Collected Short Fiction, page 485
It was lying on its side near them, with its top off. Marian uttered a little cry and ran over to it. She snatched it off the ground, peered inside, shook her head mournfully.
“It’s—it was—the lifeship’s water supply,” she said in a quiet voice. “This was the last container there was. They must have found it and emptied it out this morning.”
“For a joke,” Halderson said. “A real funny joke, too.”
Merrick and Lora were laughing wildly—though Merrick still took good care that the blaster remained aimed. From where he lay under the tree in the shade, old Dominick joined the general merriment, adding his high-pitched wailing chuckle to the noise.
Halderson said, “That cuts off our safety margin neatly. We’ll have to get that blaster away from them and get back into the ship. And we’ll have to do it fast, or else—”
He left the sentence unfinished.
HALDERSON had no clear idea of how long a human being could survive without fresh water, but he knew it was an extremely limited time. A man could get along without food for a month, if he had to, and still live to talk about it. But water was something else again. Certainly he would need water within a few days, or he would be dead.
There was a water supply in his spaceship. There was a radio in his spaceship as well. But his ship was sealed closed, and he had no chance to perform the operation necessary to open it.
Another day passed. It was obviously summer in this part of the planet, and the heat was increasing—or was it only his thirst that gave the illusion? He stared for long hours at the shimmering, sparkling, tempting water of the spring, and then he looked at the shambling, vacant-eyed things the others had become, and the temptation vanished.
Next to him, he saw Marian Chase, her face drawn, her skin yellowish, her eyes sunken from thirst. He knew what she must be going through. It could not be very long before she cracked.
Halderson watched the others intently. Lora and Merrick seemed to be the only ones interested in guarding them, now, and both Lora and Merrick appeared to have forgotten just why the guarding was necessary. They took turns holding the gun. Halderson waited for the moment when the gun would slip from loosening fingers, when he could leap forward. But the moment never came.
The effect of the water seemed to increase from hour to hour. Max Dominick had lost all sense of humanity now; the plump oldster sat by the water’s edge, drooling, crooning some long-forgotten lullaby to himself. Near him lay Mrs. Dugan, playing in the sand. Her eyes were slack and glazed.
That afternoon the other old woman, Mrs. Lumley, died. Either the process had reached completion in her, obliterating her mind completely, or she had simply come to the end of her time. Halderson saw her collapse suddenly on her staggering way from her tent to the spring.
Merrick saw it too. He went over to investigate, nudged the dead woman with his toe, and burst into laughing. Within minutes, the other survivors who could still walk—Lora, Lucy Clay, and Mrs. Brewster—had gathered around and were giggling in chorus over the corpse.
“Horrible,” Halderson said, half to himself. He turned to look at Marian Chase. The girl’s face looked almost like a skull. She said nothing. Neither of them had had a drink for two and a half days now, and the torment was intense.
Still later that afternoon, the final remnants of Mrs. Brewster’s mind went, and she joined Dominick and Mrs. Dugan on the beach, a complete imbecile now. The remaining
three continued to drink copiously. Halderson could see them weakening visibly from hour to hour. Lucy Clay wandered round the camp area wearing only lace-trimmed briefs, singing wildly to herself. Lora and Merrick swam and laughed and danced, one guarding the two prisoners at all times.
Night was beginning to descend when Halderson reached his decision.
He turned to look at Marian and said, “We can’t sit here any longer. We’ll have to take our chances with them.”
“What do you mean?” Marian’s voice was dry and thin, like the voice of a skeleton.
“Maybe they can’t aim that gun any more. Maybe if we jumped them they’d drop the gun. We have to get into my ship!”
“Why?” she asked tonelessly. “What does it matter now? We’ll be dead soon. We’ll all be dead soon.”
“No! Don’t give up, Marian! Can’t you see, they’re all weakening fast! We’ll get away!”
“They’re not weakening fast enough. So thirsty. . . . so dry. . . . Halderson, let’s go down to the water. Take our clothes off, swim in the cool water. The clear cool sparkling water. I want a drink.”
