Merian C. Cooper's King Kong (20 page)

Englehorn put a hand on Denham's shoulder. “You couldn't have helped what happened. No matter what you did.”

Some of the men murmured agreement.

Denham nodded. “You're right. Standing where I was, I couldn't have made a nickel's worth of difference. But I'll tell you boys the truth: I'll never forget I was the one who took them into it. Still, nobody can tell me I let them down. Now, here's something else. I know more about what we have to face out there now, and I've got a pretty good idea of how we can all get through safely. Here's the point, though—if you men don't stick with me and help out now, Driscoll and Ann Darrow don't have a chance.”

Old Lumpy shook his head. “We won't never see them again.”

Denham leaped to his feet. “The hell we won't! For the love of Mike, haven't you mugs been listening to me? We're not giving up. We'll see 'em both, and sooner than you think. Skipper, where's that grub? I'm gonna eat a bite and then I want another case of bombs. I'll take half a dozen men, no more, all armed to the teeth, and we'll backtrack to the ravine. I want men who can do some quick rigging—we have a way across, and in ten minutes we could turn it into a stout enough swinging bridge. Now, who's coming with me?”

To Denham's surprise, Lumpy stepped forward at once. “I'll go, Mr. Denham.”

Denham clapped him on the back. “There's a man for you!” he shouted. “Twice the man I am myself! But we need stouter, younger fellows for this! And if nobody volunteers, by thunder, Lumpy and I will do it ourselves! How about it? Aren't you ashamed to let a couple of old geezers like us go alone?”

As if a dam had broken, the whole pack of them stepped forward, to a jumble of assent, casual, reckless, or jovial, depending on the speaker: “I'm in.” “Sure, I'll string along.” “Hell's bells, why not?”

“You,” Denham said, stabbing a finger. “You, you, and you. Jimmy's good with ropes, and he knows the score, so if he wants to go, he's in. One more—you!”

“And me,” Lumpy insisted.

“I'd better come, too,” Englehorn said.

Denham waved them off. “No, Skipper, we need a strong guard here at the gate. Lumpy, you're out, too. I want you up on top of that Wall with a spyglass, keeping a sharp lookout. When we come back, that gate will have to open quick, and as soon as we're through it, we want it shut and barred again, got me?”

At last the sailor came back with sandwiches, and Denham seized one and wolfed it down.

Englehorn insisted, “You'd better stay here, Denham. I'm fresher than you.”

Denham polished off a second ham sandwich, shaking his head. “No good, Skipper. I know the way, and you don't.”

“You could draw me a map.”

Denham gave a yelp of laughter. “Skipper, don't you know me better? Why, I wouldn't let the freshest man this side of the Indian Ocean take my place on a trip like this, not even if he was the best map reader on the seven seas.”

“I see,” Englehorn said. “Taking a camera, are you, Denham?”

Denham shook his head. “No camera this trip. Maybe later. But my eyes are as good as any camera lens, and the sketches I'll make—you know how it is.”

“I guess I'd say the same if I were in your shoes,” Englehorn replied.

Denham turned away from the last unfinished sandwich. “Okay, give me a rifle. I want the six of you to take two rifles each, got me? Ammo belts? Good. All right, there'll be a dozen bombs in the crate when it comes in. Each of you will take two. And remember, all the hell we drew on the first trip was because neither I nor anybody else used the sense that God gave us to hang on to a couple of bombs. I want you lads ready with yours, so don't lose them, and nobody's to throw one until I give the order.”

“And these bombs will stop them big brutes?” one of the sailors asked.

Denham looked at the men's expectant faces. “Stop them? I've seen them work. When I call for a bomb, you hand me one, and we'll drop anything in its tracks. One of these babies will knock even Kong right off his feet. Just stick with me until we get close enough to use it, that's all I ask.”

“When do you plan to start?” Englehorn asked.

“Right now.”

The captain shook his head and took out his pipe. “No, Denham. Too soon.” He calmly filled and lit the pipe, puffing on it so the tobacco's red glow lit his craggy face.

“What do you mean?” Denham demanded. “Half an hour ago wouldn't be too soon!”

