Rick Brant 8 The Caves of Fear Read online

  And all the time he was catching up to the end of the light. The radius of illumination narrowed as the batteries failed, increasing the danger of stumbling into a sudden crevice. Outside, the flashlight would have been rejected long ago as a source of light. But far underground, with no other light of any kind, it was still useful.

  Running more slowly now, at a stumbling dogtrot, he broke into a cave larger than any he had seen since the first one, at the end of the passage from the Black Buddha. The feeble light failed to reach the opposite wall.

  Back stopped, panting for breath. He knew he had to rest. He found a natural seat next to a twisted pillar of limestone and sat down.

  The light slowly faded until there was only the dimmest of red tints to the bulb, and then that vanished too, and he was again in total darkness. As he watched the light fade, he remembered the infrared. Now he got the glasses from the case and put them on. He took the camera out and adjusted the handstrap so it could be carried like a satchel. But he didn’t turn on the light just yet. The battery had to be conserved at all costs. Because . . .

  He swallowed hard. Because when the battery for the infrared light ran down, there would be nothing but darkness. Darkness would mean feeling his way through the limestone tangle, and he realized fully that he would not get far before death claimed him in the form of a yawning canyon in the limestone rock. He had passed many of them.

  He set his jaw. That was ten hours away, because the battery would last that long. Ten hours was a long time if used wisely.

  He closed his eyes and leaned back, dead tired. He dozed off.

  Rick was never sure what awakened him, because there was no noise. It may have been the light on eyes made sensitive by ultimate blackness. But could a single candle have that much effect?

  The candle was carried by a man. A Tibetan. The candle was in a tin container, punched full of holes. That was to keep it from being blown out in case of a draft, although there was little or no draft in the caverns.

  When Rick opened his eyes the man was walking straight across the floor of the big cave, noiseless as a cat in feet wrapped in quilted cloth. The miracle was that Rick didn’t cry out on seeing another human.

  He sat frozen, watching the man. Then, as the stranger reached the far side of the cave, Rick came to life. If he lost this man, who obviously knew his way around, he was finished! Working at top speed he untied his shoelaces and slipped off his shoes. Then, in stocking feet, he padded silently across the floor.

  The candle was his guide. He didn’t need the infrared beam yet. He would follow the candle, and if it led him right into the hands of the enemy, that was better than perishing alone of hunger in the blackness of the inner caves.

  As he went, wary of a backward look by his quarry, he put his rifle under his arm and fumbled to tie a knot in his laces. It took time, since he was carrying the camera in one hand now. When he finally managed, he draped the shoes around his neck.

  A dozen times he had been on the verge of abandoning the rifle as useless extra weight. Now he was glad he had held onto it.

  Ahead, the candlelight bobbed and turned as the Tibetan, unaware that he was being followed, made his way through the caverns. Rick followed at a safe distance, close enough to avoid being left behind by a sudden turn.

  There was a new feeling in the air suddenly, a feeling of space and of wetness. Rick sniffed. There was an odor, too, like decaying leaves, although much weaker. His hopes brightened. Was the Tibetan leading him out of the caves?

  Then, so suddenly that he almost slipped from the edge, the path took him to a narrow ledge above a body of water of some kind.

  The Tibetan was making his way along the ledge, candle held high in a search for something. When Rick switched on the infrared light for a moment, the incredible scene leaped to his eyes from the darkness. From under his feet a lake stretched away, its farther shore beyond the eight-hundred-yard range of the infrared light. He turned the light back and forth, seeking the end of the amazing body of water. But there was nothing except the shore on which he stood.

  The water was dead calm. Not a ripple disturbed the glassy surface. He shot the invisible light straight down, and the water was so deep it looked black.

  With a sudden start he realized he might lose the Tibetan candle bearer. He hurried after him, using the infrared light because the candle was too far away now to show him the path. With the glasses on, using the infrared light was just like using a powerful searchlight.

  Far ahead, the candle stopped moving. Rick now proceeded more cautiously, and he switched off the infrared light in case the Tibetan should look back and possibly spy the glowing filament of the lamp.

  The man was stooping over something, the candle resting on the stone next to him. Rick switched the light on, then off again. And he broke into a silent run. During the second the light had been on he had seen that the Tibetan was untying a boat!

  He had an instant to make a decision. He reached a spot a few feet behind the preoccupied stranger, who was having trouble with the rope knot, and put the infrared camera down on the stone. Then, gripping the rifle firmly, he walked right up to the man.

  “Hands up,” he growled.

  The Tibetan screamed.

  He whirled, eyes wide with astonished fright, and he didn’t even see the rifle. He swept an enormous knife from his belt and leaped!

  Rick stumbled backward, and as he did, he realized that he couldn’t shoot. He still needed the man for a guide. He swung the rifle, barrel first.

  It was just as effective as it had been when he swung on Worthington Ko. The barrel connected with an audible thunk. The Tibetan fell forward on his face.

  Frightened out of his wits, Rick rolled him over, pulled aside the sheepskin coat he wore and put his ear on the man’s chest. Then he sighed with relief. He hadn’t swung too hard. For a moment he had feared that the blow had killed the man. And that would have been almost as effective as holding the rifle barrel to his own head, because he still had no idea of where to go without the guide.

