Wrath of the Volcano God Part Four

 

 

WRATH OF THE VOLCANO GOD

A Pulp Adventure

Part Four

The Kazooli warriors burst from the underbrush.  They whooped and hollered as they closed in on the outsiders, brandishing spears.  Their eyes burned with a primitive hatred as they corralled the members of the expedition into a loose huddle surrounded by the business-end of sharpened stone spearheads.

With cries of surprise, our heroes banded together, instinctively seeking the safety of numbers.  They stood back-to-back, keeping fearful watch on the surrounding warriors.

"What do we do now?" Sarah asked in a trembling voice.

"We should fight our way out of this!" Bethany announced, her hand reaching for her knife.

"You trying to get us all killed?" the pilot barked.

"Purdy sure I ain't got enough bullets to get us out of this," Wayne lamented.

Lewis raised his hands to show the natives he held no weapon.  He offered a smile and announced, "We come in peace!"

A murmur rolled through the throng of warriors.  Some prodded at the prisoners with their spears.

"I don't think that did much for us," Wayne said.

"I've got a nasty feeling that the people from the boat gave them a bad first impression of outsiders," Lewis said. 

The leader of the band of warriors, a brave and brawny individual named Nyfu, crept forward.  With knees bent he advanced one wary step, then another tilting his head and torso one way, then another in a manner reminiscent o a wild bird.  He reached out with one tentative finger and prodded Bethany's sleeve.  She grumbled and recoiled at his touch, but could not retreat.

As if emboldened by her response, Nyfu straightened, poked her again. 

"Hey, knock it off, pal!" she barked at him.

Nyfu commented to his warriors and they erupted with a brief burst of laughter.  With a hearty guffaw, he slapped her on the shoulder, threw her off balance.

"I said cut it out!" she growled as she leaned in and pushed him back.

"No, don't!" Ethan yelled, but it was too late.

The laughter of the natives instantly died.  Nyfu turned to her with a ugly grimace, made some short declaration in his native tongue, which he punctuated by slapping the upstart girl across the face.  Blood trickled from the corner of her lip as she turned back to regard him with a venomous gaze.

"Bethany," Lewis said in the calmest voice he could muster, "just calm..."

A sneer curled her lip as she leaned in and struck his ugly mug with a left hook.  Surprised by the strike, he was spun about, but caught himself from falling.  Nonetheless, he had been struck, and by a female.  His fellow warriors burst out in laughter once again, this time at his expense.

Nyfu drew himself to his full height and addressed his fellows with angry words.  In his rhetoric, he turned and glared at Bethany with a burning hatred in his eyes.  His followers jostled their spears as though in preparation, then Nyfu concluded his speech by thrusting forward an accusing digit toward the members of the expedition.

This sudden movement startled young Sarah Turnbull.  She jumped, and in doing so, her finger flipped the switch on her camera.  Her bulb flashed, and inspired a sudden wave of panic in the surrounding warriors.

They jumped back with wide eyes, and called out with oaths, curses, and other cries of alarm.  Their muscles tensed and their spears jostled again, this time trembling with anxious energy.

"This could be our chance!" Lewis shouted.  Suddenly his pistol was drawn and thunder-cracks filled the clearing as three bullets were shot into the sky. 

The natives' panic increased.  Many of them bolted for the safe shadows of the jungle while others danced in place unsure whether to run, attack, or cower upon the ground.

"Run!" Lewis commanded as he herded his group out of the glade. 

With no further prompting, the small group burst through the evaporating throng of natives and charged into the jungle.  They stomped their way through the underbrush, dodging trees and vines, forging their own path where the jungle floor offered the least resistance.  The alarmed cries of the natives fell further behind them, but then transformed into yells of anger, and grew louder again in pursuit.

They ran for their lives, for even the jungle itself was against them.  Sarah was running at full speed, following her fellows, when she ran afoul of a bulbous tree root.  She collapsed to the verdant floor and her camera rolled away from her hands.

Suddenly the cowboy was beside her, pulling her to her feet.  "Can't stop now, missy!" he said as he urged her forward to follow the others.

"My camera!" she cried a she paused to pluck it from the grassy ground.

Then a horrendous crack sounded off to one side.  A heartbeat later, a heavy tree trunk came crashing down through the foliage to block their path.

"Shi-nola!" Wayne swore.  Sarah gasped as she straightened up, the Kodak back in her hands.  They were flabbergasted only for a moment, but it was a moment too long.  Before they knew it, they were surrounded once again by Kazoolis, their spears at the ready.

Their capture was obvious and inarguable.  There was nothing left to do but accept it and raise their hands.  After a moment, the Kazoolis corralled them through the jungle by prodding them with spears.  There was no way of knowing where they were being taken.

*  *  *

Lewis Clark ran through the jungle, realized he no longer heard the natives.  He paused by a tall tree, pulled off his fedora, dragged one forearm across his forehead.  Bethany Gale and Ethan Clapsaddle stopped beside him and gasped for breath.

Lewis frowned at the pair, then back at the jungle.  "What happened to Sarah, and Wayne?"

"I don't know," Bethany replied.

"They were right..." the pilot panted, "...behind us!"

A Kazooli spear hit a tree and trembled with the impact.  The three of them looked sharply up at the spear, then at the jungle behind them.

"We'll have to double-back for them later!  Move!" Lewis said as he started them back on their run.

They continued on through another hundred yard of thick jungle undergrowth before emerging into another clearing.  This one was on the edge of a wide ravine, spanned by an ancient bridge of wood and vines.  Here, they screeched to a stop as two figures turned and raised their pistols.

