Drome/Chapter 20
Chapter 20
The Attack
That strange, weird scene, like some terrible vision from the pages of Doré, often rises before me—the tall white figure of the angel, the dark, squatting winged monster before her, and we two men from the sunlit world standing there upon that narrow way, the black profundity of the chasm yawning on either side of us.
The angel had indeed well chosen the moment. If that hideous ape-bat, straining at its leash, were loosed at us, our position, despite our revolvers, would be a truly horrible one. Scarce twenty-five feet lay between the monster and ourselves. In case of attack, we would have to drop the monster in its spring—and only a lucky shot could do that—or the result would be a most disastrous one. For we could not meet an attack there; to step aside or to meet the demon in a struggle would mean a plunge over the edge.
It was indeed a critical, appalling scene, one in which I have no desire to see even my worst enemy placed. Our fate, I thought, was in the hands of that white-robed, white-faced being whom we knew as the angel. The demon, however, as will be seen in a moment, was to take the matter in his own hands, if I may use that expression in speaking of that monster, for hands the thing had none. I can easily see how the demon, in the obscurity of the fog, had seemed to old Scranton a thing that had no shape. But here, the strong rays of our lights turned full upon the demon, the sight was an altogether different one. And a stranger sight surely no man had ever seen up there in that world which we had left, that world so near to us still, and yet it seemed so very far away now. It was as though some Circe had changed us into figures in some dread story of ancient days. And this was what men called the Twentieth Century, the golden age of science and discovery! Well, science doesn't yet know everything—a fact that, I am sorry to say, some scientists themselves are very prone to forget.
"Heavens," said Rhodes, keeping his look fixed on those figures before us, "isn't she a wonderful creature!"
"And it," said I, "an awful thing! And I'd wait a while before saying that she is wonderful. She may prove to be something very different."
The next instant I gave a cry. The demon had made a sudden strain forward. Came a sharp word from the angel, and that cerberus sank back again. But, though it sank back, that greenish fire in its eyes seemed to burn more fiercely, malevolently, than before.
"I think," I suggested, "it would be a good plan to move back a little, back to a safer, a wider spot."
"Move back? Never!" said Milton Rhodes. "We are here to move forward, not to go back."
I thought this utterly Quixotic; but, of course, if he didn't want to go back, I couldn't make him. And, if he wouldn't step back, neither would I.
"Look," I said. "She is going to speak."
The angel raised her left hand and motioned to us rather vehemently, at the same time uttering some word—or words.
"No mistaking that, Bill," said Milton.
"No; it is as plain as any words could be: 'Go back!'"
"I am at a loss," said Rhodes, "how to answer."
Again the angel raised her hand; but she did not motion this time, for the demon, with a blood-curdling sound, deep in its throat, strained forward again, and so suddenly and strongly that the angel was drawn forward a step or two. A sharp word, however, from the angel, and the monster settled back, as a dog does after straining at its leash.
Once more the angel fixed her eyes upon us—or, rather, upon Milton Rhodes. Once more she raised her hand to sign to us to go back. But the sign was never given!
At that instant, as the angel stood there with upraised hand, it happened.
That sound came again, only more horrible than before, and the demon sprang at us. Caught thus off her guard, the angel was jerked, whirled forward. There was a wild, piercing cry, which rose to a scream; but the winged monster paid not the slightest heed. It was as though the thing had gone mad. The angel went down; in an instant, however, she was up again. She screamed at the demon, but it lunged toward us, flapping its great hideous wings and dragging her after it out onto the bridge. Her position now was one of peril scarcely less than our own,
All this had passed, of course, with the quickness of thought. We could not fire, for fear of hitting the angel, right behind the demon; we could not move back; and we could not stand there and let this nightmare monster come upon us. In a second or two, if nothing was done, it could do so. But what could we do? The thought of saving ourselves by killing the woman—and the chances were a hundred to one that we should kill her if we fired at the demon—was a horrible one. But to stand there and be sent over the edge was horrible too. And the angel, in all probability, would be killed anyway; that she had not already been jerked from the rock was nothing less than a miracle. Why didn't she loose her hold on the leash?
These are some of the things that flashed through my mind—yes, even then. I never before knew what a rapid thing thought can be. Oh, those things that shot through my brain in those brief, horrible seconds! My whole life, from childhood to that very moment, flashed before me like the film of a cinematograph, though with the speed of light. I wondered what death was like—what it would be like somewhere in the depths of that black gulf. And I wondered why the angel did not loose her hold on that leash! I didn't know that she had wrapped the chain around her hand and that the chain had in some way got caught. The poor angel could not free herself!
Little wonder, forsooth, that she was screaming so fearfully.
"We must risk it!" I cried.
"Hold!"
The next instant Milton Rhodes had stepped aside—yes, stepped right to the very edge of the rock. The demon whirled at him, and, as it whirled, one of its great wings struck me full across the face. I gave myself up for lost, but how I kept my place on that ribbon of rock. Another instant, and the monster would be at Milton's throat. But no! From this dizzy position which he had so suddenly taken, the angel was no longer behind the demon, and on the instant Rhodes fired.
Oh, that scream which the monster gave! It struck the rock, and that Rhodes managed to keep his footing on the edge of that fearful place is one of the most amazing things that I have ever seen. But keep it he did, and he fired again and again. The demon flapped backward, jerked the angel to. her knees and near the edge and then suddenly flat on her face. The next instant the monster disappeared. Its wings were beating against the rock with a spasmodic, hideous sound.
I gave a cry of relief and joy; but the next moment one of dismay and. horror broke from me.
The monster was dragging the angel over the edge!