  He debated for a moment, then lifted the Tibetan, dragged him to the boat and dumped him in. It was a flat-bottomed craft with blunt ends and primitive oarlocks. The oars were poles with round disks of wood on the ends.

  He collected the candle and the camera, placed them on a thwart, and went to work on the rope. It was looped through an iron ring that jutted from the stone. The sight gave him heart. Where there was iron, men came often. At least he was sure that held true in this case. But his victory had spurred him on and he didn’t want to sit quietly and wait. He wanted to keep going.

  He untied the knot, blew out the candle, shipped the oars and pushed off. Something was on the other side of this Lake of Darkness. He couldn’t imagine what, but he intended to find out.

  CHAPTER XVII

  Through a Pair of Dark Glasses

  Somewhere, perhaps, beyond the Lake of Darkness, was Long Shadow.

  Rick felt certain of it. The Tibetan who lay unconscious at his feet had been going somewhere. He had walked steadily and purposefully, with some definite destination in mind. What was more logical than to assume that the Tibetan had been heading for the hidden plant where heavy water was being produced?

  Once the plant was found, Long Shadow would be found there, also. Even if he were not there at the moment, he would come. And when he did, Rick intended to do something about it. He had no definite plans. He only knew that somehow he would force Long Shadow to unlock the gate to the outer world.

  His oars dipped rhythmically as he pulled out into tiie lake. The infrared light was directed toward a jutting edge of limestone on the shore he had just left.

  He was using the rock formation as a marker so he could steer a straight course.

  He wondered about his friends. Were they lost, too? Or had they managed to keep to the right trail by following the tiny drops of candle wax? The odd tin candleholder explained why there wasn’t more wax to follow. The holder caught most, but
not all of the drippings.

  The rocky shore of the underground lake receded rapidly. Rick stopped rowing and turned, switching the infrared light toward the direction in which he was heading. He could see the opposite shore now, but dimly. Knowing that the infrared light was effective at eight hundred yards, he estimated the lake to be about twelve hundred yards wide. That was over three-fifths of a mile.

  When he shot the light up and down the lake, he saw nothing but the black water. That meant the lake was more than sixteen hundred yards long. He turned the light upward and surveyed the ceiling. It was irregular, varying in height from a dozen feet to over two hundred. In one place, the ceiling came down to within a few feet of the black water.

  It was an eerie place. Rick’s quick imagination turned him into the mythical Charon, who ferried the dead across the River Styx into Hades. He grinned mirthlessly. The limp figure of the Tibetan gave substance to the picture.

  He bent over the man, reaching for his wrist. The pulse was weak but steady. He had given the Tibetan a healthy belt. There was no sign of returning consciousness. But Rick wasn’t worried. If he had hurt the man badly, the pulse would have been thready and unsteady. He would wake up presently, and his head would feel like a pillow stuffed with rocks, but otherwise he would be all right. Rick knew. He had been knocked out himself a couple of times.

  He resumed rowing, and his steady strokes brought him closer to the opposite shore. He turned to examine it and saw that a rocky ledge rose gradually out of the water. In a short time he felt the boat grind against the limestone.

  He got out and pulled the craft up on the shore, which was worn smooth by the water. The ledge varied from ten to fifty feet in width. Beyond it, the roof of the cavern came down sharply to form a curving wall broken in countless places. He could see into the broken places nearest him. They were the beginnings of more cave labyrinths.

  Now that he had reached the opposite shore, what was he to do? Again he leaned over the Tibetan. The man showed no signs of returning consciousness.

  Rick cast his invisible light up and down the shore. Nothing indicated that humans ever had been there before him. He realized that the wisest thing would be to wait until his guide returned to consciousness and then force him to lead the way once more. But he was impatient. Somewhere along the shore there must be signs he could follow.

  He pulled the boat up as high as he could, then used strips torn from the Tibetan’s own clothes to bind and gag him. That done, he picked up the infrared camera and his rifle and stood a moment in indecision. Which way?

  It was a tossup. Finally he decided to keep going in the general direction the Tibetan had led him. He paused long enough to inspect his rifle. After firing, he had failed to lever another cartridge into the chamber. He did so now, then put the hammer on half cock so it couldn’t fire accidentally, and started off.

  It was easy going in most places. But now and then he came to a point where the shore ledge narrowed and he had to crawl. Once he skirted an outcropping by walking in the water, feeling his way carefully so he wouldn’t step off a ledge into the depths.

  After a while he began to think he hadn’t been very smart. He was getting exactly nowhere. As far ahead as the infrared beam could penetrate, there was nothing but the curving shore. In some places the lake narrowed to a channel less than a hundred feet wide, then it broadened again until he could no longer see the opposite shore. He couldn’t guess how far he had walked from the boat. He thought it must be at least a quarter mile.

  Presently he found a place where a limestone pillar made a comfortable back rest and sat down. He switched off the infrared light, and instantly all light was blotted out. It was startling, even more so than when he had switched off the flashlight, because the infrared beam gave the illusion of a sort of gray daylight.

