Free The Time Trap by Henry Kuttner Page B

below. And at last he reached the roof of the cell, swung on to it, sweating with exertion.
    “Hurry!” he told the girl. Distant sounds of conflict made him fear that the cavern would not be isolated for long.
    His muscles, weary with exertion and lack of food, cracked and strained as he hauled Alasa painfully to his side. But it was easier thereafter. They slid down to the floor of the cavern, and swiftly made for the passage that led to freedom.
    “It’s the only way out, apparently,” Mason said, glancing around. “Hold on! There’s something I want.”
    He retrieved a bar of silvery metal, longer than his arm, that would make a formidable bludgeon. He tested it with a vicious swing that smashed the cryptic gears of a machine.
    “Good! It isn’t soft or brittle. This’ll help, Alasa!”
    The girl responded by picking up a smaller bar for herself. Battle-light glowed in her golden eyes. She hurried at Mason’s side, the cloak occasionally flaring to reveal the pale flesh of her thighs.
    But before they reached the passage-mouth a battling horde spewed from it, struggling in insane conflict. Swiftly Mason caught the girl, drew her down out of sight. Crouching, they watched.
    The Gorichen were fighting for their lives. And their enemies were—
    The Deathless Ones! Icy cold crawled down Mason’s back as he saw the invaders, creatures that were unmistakably human beings, yet more alien to him than the grotesque plant-men. For the Gorichen were normal products of evolution, and the Deathless Ones, Mason sensed, were not.
    They were the living dead. In their bodies dwelt life undying, forms that had once been tall and stalwart and godlike in their beauty. Even now some remnant of past splendor lingered, made dreadful by the foul corruption that had overtaken the Deathless Ones.
    The name itself explained much. They were men who had conquered death—but not disease! Not—corruption!
    All the hideous plagues of mankind had burst into foul ripening on the bodies of the Deathless Ones. None was whole. Loathsome gaping wounds and sores showed the flesh and bone beneath. Tatters of granulated flesh hung in ribbons from some. There were unspeakable skull-faces glaring blindly, and there were mutilations from which Mason turned away, sickened.
    Man had conquered death—and, too late, had discovered his error.
    The Deathless Ones seemingly could not be injured. Scores of the Gorichen would leap upon an enemy, bearing him down by their weight. And presently the pile of struggling figures would fall away, and show that at the bottom the Deathless One had been busy—feeding.
    But they found the ship at last, almost by chance. Its silvery surface glowed like a flame in the gray, dull plain. It seemed hours before they reached it.
    And it was empty. Murdach and Erech had vanished. There were signs of struggle, and a pool of dried blood on the floor. In the mud outside a confused track led toward the east. Frowning, Mason swung shut the door and turned to the controls.
    “I can move the ship, Alasa. Maybe we can find Erech and Murdach. That spoor’s pretty clear.”
    The girl wrapped her cloak more closely about her slender body. “Do so, Kent.” She found a flask of water and offered it to Mason before she drank.
    Slowly the craft rose, drifted on above the waste, following the track. On the horizon a spire rose, growing taller as they advanced. It was a cyclopean crag—not the work of nature. It was too regular, Mason realized, a great cylindrical shaft that thrust itself from the gray empty plain into the gray sky, flat-topped, desolate and colossal.
    “They may be in that,” Mason suggested. “See if you can find some weapons, Alasa.”
    Presently the girl gave him Murdach’s egg-shaped projector. “It worked on the metal men,” she told him. “Whether it will succeed in killing living beings I do not know.”
    “Well, it’s better than nothing. I still have my club.” Mason glanced down at the metal