After Worlds Collide (When Worlds Collide 2)

They rushed to his side.

Dodson was stirring and mumbling. Vanderbilt opened his medical kit again and poured something into a cup. Tony held the Doctor’s head. After several attempts, they managed to make him swallow the stuff.

He began a long, painful struggle toward consciousness. He would open his eyes, and nod and mutter, and go off to sleep for an instant, only to jerk and writhe and try to sit. Finally his fuddled voice enunciated Tony’s name. “Drake!” he said. “Gas!” Then a meaningless jumble of syllables. Then “Caffeine! Stick it in me. Gimme pills. Caffalooaloclooaloo. Gas. Rum, rum, rum, rum, rum—headache. I’m sick.”

Then, quite abruptly, he came to.

He looked at them. He looked at the sleeping forms around him. He squinted toward the field, and saw what was there. He rubbed his head and winced.

“Aches,” he said. “Aches like sin. You—you came back in time, eh?”

“We laid for them,” Tony answered solemnly. “We got them.”

“All of them,” Jack Taylor added.

Dodson pointed at the sleepers. “Dead?”

“All beathing. We wanted to get you around first—if anybody could be revived.”

Dodson’s head slumped and then he sat up again. “Right. What’d you use?”

“I gave you a shot of caffeine and strychnine and digitalis about an hour ago,” Vanderbilt said.

Dodson grinned feebly. “Wake the dead, eh? Adrenalin might be better. Di-nitro-phenol might help. I’ve got a clue to this stuff. Last thing I thought of.” He looked at the sky. “It just rained down on us—out of nothing.”

“Rained?” Tony repeated.

“Yes. Rained—a falling mist. The people it touched never saw or smelled it—went out too fast. But I did both. Inside—we had a minute’s grace.” He struggled and finally rose to his feet. “Obviously something to knock us out. Nothing fatal. Let’s see what we can do about rousing somebody else. Probably’d sleep it off in time—a day, maybe. I want to make some tests.”

He was very feeble as he rose, and they supported him.

“I’ll put a shot in Runciman and Best and Isaacs first, I guess. They can help with the others.” Tony located Runciman, the brain-specialist. Dodson made a thorough examination of the man. “In good shape. Make a fine anesthetic—except for the headache.” He filled a hypodermic syringe, then methodically swabbed the surgeon’s arm with alcohol, squeezed out a drop of fluid to be sure no air was in the instrument, and pricked deftly. They moved on, looking for Best and Isaacs.

As they worked, Dodson’s violent headache began to be dissipated. And the persons they treated presently commenced to writhe and mutter.

Hendron was among the first after the medical men. Dodson lingered over him and shook his head.

“Heart’s laboring—bad condition, anyway. I’m afraid—”

Vanderbilt and Taylor and Tony knew what Dodson feared.

In two hours a number of pale and miserable human beings were moving uncertainly around the camp. Best entered the Ark and brought other drugs to alleviate their discomfort. Tony had sent a warning to the southern camp. They replied that they had seen nothing, and were safe.

The three men who were heroes of the raid went together to the landing-field. They walked from place to place examining the wreckage. They collected a host of trifles—buttons, a notebook, a fountain pen made in Germany, a pistol half melted, part of a man’s coat, fire-warped pfennig pieces—and found more grisly items which they did not touch.

After they had made their telltale harvest among the still-hot débris, they stood together staring toward the northwest. An expedition in that direction would be necessary at once. It would not be a safe voyage.

CHAPTER XI

“TONY, I THROW THE TORCH TO YOU!”

NIGHT came on with its long, deliberate twilight; and with this night came cold.

The sentinels outside stood in little groups together, listening, and watching the sky. No lights showed. Wherever they were necessary within the offices and dwellings of the camp, they were screened or covered. The encampment could not risk an air-attack by night.

Tony found himself continued in command; for Hendron held to his bed and made no attempt to give directions. Ransdell was quite himself again, but like all the others but Tony and Tayor and Vanderbilt, he had lain insensible through the attack and the savage, successful defense the three had made.

Everybody came to Tony for advice and orders. Eve, like all the rest, put herself under his direction.