  He sat quietly, waiting for some of the weariness to leave his legs, his eyes closed. After a while he opened them again, more from habit than with the intention of seeing anything. He couldn’t see even the tip of his nose it was so dark. Then suddenly he realized it wasn’t as dark as he had expected!

  There was a faint luminous quality that outlined the shore of the lake. He studied the line of demarkation, then guessed that the faint luminosity must come from microscopic plant or animal life that clung to the rock underwater. Sea water had a phosphorescence sometimes for the same reason.

  His eyes followed the faint line up the shore in the direction he had been traveling. The silver phosphorescence turned a faint yellow. Almost out of the range of his vision the yellow was picked up by the water, like the dimmest moonlight.

  He studied it for long minutes, trying to figure out the reason for the phenomenon, then he almost leaped out of his skin. The water was reflecting the yellow light! It didn’t come from the water the way the luminous silver did!

  He got to his feet. Reflection meant man-made light!

  It was hard to follow the faint yellow light. When he switched on the infrared, the light vanished completely. When the infrared was off, he couldn’t find his way.

  He compromised, going a hundred feet or so with the infrared on, then turning it off and sitting quietly until his eyes adjusted themselves and he could see the yellow glow once more. After he did this a few times he could see that the light was growing slightly stronger.

  Then, as he progressed, he realized why he couldn’t see the source of the light. It was around a corner of the rock wall.

  After several minutes of alternate walking and waiting he reached the corner. It dropped sharply into the water, and when he flashed the infrared down, he saw that the water was black. No shelf here to walk on. He debated for a moment. He could swim around, or he could try to find another way. There were plenty of cave openings. One of them might go through.

  He had been lost once, and he didn’t intend to let that happen again. He tore open the packet of emergency rations he had brought, searching for something with which to lay a trail.

  Inside the waxed container were little cans of food and a packet of hard crackers. The crackers would do.

  But looking at the food reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in a long time. He didn’t know if it was hours, or days. He had lost all track of time. He took the can key and unwound the narrow sealing strip on a container of cheese. It tasted wonderful. He devoured every bit of it, including the crumbs left in the can. Then he opened a can of meat and ate that, too. He had been sipping at his canteen at various times, but it was still more than half full. He detached the canteen cup and filled it from the lake, tasting it cautiously. The water had a flat taste, like boiled water, but it was all right. He drank deeply, then filled the canteen.

  His hunger and thirst satisfied, he surveyed the various openings around him, then chose the one nearest the corner he wished to get around. At the very entrance, he placed the empty cheese tin. Inside the cave, he turned to be sure it was clearly visible, then walked across to an opening that seemed likely to lead him in the right direction. He placed the second can at that opening and went into the passage formed by a series of stalagmite columns. It was a dead end. He returned to the cave where he had left the cans, picked up the empty meat can, and tried another entry.

  He was completely calm now. He knew that humans, even though enemies, were not far away. And he was quite sure that his friends were all right. They would take steps to leave a trail so they would not get lost as he had done.

  The second passage was better. He wound in and out through the limestone formations, leaving a trail of broken cracker crumbs. Every now and then he turned to see that the trail was plain. He grinned. Hadn’t he read a story when he was a kid about some children who had left a trail of crumbs only to have the birds eat them?

  No danger of that here. No self-respecting bird would get near the place.

  It wasn’t long before he ran out of crumbs. Then he tore his handkerchief into tiny bits and used that. When he reached the end of the cloth scraps, he sat down to rest, turning off t
he infrared light while he carefully shredded a big piece of his shirttail.

  As his eyes adjusted themselves to the darkness, he saw the yellow light again, only stronger this time! Carefully, his heart beating excitedly, he turned the infrared light in the direction of the yellow glow and switched it on. Before him was a big opening in the limestone. He surveyed the floor carefully and saw that there was nothing over which to trip. He turned off the infrared light, and, leaving a trail of torn cloth behind him, he crawled toward the source of the light.

  He came out on the shore of the lake once more. Before him stretched the black water, the yellow light dancing across its surface. And the source of the light was not from candles, but from torches!

  Across the water, perhaps a hundred yards away, a half dozen torches burned, their light lost in the emptiness of the great lake cave. Near the torches he could see figures moving and knew with sudden relief that he had found the enemy camp.

  He turned on the infrared light, aiming it at the torches, and through his special glasses he saw the scene light up.

  Where the torches blazed was a great shelf of rock, stretching back several hundred feet to where the rock wall began once more. On the shelf were a dozen men, sitting around a tiny cooking fire much paler than the torches themselves. They were Tibetans, like the one he had captured.

  He saw an odd structure at the water line and after a little study realized that it was a barge of some kind, perhaps a floating pier. It had odd derricklike wooden ladders on it. There were four of them, perhaps three feet high. Beyond the barge he made out at least two flat-bottomed boats.

  Further back, against the limestone wall, he could see tents or lean-tos made of some kind of cloth. He couldn’t see clearly, but thought the cloth might be felt. This, then, was a permanent camp! The tents must be there to offer some protection against the cold and dampness.

  He inspected the men again. They were all short. None of them could be Long Shadow.