"Clark!" Carlsbad exclaimed as he steadied his revolver.  "I thought you died on the boat!  And Miss Gale, you're looking much better than you did last time we met!"

"Everard, there's bigger problems on this island than the ones between you and us!" Lewis told him.  As if to emphasize his point, a native spear embedded itself in the ground at a low angle. 

All eyes turned toward the jungle to search for oncoming natives.  Carlsbad seized the moment, grabbed Bethany's arm and pulled her in front of him.  The muzzle of his revolver jabbed into her ribs.  "My dear, I think you'll provide suitable cover for me as we cross the bridge," he cooed into her ear as he drew her back toward the ancient construction.  "Igor!  Be sure to wait until we're well across.  I doubt this sorry structure can handle much weight." 

His hulking brute nodded in reply and Carlsbad dragged Bethany beyond the lip of the ravine.  They cross the creaking planks despite the groans of the vines that stretched beneath their weight.  A few long but nerve-wracking minutes later, Carlsbad set foot on the far lip of the ravine and called for his servant to follow. 

Kazooli spears shot out of the jungle.  Most of these also jabbed into the rough turf, but a few overshot the edge, and fell to the verdant floor far below the bridge.  In a rush of panic, Ethan charged for the rickety bridge only to slapped to the ground by Igor's half-hearted backhand.  Igor stepped upon the first planks of the bridge, steadied himself by clutching the handrails of twisted vines.  One board snapped and fell beneath his heavy girth, but he continued on, apparently unperturbed. 

He was nearly halfway across when the natives emerged from the jungle.  With ululating war cries they charged toward the two men that still stood before the bridge.  There was only one escape route and that was the bridge itself. 

Ethan scurried for it, then ducked as Igor raised his pistol and fired.  The bullet screamed past him and struck one of the onrushing natives.  Lewis set his jaw, frowned at the pilot and barked, "Come on!" then led his friend onto the swaying bridge. 

Igor watched them with a grimace.  He holstered the pistol and replaced it with a long machete.  He raised the blade high overhead, then glanced at Lewis and Ethan, as though he expected them to stop. 

Lewis continued on.   A board creaked as he passed over it, but there was too much yelling to notice.  It snapped when Ethan tried to step on it.  The pilot pulled himself up and though shaken, continued on with no other choice. 

Igor brought his machete down upon the handrail and the vine snapped.  The handrail fell away, forcing the other ropes that composed the bridge to handle the tension and the weight without its help.  The redistribution of weight caused new stress and added wear that the aged bridge could not withstand.  A vine snapped between Lewis and Ethan, than another snap sounded between Lewis and Igor.  The bridge snapped in two, Lewis found himself hugging the floorboards for dear life as the bridge fell and slammed into the far wall of the ravine.  Above him, Igor likewise clung the ruined bridge. 

Ethan Clapsaddle was not so lucky.  The bridge tore itself apart beneath his feet and suddenly he was unsupported in midair.  He fell, screaming, into the depth of the ravine, and was swallowed up by the leafy canopy of palm trees far below.  

Lewis called out for his friend, stared with horror at the green blanket below him, but saw no sign of him.  Then a rock slammed against the ravine wall, bringing him back to the moment at hand.  The Kazoolis stood at the far lip chucking rocks and spears in an attempt to strike the two men clinging to the fallen bridge. 

Lewis reached over his head, pulled himself up the footboards as though they were the rungs of a ladder.  Looking up, he saw that Igor was doing the same.  Igor reached the top after a few minutes, then drew his machete once more. 

Two quick chops and the bridge slipped down the cliff face.  

"Good work, Igor!" Carlsbad praised him.  He shook Bethany's arm in a right grip.  "I'm tempted to send you after him, Miss Gale.  However, you might prove a useful distraction if those natives should find us again.  Come along!"  With that, he pulled her into the jungle, and Igor followed. 

Meanwhile, Lewis clung to the ravine wall like a fly.  He noticed that he was only a few short yards away from a convenient cave and he inched his way across the cliff wall despite a steady barrage of rocks and spears that rained down around him.  Finally, he stretched one foot around an outcropping and felt the cave floor.  He climbed into the cave, and peered into the valley below. 

There was still no sign of Ethan Clapsaddle.  But as he stared through the foliage, Lewis was sure he spied a running river.  He wondered if Clap could've survived if he landed in the river.  Then he asked himself, "Was there a splash?" 

In the excitement of the moment, there was no way to be sure.  A rock bounced off his shoulder and he screamed with pain.  "Sorry Clap," he said to the valley at the bottom of the ravine, then turned and retreated into the cave. 

*  *  * 

Bethany struggled in Carlsbad's grip as they trudged through the jungle. 

With a groan, Carlsbad shoved her into Igor's beefy arms.  "You may as well accept it, you're coming with us!" 

"You don't even know where you're going!" Bethany taunted as she tried to kick him. 

Carlsbad glared at her through narrowed eyes.  He pulled the map from one pocket and consulted it.  He looked around, but this part of the jungle was indistinguishable from other parts they had already traveled through.  But not far away was the roar of a waterfall, which coincided with one marked on the map. 

"To the contrary, my dear," Carlsbad purred smugly, "I do believe I know exactly where..." 

Before he could finish, the angry beast burst from the undergrowth:  five-hundred pounds of raw muscle and sharp teeth wrapped up in a coat of orange, black, and white...

To Be Continued...