“No. Don’t give up yet,” he repeated. But he saw he had little time. The girl could no A longer stand the torment of thirst. His own strength was diminishing. If they were going to escape at all, now was the time for action.
MERRICK, Lora, and Lucy were sitting together not far away, singing. The sun seemed to be burning down with special malevolence, but Halderson knew that the heat was mostly in his own thirst-sharpened imagination. It was late in the afternoon, and the temperature was probably in the pleasant sixties. But it felt like a blistering ninety.
Halderson murmured, “Just stay here. Don’t get mixed up in this.”
He elbowed himself unsteadily to his feet and started to walk toward the three others. He went more than ten feet before any of them noticed him. It was Lucy Clay who first saw him approaching.
She looked up, giggling and pointing. “Hahaha! Hahah! Look!”
Halderson forced his exhausted body into a trot. At the moment, Merrick was holding the Kesterton blaster, letting it dangle in his lap. The one-time playboy was not even looking.
But Lora was. She snatched the gun away from Merrick just as Halderson arrived. The Disaster Patrol scout saw her raise the gun to fire.
But her aim was poor. The girl’s hand wobbled as she depressed the firing stud, and a burst of energy shot past Halderson’s shoulder, searing him slightly but doing no serious harm. Before she could fire again, he was clutching her arm.
She twisted lithely, her long nails raking Halderson’s face, as he struggled to pry the blaster from her grip. Merrick dimly perceived that something improper was going on, and he rose to his feet and staggered toward the struggling pair.
Halderson drew the partygirl to him, feeling her warm bare body against his—and abruptly she stopped struggling. It was as if she had forgotten totally that Halderson was her prisoner. All she could remember now, in her largely blank mind, was the set of responses she was supposed to make when a man held her tight in his arms.
To Halderson’s surprise she pressed her body against him, stroking his shoulders with her free arm, lifting her lips to his for a kiss.
He stared into her empty eyes for a moment. Then he wrenched the gun free just as Merrick crashed into both of them.
Merrick and Lora went toppling to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. The blaster skittered loose, and Merrick’s leg kicked it some ten feet down the grassy slope, where Lucy Clay picked it up.
Halderson turned and headed toward the girl, hoping to get the gun away from her. He was not prepared for what happened next. Giggling and screaming wildly, Lucy hurled the gun high into the air, far down toward the water. The blaster landed in the middle of the spring and sank immediately. Then the girl rushed to the edge of the water, nearly trampling over the slumbering form of old Dominick, and began to drink.
Halderson shrugged. The blaster would do no harm now. Water destroyed its power unit. He would have preferred to keep the gun for his own use in case of further trouble, but at least this way he would be in no danger from it.
Lora and Merrick had disengaged themselves and now were sitting staring dumbly at Halderson. They made no attempt to get up. Halderson tried to chuckle, but his throat was too dry; nothing but a hoarse rasping sound came out.
He grinned at Marian with sun-baked lips. “Okay. I’m going down to the ship to radio for help.”
THE girl made no response.
She seemed to have no strength left at all. Halderson decided to leave her, for the time being, and bring her water after he had sent out the call for the pickup ship. He walked past her and down to his own ship.
He activated the transmitter and the airlock door slid open. It took nearly all of Halderson’s strength just to climb the ten-foot catwalk and enter the ship. He hung over the lip of the airlock, regaining his strength, before he could proceed.
His first stop inside the ship was the water supplier. He allowed himself just enough to wet the inside of his mouth, and then quickly cut off the faucet before the overwhelming temptation to drink until he could hold no more assailed him. There was not much of a water supply left. He would have to be sparing of it until help came.
Crossing upward to the control panel of the ship, he jacked in the subradio contacts and called his home base on Skaldek.
“Disaster Patrol HQ,” came the reply. “Come in, scoutship. Come in. Major Lang speaking.”
“Lieutenant Halderson reporting, sir.”
