The New Adventures of Richard Knight Read online

Anderson pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket. “We’ve got the survivors in the Sheriff’s office.” He paused to read his notes. “Augustus Smith thinks Cecil Stockton was driving the pickup. He’s a retired rancher, been running hooch to the local taverns.”

  “Any idea where he gets the sauce?” Larry stuffed his arms into a thick army coat.

  “Lon Caruthers is a well known bootlegger in the area, lives about twenty miles southwest of here.”

  Larry glanced toward the sky. “Same direction that strange plane was going.” He mumbled.

  “A white plane?” Anderson demanded. “We saw it early yesterday afternoon. It flew two passes over the town, made my men jumpy as hell”

  “It shadowed us for the last sixty miles.” Richard met the Captain’s eyes.

  “We’ve cordoned off the area for a ten mile radius. I’ll radio the Air Corp boys and see if we can get some of our birds in the air.” The Captain paused for a moment. “Where do you want to go first?”

  “I want a look at the vehicles.” Richard and Larry climbed into the Roadster’s rear seat.

  “Where are the bodies?” Larry settled into the uncomfortable rear cushion.

  “Down at the school gymnasium. It’s the only building big enough. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Something ate those people.” Anderson’s complexion paled, he patted the Sergeant on the shoulder. The motor coughed and sputtered before it roared to life. The vehicle sped down the cleared highway. The driver slowed, as he took a sharp left turn. The vehicle fishtailed on the snow.

  “Careful there, guy.” Larry snapped. “We want to get there in one piece.”

  “Yes Sir.” The Ford slowed.

  “You don’t have to sir me. I work for a living,” Larry groused.

  They sped past sentries posted at every street corner. “Looks like you’ve got the lid really screwed down tight on this.” Richard stared at the wood frame homes with white picket fences. From the outside Wright City resembled ever other small town in America.

  The driver tapped the brakes as he took a wide sweeping right. He stopped before a large pile of blackened metal. The snow had melted around the charred wreck. The ground bordering the road had been burned black by the intense heat, the asphalt under their feet soft and gooey.

  Richard approached the wreck cautiously. The sticky roadway tugged at his brogans. He examined the crumpled ruin closely. “The frame is all bent and twisted.”

  “Yeah, and the fenders are nearly burned through.” Larry poked a finger through the flaky metal. “Whatever did this generated a lot of heat, but the fire didn’t kill all those people.”

  “I’ve got a wild idea, but I hope I’m wrong.” Richard stood and brushed soot from his fingers. “I want to speak to Mr. Smith, and then I’d like to speak to Caruthers.”

  “There’s a problem with that, Sir.” Captain Anderson stared at the ground sheepishly. “We can’t find Mr. Caruthers. I’ve sent men out to his farm. When he reappears, they have orders to bring him to me.”

  “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?” Richard demanded.

  “I was hoping we could come up with him before you asked.” Anderson climbed in beside the driver. “The Sheriff’s office is just down the street.”

  Richard glanced at Larry; the ex-marine rubbed a finger along his nose which was answered by a measured nod from Richard. “Okay, Captain. I want to question Mr. Smith.”

  Tires spun in the deep powder as the vehicle lurched forward. The driver kept his eyes forward, keeping to the center of the slightly downhill road. After six blocks he stopped before an old rock structure with a sloped roof.

  “This is the Wright County Sheriff’s office, built in the 1890s. Two offices and three cells, I have six men surrounding the building. They have orders not to let anyone out or in without my approval.” Anderson stepped to the street. He grabbed the Model T’s fender as his foot slipped on the slick hard pack. “When that snow melted up the street, all the water ended up here. That combined with our vehicles has packed this to a solid sheet of ice.” He nodded to the private at the front door. “McMillan, allow these men to question the…” He cleared his throat. “survivors.”

  Richard noticed the hesitation. Keeping his voice calm he turned to Anderson. “Captain, check in with your men at the Caruthers’ farm. See if they’ve turned up anything.” He stepped gingerly onto the snow and crossed the sidewalk to the front door.

  “Dick, if it’s okay with you, I’ll hang around out here with the grunts.” Larry nodded.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.” An overhead bell chimed as he entered.

  Seven people, three women, two men, and two children huddled around a potbellied stove in the lobby outside the main office. They stared at him with hollow eyes, their clothes wet and grimy.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Augustus Smith.” Richard stopped near the desk.