“Figure it out,” the captain returned. “If you leave this second, you'll get to the ravine long before dawn. Then what? My men can't rig a bridge in the dark. All you could do would be to sit around, and maybe get picked off by whatever comes along in the night. You're going to need daylight to follow Driscoll's trail.”

Denham bit his lip. “Yeah, that's a point,” he admitted reluctantly. “But waiting until we could get to the ravine at dawn means hanging around for four more hours. How I can stand waiting four hours before starting back—well, I don't know.”

“Get ahold of that dirty witch doctor,” Lumpy growled from the darkness. “While you're waiting, he ought to be able to give you some tips about what to expect out there. And if he ain't willing, I think we can persuade him.”

“That's an idea. Where is he?” Denham asked.

Englehorn shook his head. “Haven't seen him since right after you set out. There was some bother when some of them looked like they were going to try to keep you and your party from setting out. We fired a few shots in the air, and in the confusion, I knocked one of the warriors out with the butt of his own spear. All the rest of them vanished. The people seemed scared. They've gone into their huts and have stayed there. I think it's best if we don't bother them. There are more of them than there are of us.”

“Any of the men get outside the Wall?” Denham asked. “You don't think any of them are out hiding in the bush waiting to surprise us, do you?”

“None of them went through the gate,” Englehorn said. “They're all in hiding, except one old lady. She climbed up on top of the Wall with us. I tried asking her some questions, but she just glared at me. Made me feel like a boy of six caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She was the one who first spotted you coming back, though, and she pointed you out to me. I could almost swear she knew English, the way she seemed to be listening to us up there.”

“Well, I guess if any of the natives attack us, we can handle 'em,” Denham said.

“They won't,” Englehorn said flatly. “They don't think they need to. As far as they're concerned, Kong will take care of you. See it their way, Denham. We've been pretty high-handed with their god, haven't we? We tried to deny him his sacrifice, then chased him after he got her. These people know Kong, and they worship him. To them, we've sinned, and their god will punish us. When he does, they want to be as far away as possible.”

Denham nodded. “They're right, too. Kong will be back. If we get Ann away from him, he'll be right on our tails.”

“Why?” one of the volunteers asked. “He's just an animal, ain't he?”

“I think Gunnarson's right,” Englehorn said. “Seems to me that an animal doesn't have the capacity to think like that, Denham. By this time tomorrow, he'll be foraging for food, not worrying about his sacrifice.”

“You're wrong,” Denham said slowly. “This island is crawling with monsters, but Kong—well, Kong is the one creature beyond the Wall that's something more than beast. He's smarter, wilier. Call him a monster, too, but he acts halfway human. There's a spark of something more than animal cunning in that huge head of his. To him Ann means something. He won't give her up willingly.”

“Oh, come on,” Englehorn said.

“I tell you, he's different,” Denham insisted. “And if I didn't know that, I wouldn't have one solitary hope of seeing Ann alive again. I saw the way Kong handled Ann, and the way he protected her. He's fascinated by Ann. She's different from the others somehow, and maybe he doesn't have the faintest idea of why she's different or even exactly how she's different. When he saw her, something gave way inside him. It's—well, it's Beauty and the Beast.”

“Your movie title,” scoffed Englehorn, drawing at his pipe.

“Yes, but that doesn't make it bunk,” Denham returned. “You've seen it yourself, Captain. We all have. The tough guy who falls for the soft dame, happens all the time. And nine times out of ten, that's the end for the tough guy. He loses his edge, softens up. That's why I think we've got a chance.”

“Just be careful out there.”

Denham continued in a low voice, as if he hadn't heard at all: “Kong will lose Ann in the end, one way or another. And after he does, he'll never be the same king of the island again. Brute strength, but strength weakened by a new awareness, and that awareness will be enough to make him hesitate in a clench. Next time he's in a life-and-death fight with one of the island monsters—” Denham shrugged.

“Nice theory,” Englehorn said. “But it's moon talk, Mr. Denham. Stuff for your moving pictures. Oh, Kong might have been attracted by Miss Darrow's golden hair, I'll grant you, but only because it was different, it was strange. A magpie is attracted to a shiny stone. And magpies get tired of carrying stones. Kong will get tired, too. Somewhere along the way, he'll drop Miss Darrow. I just hope that when he does, Jack Driscoll is there to pick her up. He's a good man in a pinch. Now you've got some time before you have to start out. Better get some sleep, if you can.”

