it up.

"Freddy, Freddy!" he called out softly. "Can you hear me, Freddy? Open your eyes, pal. This is Dave. Can you hear me, Freddy?"

Young Farmer's eyelids seemed to flutter a bit, but they did not open immediately. A tremor ran down the youth's body. Dave saw him quiver, and then heard him sigh. Then presently young Farmer opened his eyes, and just gaped blankly.

"Freddy, it's Dave!" Dawson said sharply. "How are you, Freddy? Okay, pal? Say something, won't you?"

The English-born air ace continued to stare blank-eyed for a moment or two longer. Then he blinked rapidly, and frowned.

"What's the matter, Dave?" he asked. "Where are we? What are we...?

Ouch! I say, what the heck is up? I can't move. My feet and hands are tied! I say!"

"Me, too, Freddy," Dawson said quickly, and tried to grin but without much success. "But I don't know any of the answers. I just woke up.

Look, what happened to you last night?"

"To me, last night?" young Farmer murmured. Then in a startled voice.

"_Last night_, you said? You mean...? I mean, this isn't last night? I mean, this isn't tonight. I ... Oh, good grief, what do I mean?"

"Take it easy, son, take it easy," Dave soothed him. "Right now it's early dawn, I think. Last night you suddenly faded out of the picture.

We'd parked the jeep at Kahuku Point beach and were taking a stroll.

Remember? You disappeared, called out to me, and I ran smack into a kick in the face, or something. Why did you call out? Where had you gone, and why?"

Freddy Farmer scowled, and slowly moved his head from side to side in a bewildered gesture. Then suddenly he stiffened, and his eyes flew open wide.

"Good gosh, yes, Dave!" he gasped. "It was the queerest thing. Happened so suddenly that I don't even know now exactly what did happen.

Something got me from behind, quick as a wink. Around the throat and over the nose and mouth. I swear I smelled ether, but I'm not sure.

Everything sort of went spinning like, and black as pitch. Later I seemed to come to. I was being carried by a couple of chaps. Maybe there were more than just a couple. Anyway, I guess it was instinct, I knew that something was wrong. I remember now yelling to you. And then everything went black and smelly again. But where are we, and how in the world did we get here?"

"And I still don't know the answers, Freddy," Dawson said to him. "As I said, I came running when I heard you yell, and the next thing I knew I was falling down a great big black hole full of hissing sound, and a funny smell. Like the smell that's in the air now. Boy! if I could only get a lungful of fresh clean air then maybe I could think straight for a second or so. The old brain is whirling so fast it's going to burn out a bearing sure as shooting. But are you hurt, or wounded, or anything, Freddy?"

"Nope," the other replied. "Nothing wrong with me except that I'm trussed up like a blooming pig ready for roasting. I wonder what it all means? Have you heard any sounds, or anything like that?"

Before Dawson could so much as open his mouth to say, "No," they both heard the drone of aircraft engines up in the air outside. They listened to the sound grow louder and louder until they could tell that the aircraft was directly over them. Then it grew fainter and fainter and presently died away altogether. Neither of them spoke. It was like a mockery of fate to be a couple of air pilots trussed up helpless on the dirty floor of some strange and smelly room listening to an airplane thunder by outside.

"Well, that was a Yank plane, anyway," Dawson eventually grunted, as though that fact would help them a little. "I could tell."

"So could I," Freddy Farmer said in a wistful tone. Then, "I'm afraid we've been a couple of blasted fools again, Dave. Blind, thoughtless, stupid fools. And after the warning Vice-Admiral Stone gave us."

"You mean that doom caught up with a couple of doomed guys?" Dawson asked. "But that's nuts, Freddy!"

"Nuts?" young Farmer came back sharply. "Why, you were the one who had the hunch that our j.a.prat friend probably could communicate with his pals in the Islands. So it was ..."

"I know what I said," Dave growled. "But if it was that, we wouldn't be here. Alive, I mean. We'd be dead. Why kidnap us in the dark of night, and at a lonely spot like the one where we were? Why not just give us both the works, and be done with it? With us dead they haven't a single thing to fear about that n.a.z.i spy being identified. Or ... oh my gos.h.!.+"

"What, Dave?" Freddy Farmer asked quickly when Dawson let out the sudden exclamation and then lapsed into a sort of breathless silence.

"Nothing, nothing, Freddy," Dave replied. "Let's skip it. I wonder where the heck we are, anyway. Sure is a mixed-up business, isn't it? I wonder ..."

"Here, none of that, Dave!" young Farmer snapped. "I can see through you like gla.s.s, old thing. You suddenly thought of something that gave you a fair jolt. You want to spare me by not telling me. I want none of that sort of thing, and you know it, Dave. So come on. Out with it, old chap. What was the sudden thought?"

"Oh, look, Freddy, let's just skip it and ..."

"Dave!" Freddy cut him off again. "That's not being quite fair to your pal, don't you think, what?"