  “That would be me.” A tall, bony gray haired man wearing a soiled coat came to his feet. “Can I help you, Sir?” He shivered in his thin clothes.

  “No need to be so formal, Mr. Smith.” He motioned the older man to a desk at the far side of the room. “My name’s Richard Knight. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  A gap-toothed smile split the old mans face. “Just call me Gus, everyone does.”

  “My friends call me Dick.” Richard returned the smile. “Well, Gus. Captain Anderson tells me you think the wrecked pickup out there belonged to Cecil Stockton.”

  Gus nodded. “Yeah, he delivered shine for Lon Caruthers, made weekly trips to Marvin Cox’s roadhouse. Marvin was one of Lon’s best customers.”

  “I take it that Mr. Cox is dead?”

  “Far as I know,” he shrugged. “That sorry excuse for a soldier out there won’t tell us much of anything. I heard him telling his men that we were the only survivors.” Gus scraped at the whisker stubble along his jaw. “Back in my day that man would have been lucky to make sergeant.”

  “You were in the military?” Richard asked.

  “Served with Teddy Roosevelt in 01 and The American Expeditionary Forces in France, saw some action at the Marne.” He nodded. “Now them Germans could fight. I expect we’ll be in another shooting match with them boys soon enough.”

  Richard’s eyebrows arched. “Why do you say that?”

  “I listen to the radio, read the papers. I know what that little paper hanging corporal is up to.” Gus folded his arms across his chest. “I know what’s out there. I saw it stalking the streets last night and I know that the Germans are trying to catch it.”

  “What is it?” Richard’s chair scooted his chair closer to the old man.

  “A Bapet. I saw one when I was a kid, back in the old wild days.” Gus nodded at Richard. “I know what you’re thinking. Crazy old coot doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  “A Bapet?” Richard cocked his head is disbelief. “Isn’t that an old Indian legend?”

  “It looks like a woman, but it ain’t. It’s a monster. The Utes chased them from their hunting lands over a hundred years ago. They tried to kill them all, some survived. They’re cannibals. This one doesn’t care who it kills, man, woman, or child. It doesn’t care.”

  Gus paused to draw a breath. “Most of the last ones were trapped in the high mountains. The Utes drove them into a cave and sealed them in. Someone freed this one and loosed it on the town.” Tears collected in the corners of the old man’s eyes. “No one believes in the old stories anymore.”

  Richard shook his head. The old man’s story sounded too fantastic to be true. “Have you ever seen a white plane without any markings?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “Sure, everyone for fifty miles around knows that plane. It belongs to Marvin Cox. He and Caruthers fly moonshine into Texas and Arizona. They make a tidy profit.” Gus lowered his voice. “The Bapet will be back tonight. It’s starving. She’ll kill every one of us. You’ve got to stop her.”

  “I will. I promise.” Richard patted
the old man’s shoulder. “I’ll check back on you soon, see how you’re doing. If there’s anything you need, just let me know.” He turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure you get it.”

  “We could use some coffee and food. The general out there isn’t the most thoughtful man I’ve ever seen.” Gus returned to his original spot near the stove.

  Richard walked through the office door into the weak sunshine that filtered through the clouds. He moved to the enclosed Roadster, and caught Larry’s eyes as he climbed into the rear compartment. His hand fisted on the Captain’s uniform and pulled him around. “Take coffee and food to those people, soft drinks for the children, and they need more wood for the fire. Do I make myself clear?” His steely eyes bored into Anderson’s.

  “Yes Sir, I’ll take care of it immediately,” Anderson stammered.

  “Any word from the Caruthers farm?” Richard demanded.

  “No Sir. We can’t raise my men.”

  “Arrange for a vehicle. Mr. Doyle and I are going out there.” Richard settled in the seat.

  “I’ll have a driver at your disposal,” Anderson muttered.

  “You really told him how the cow ate the cabbage,” Larry whispered in Richards’s ear.

  ***

  A young private drove the enclosed Roadster along the snow covered highway, keeping to the deep ruts created by previous traffic. Richard stared out the window at the heavily laden trees, limbs touching the ground.

  “The turn to the farm house is coming up,” Private Jenkins mumbled. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Tell me, Private, where are you from?” Larry leaned forward in the rear seat.

  “Roswell, desert country south of here.” He nodded. “I joined about three years ago. Except for training exercises, we haven’t seen much action.”