“You're right about Jack. We can trust him,” Denham said. He looked at his watch. “As for sleeping, I don't know. I just wish to heaven it were time to do my share. I don't know how I'm going to wait it out.”

17

SKULL ISLAND
MARCH 13–14, 1933

As far as Driscoll could tell, Kong followed no beaten trail, but torn, scattered leaves, broken branches, and the occasional deeply imprinted track in the sodden jungle floor all clearly marked his passage. After an hour or so, Driscoll realized he would have no difficulty trailing the gigantic Kong even without the visible marks he left behind, because the behemoth took no care to move quietly. The cracking and crashing of branches and brush echoed through the darkening shadows of the woods, and Driscoll just had to follow the sound. More, the musky stench of Kong's body, different from the acrid reek of the dinosaurs, hung in the air. Kong's gait had also become leisurely. Ever since he had dealt with the meat eater, the king of the island took his time, apparently fearing no enemy challenge.

Grimly, Driscoll decided that staying
close
to Kong might be his best choice. Surely no other living creature on the island could stand up to Kong, and anything that might try to eat Driscoll would draw Kong's unwelcome attention.

Even so, Driscoll worried that Kong's choice of path meant that more monstrous challenges might lurk in the jungle. Again and again Driscoll crossed clear animal trails, worn through the heavy growth over generations. Most of them were far too narrow to offer Kong a path, but some were both wide and deeply worn. Kong, though, chose to force his way through virgin growth, using no established path that an enemy might discover, offering no place where a wily foe might lie in ambush.

The sun vanished and twilight closed in. Driscoll narrowed the distance between himself and his gigantic quarry, once misjudging his progress so badly that he caught a sudden glimpse of Kong's massive shoulders and head in dark silhouette against a purple sky in which a few stars already gleamed. A flicker of panic made Driscoll crouch and freeze, not through fear for himself, but for Ann. It was too dark for him to see her, but he guessed she was still cradled on Kong's shoulder, still unconscious. He knew his only hope of rescuing her lay in arousing in Kong no suspicion of pursuit. Driscoll had no clear plan and didn't know if he had to try to steal Ann away from her captor alone or whether he would be able to wait until Denham brought reinforcements. Either way, if Kong discovered he was being followed, anything might happen.

Kong's form vanished again, and after a slow count to twenty, Driscoll rose and followed the sounds and scent of the giant creature's progress, taking care to stay well back so that Kong would be unlikely to realize he was so close at hand.

Darkness closed in, and more than once Driscoll went sprawling as a root caught his foot, or felt tears streaming from an eye lashed across by an unseen twig. Eventually, when night had come fully on, the sounds ahead changed in quality, became purposeful. Driscoll crept ahead, wondering what had happened. Had Kong reached his den?

Eventually, Driscoll concluded that the giant had just decided to rest. He seemed to be tearing softer branches from the trees, gathering them into a sort of nest, arranging them in an immense pile against the boles of three ancient trees. Driscoll fell back and found the shelter of a fallen tree trunk. It was so big that he could stretch out under its rounded overhang.

He didn't plan to sleep, but he rested there, aware of every strained muscle, every pulled ligament, every scratch and bruise. He heard Kong's regular breathing, and once another sound, a sound that wrenched his heart. Ann sobbed, just once. Driscoll tensed, but then forced himself not to rise from his position. What could he do in the dark? He couldn't even let Ann know he was nearby. He had to wait it out, though that was the hardest thing he had ever done.

It was a long night, rioting with insect sounds, shot through with the distant screeches and roars of night-hunting animals. Despite himself, Driscoll fell into a series of cat-dozes, none of them deep. Now and again thunder rolled in the distance, and the stars blinked out as clouds slipped across the sky overhead. Eventually, the black sky began to pale into ragged patterns of gray. Thunder boomed in the distance, from back toward the Wall. A cloudy dawn was breaking, and with it Kong stirred. Driscoll heard him rise, grunt, and then break his way through the brush. He had resumed his journey, and Driscoll followed.