Читать книгу The Exile of Time - Raymond King Cummings - Страница 6

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Patrolman McGuire evidently had not passed through Patton Place since we left it; or at least he had not noticed the broken window. The house appeared as before.

“I’ll leave the car around on the other street,” Alten said. “Quick—no one’s in sight. You three get out here.”

We crouched in the dim entryway and in a moment he joined us.

I clung to Mary Atwood’s arm. “You’re not afraid?” I asked.

“No. Yes, of course I am afraid. But I want to do what we planned. I want to go back to my own world, to my Father.”

“Inside!” Alten whispered. “I’ll go first. You two follow with her.”

We climbed through the window, into the dark front basement room. There was only silence, and our faintly padding footsteps on the carpeted floor. The furniture was shrouded with cotton covers standing like ghosts in the gloom. I clutched the loaded rifle which Alten had given me. Larry was similarly armed, and Alten carried a revolver.

“Which way, Mary?” I whispered. “You’re sure it was outdoors?”

“Yes. This way, I think.”

We passed through the connecting door. The back room seemed to be a dismantled kitchen.

“You stay with her here, a moment,” Alten whispered to me. “Come on, Larry. Let’s make sure no one—nothing—is down here.”

I stood silent with Mary, while they prowled about the lower floor. “It may have come and gone,” I whispered.

“Yes.” She was trembling against me.

It seemed to me an eternity while we stood there listening to the faint footfalls of Larry and Alten. Once they must have stood quiet; then the silence leaped and crowded us.

Larry and Alten returned. “Seems to be all clear,” Alten whispered. “Let’s go into the back yard.”

The little yard was dim. The big apartment house against its rear wall loomed with a blank brick face, save that there were windows some eight stories up. The space was some forty feet square, and there was a faded grass plot in the center.

We crouched near the kitchen door, with Mary behind us in the room. She said she could recall the cage having stood near the center of the yard, with its door facing this way. . . .

Nearly an hour passed. It seemed that the dawn must be near, but it was only around four o’clock. The same storm clouds hung overhead—a threatening storm which would not break.

“It’s come and gone,” Larry whispered, “or it isn’t coming. I guess that this—”

And then it came! We were just outside the doorway, crouching against the shadowed wall of the house. I had Mary close behind me, my rifle ready.

“There!” whispered Alten.

We all saw it—a faint luminous mist out near the center of the yard—a crawling, shifting ball of fog.

Alten and Larry, one on each side of me, shifted sidewise. Mary stood and cast off her dark overcoat. We men were in dark clothes, but she stood in gleaming white against the dark rectangle of doorway. It was as we had arranged. A moment only, she stood there; then she moved back, further behind me in the black kitchen.

And in that moment the cage had materialized. We were hoping its occupant had seen the girl, and not us. A formless, glowing mist, it quickly gathered itself into solidity. It seemed to shrink. It took form.

The cage stood there, a thing of gleaming silver bars. It seemed to enclose a single room. From within its dim interior came a faint glow, which outlined something standing at the bars, peering out.

The doorway was facing us. There had been utter silence; but suddenly, as though to prove how solid was this apparition, we heard the clank of metal, and the door slid open.

I turned to make sure that Mary was hiding well behind me. The way back to the street, if need for escape arose, was open to her.

I turned again, to face the shining cage. In the doorway something stood peering out, a light behind it. It was a great jointed thing of dark metal, some ten feet high. For a moment it stood motionless. I could not see its face clearly, though I knew there was a suggestion of human features, and two great round glowing spots of eyes.

It stepped forward—toward us. A jointed stiff-legged step. Its arms were dangling loosely; I heard one of its mailed hands clank against its sides.

“Now!” Alten whispered.

I saw Alten’s revolver leveling, and my own rifle went up.

“Aim at its face,” I murmured.

We pulled our triggers together, and two spurts of flame spat before us. But the thing had stopped an instant before, and we missed. Then came Larry’s shot. And then chaos.

I recall hearing the ping of Larry’s bullet against the mailed body of the robot. At that it crouched, and from it leaped a dull red-black beam of light. I heard Mary scream. She had not fled but was clinging to me. I cast her off.

“Run! Get away!” I cried.

Larry shouted, “Look out! It sees us!”

He fired again, into the light—and murmured, “Why—why—”

A great surprise and terror was in his tone. Beside me, with half-leveled revolver, Alten stood transfixed.

All this happened in an instant. And there I was aware that I was trying to get my rifle up for firing again; but I could not. I was rooted there; held, as though by some giant magnet, to the ground!

This horrible dull-red light! It was cold—a frigid, paralyzing blast. The blood ran like cold water in my veins. My feet were heavy with the weight of my body pressing them down.

Then the robot was moving, coming forward, holding the light upon us. I thought I heard its voice—and a horrible, hollow, rasping laugh.

My brain was chilling. As though in a dream I felt myself standing there with Mary clinging to me. Both of us were frozen inert upon our feet.

I tried to shout, but my tongue was too thick; my throat seemed swelling inside. I heard Alton’s revolver clatter to the stone pavement of the yard. And saw him fall forward—out.

I felt that in another instant I too would fall. Then the beam turned partly away, and fell more fully upon Larry. He had resisted its first blast. His weapon had fallen; now he stooped and tried to seize it, but he lost his balance and staggered backward against the house wall.

And then the robot was upon him. It reached under Larry for his rifle. Its great mailed hand swept the ground, seized the rifle and flung it away. And as Larry twisted sidewise, the robot’s arm with a sweep caught him and rolled him across the yard. When he stopped, he lay motionless.

I heard myself thickly calling to Mary, and the light flashed again upon us. And then, clinging together, we fell . . . .

I did not quite lose consciousness. It seemed that I was frozen, and drifting off half into a nightmare sleep. Great metal arms were gathering Mary and me from the ground.

We were in the cage. I felt myself lying on the grid of a metal floor. I could vaguely see the crossed bars of the ceiling overhead, and the latticed walls around me. . . .

Then the dull-red light was gone. The chill was gone; warm blood again was coursing through my veins, reviving me, bringing back my strength.

I turned over, and found Mary lying beside me. I heard her softly murmur, “George! George Rankin!”

The giant mechanism clanked the door closed, and came with stiff, stilted steps back into the center of the cage. I heard the hollow rumble of its voice, chuckling, as its hand pulled a switch.

At once the cage-room seemed to reel. It was not a physical movement, though, but more a reeling of my senses, a wild shock to all my being.

Then, after a nameless interval, I steadied. Around me was a humming, glowing intensity of tiny sounds and infinitely small, infinitely rapid vibrations. The whole room grew luminous. The robot, seated now at a table, showed for a moment as thin as an apparition. All this room—Mary lying beside me, the mechanism, myself—all this was intangible, unreal.

And outside the bars stretched a shining mist of movement. Blurred shifting shapes over a vast illimitable vista. Changing things; melting landscapes. Silent, tumbling, crowding events blurred by our movement as we swept past them.

We were traveling through Time!