“Halderson? Speak up! We can hardly hear you! What’s been happening since we last heard from you?”
“How long has it been?”
“Three days!”
“Oh,” Halderson said. “Well—I’ve found James P, Drew survivors here. Eight of them.”
“Then why didn’t you report earlier? We’d have sent out a pickup ship!”
“I couldn’t, sir. They were holding me prisoner.”
“Prisoner?”
“That’s right. Something in the water on this planet, causes human beings to lose their minds. They become—like children, sir. Irresponsible. They don’t know what they’re doing. They held me at blasterpoint and tied up here. I finally managed to get back into the ship and call. Nearly died of thirst first—didn’t dare touch any of the local water, of course, and mine was locked up in my ship—”
He paused. Major Lang said, “We’ll have a hospital ship right out to pick you up!”
“Good. One of the other survivors is still sane, but very weak. Six of the drugged ones are alive. An old woman died. Hurry it up, Major. This world is hellish.”
He broke the contact Got
to get another drink, he thought dimly. And then bring some up the hill for Marian. Got to get another drink.
He rose from the pilot chair. Vaguely he became aware that there was someone else in the cabin with him. Then he heard a loud giggle, and saw Merrick standing behind him, with a wooden club upraised.
Merrick laughed and brought the club down. Caught by surprise, all Halderson could do was raise one hand to protect himself. The first blow caught Halderson on the arm, numbing him. The second cracked into the side of his head and he toppled forward, clawing futilely at the insane Merrick, and lost consciousness.
WHEN Halderson woke, he had no idea how much time had passed. His head felt as if a fusion bomb had gone off inside it. He was being held tenderly by someone soft and warm and feminine.
Slowly he opened his eyes. He looked up and saw Marian Chase above him. He was too weak to move. The sun was enormous above him.
He saw his ship behind him. Merrick was lying in front of the ship, dead or unconscious.
“Here,” Marian said. “Drink this. You’ll feel better. Much better.”
She was holding a cup of water under his chin. He put one trembling hand on it to bring it to his lips. His face felt bruised and sore where Merrick had clubbed him. He touched the water to his lips. It was cool and fresh, and Marian was right—it did make him feel much better.
“I sent the S.O.S.,” he muttered weakly. “And then that idiot Merrick got into the ship and clubbed me down.”
“I know,” Marian said softly. “And then he must have collapsed. That was the way I found you. You were unconscious, and he was dead. I dragged you both out of the ship and watched you all night. Go on—have more water. It’s good for you.”
Halderson smiled and raised the cup to his lips again. He thought of something, laughed, then drained the cup. The sparkling water caressed his swollen tongue and bathed his parched throat.
“Why did you laugh?” Marian asked.
“When I lifted the cup, I thought to myself, you better go easy, there isn’t much of this stuff left. And then I remembered that the rescue ship is on its way. We don’t need to be cautious with the water supply any more.” He leaned back against her bosom, relaxing, wishing the throbbing in his skull would stop. “Be a good girl, Marian. Go into my ship and get me another drink. It makes me feel better.”
“But this isn’t from the ship,” she said sweetly.
For a moment the meaning of her words did not penetrate. Halderson heard them, but without really understanding. “Then he realized what she had said, and he shook with terror.
“Where did—where did this water come from, Marian?”
“From the spring.” She said it innocently, gently. “I waited hours for you to come out of your ship, but you didn’t come out. And then I went to the spring to have a drink, because the water was so good, and I was so thirsty. I drank and drank till I couldn’t hold any more. Then I went up to the
ship to find you, and I thought it would be nice to bring you some water too.”
“You’re joking, aren’t you?” he said in a rough voice. “It’s all a nice little joke?”
But then he twisted around to look into her eyes, and he saw that it was no joke. The blankness had begun to creep into her eyes. The water was taking its effect on her.
And he had swallowed a cupful of it. Was that enough to begin the deadly dissolution? He was still thirsty, terribly thirsty. He had to have a drink.
He pulled away from her and rose to his feet. The ground seemed to rock underneath him; he probably had a concussion from the clubbing, he realized.
Thirsty. . . .so thirsty. . . .
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Into my ship. Got to get a drink.”
“But there’s water out here. Good water!”
He shuddered and started to climb the catwalk, but his muscles would not obey his brain’s command, and he realized it had begun with him too.
Marian came up to him and gently led him away from the ship, up the path to the little bubbling spring by the side of the lake. Dimly he saw bodies lying here and there, and not far away a girl he recognized as Lora Ryne, moving feebly like a stranded fish.
Halderson made no attempt to resist as Marian stripped away his tattered uniform, and then her own clothes. She took him by the hand and together they walked to the edge of the water. They knelt and drank, and then she led him into the lake and splashed him. He grinned. All the fear and pain was leaving him. He felt good, as if he were growing younger, as if everything were all right and all his worries had been foolish.
They splashed each other playfully in the water, and drank till they were full. When the rescue ship finally located them, a day and a half later, they were squatting stark naked by the edge of the sparkling water, making castles out of mud and giggling like the children they had become.
THE END
Demons of Cthulhu
Some pathways are too dark; they should never be explored. Some dust-covered books should never again be opened. Certain slumbering gods, their dark powers shrouded by sleep, should never again be permitted to walk in the light. The price of boldness is death, hideous and lingering.
Marty wasn’t looking for any trouble, at the start. Trouble came and found him. Marty was seventeen and worked in the library of Miskatonic University as a stock boy. He wore a white smock and wheeled books around from place to place, fetching them as the professors requested them, putting the books back on the shelves at the end of the day. Marty wasn’t interested in books at all. He was interested in girls, and in sneaking drinks, and in basketball. But he got $42 a week from the University for taking care of its books, and that much was okay. The money came in handy when he wanted a new muffler for his souped-up modified 1938 Ford, or when he wanted to make a big splash with one of the town girls, or when he and some pals got together over a bottle of booze that somebody had bought with a phony ID card.
Marty liked money. Money could get you nice things. So Marty pricked up his ears and listened, one day near closing time in the library, when Mr. Vorys came over to him and said, “Listen, Marty, how would you like to make an easy ten bucks tonight?”
Marty’s eyes widened. Mr. Vorys was a graduate student who worked in the library to help pay his university fees. He was a tall, stoop-shouldered young man of about twenty-six, with a hollow chest, thick glasses, and a dried-out, corpse-like look about him. His first name was Theophilius, but everybody called him just Mr. Vorys. He was Marty’s immediate superior in this particular section of the library stacks.
“Ten bucks? How?”
“Come in here,” Mr. Vorys said, beckoning Marty toward a quiet alcove where the encyclopedia sets were stored. “Sit down.”
Marty sat down facing Mr. Vorys, wondering what this was all about. He knew it didn’t look good for two library employees to be sitting down so close to the end of the day. If the library supervisor came along right now and looked into the alcove, there would be trouble.
But what the devil, Marty thought. Mr. Vorys was the superior. He would be blamed. Marty stared into Mr. Vorys’ weak, watery, washed-out-blue eyes and said, “What’s the proposition?”
Mr. Vorys licked his thin, pale lips. “First promise me this: In case you decide not to go along with me, you won’t reveal a word of this conversation to anybody. Is that all right?”
Marty shrugged. “Sure. I’ll keep mum.”
“Good.” Mr. Vorys steepled his fingers. “Briefly, here’s the scheme. There’s a certain book in the Special Collection of the library that I want to consult. I mean, I want to take it home and consult it. But you aren’t allowed to take Special Collection books out of the library; of course. So I’ve obtained the key to the Special room. What I propose to do is go in there after closing hours, wrap up the book I want and tie it with twine, and lower it out the window. You’ll be outside waiting. You pick up the book and go away. I’ll meet you at the campus coffee shop in twenty minutes and give you your money. Well?”