  “Tell me about your captain.” Richard shook a cigarette from his pack and pulled a pack of matches from his pocket. “Does he have much military experience?” He struck one on the strike board and puffed the cigarette to life.

  “No Sir, none of us do. He’s been in for several years, but none of us have ever seen anything like Wright City.” Jenkins slowed into the curve. “Scuttlebutt is you guys are big shots from Washington, sent in to figure this thing out.”

  “We’re consultants for the military,” Larry said quickly. “They’ve asked us to take a look at this and advise on any possible causes.”

  “They’re some strange things going on here. Hope you can figure it out. A few of the guys saw a strange woman roaming the streets last night.” Private Jenkins pointed up the road. “There’s the turn.”

  “You hear that.” Richard rolled down the window. “That’s a plane engine.”

  “Step on it,” Larry shouted.

  “The roads awfully slick.” The rear end of the roadster lost traction and slid sideways on the highway. Jenkins expertly steered into the skid and pulled out.

  Richard peered through the trees. He caught sight of the white ship moving through the trees. “Blast it. He’s getting away.’

  Jenkins rounded a curve on the dirt road, pulling into the rutted driveway of a wood frame home. “Where’s the guys? There’s four men assigned here.”

  The engine roared as the white plane lifted from the pasture near the barn. The Junkers climbed and banked at the tree line flying northwest.

  “He’s flying toward Wright City.” Larry pointed at the diminishing dot in the air.

  “Jenkins, get Anderson on the radio. Tell him he’s got company coming. Larry, scout around and see what you can find.” Richard climbed from the back seat. He drew the .38 revolver from his shoulder holster. “I’m going to the barn, see what Caruthers keeps there.”

  Larry nodded and pulled a pistol from the holster at his waist. He ran toward the white painted house.

  Snow crunched under Richard's feet as he made his way toward the tin roofed structure. Dark rusty patches showed on the metal, the roof swayed in the center.

  The heavy door creaked as he pulled it open. Shelves covered the length of both walls. A large table covered with dirt and rock fragments occupied the center of the building. He lifted a polished black arrowhead, the remains of a decayed shaft still bound to the stone, from the mess. Without thinking he stuck it in his coat pocket.

  Richard moved into the shadows, he tripped over the body of a gray haired man. A large wet stain covered his chest. He’d found Lon Caruthers. His eyes fastened on the ticking package next to the body. “Oh hell!”

  Richard jumped to his feet and ran for the door. He passed through the opening into the frigid air as the bomb exploded. The force of the blast flung him through the air. He landed twenty feet away, sliding through the snow. The.38 flew from his hand, burying itself in the powder.

  Larry Doyle ran from the farmhouse. “Dick! Are you alright?” he shouted.

  Richard pushed himself up on his hands and knees. “I’m fine,” he said. White dust covered his clothes, clinging to his hair. “Someone didn’t want us to find out what was in there.”

  “Looks like it,” Larry nodded. “The soldiers are dead. I found them in the back yard. Someone cut their throats. If Caruthers did this, he’s a lot craftier than we realized.”

  “I found a dead man inside the barn. I think its Caruthers.” Richard climbed to his feet. “We need to get back to town.”

  Jenkins stood on the bumper of the old Ford. “Sirs, I managed to raise the captain. They’re under attack. He said it’s the mystery woman!”

  “Start the car. We’ve got to get back there.” Richard raced for the vehicle, Larry close behind.

  ***

  Jenkins pushed the rattling Ford to its limits. The rear end threatened to spin around at every corner, only the private’s expert handling of the vehicle kept them on the road.

  “Where did you learn to drive like this?” Larry asked, his nervous hands clutching the dashboard.

  “Out in the desert, you can really cut loose out there.” Jenkins answered quickly, keeping his attention on the slick highway.

  “Don’t let up, we need to get back quick. We have to figure out what’s going on.” Richard nodded.

  The outlines of Wright City loomed in the distance. A thick gray plume of smoke billowed into the heavens from the center of town. The mysterious white plane circled above the buildings, the front gun strafing the ground.

  The aircraft broke away from the town and flew straight toward the Model T. Red tracers flared from the forward gun, kicking up snow and ice in front of the vehicle. Jenkins twisted the wheel savagely. The Roadster slid across the ice. The soldier fought the wheel, trying to maintain control. The vehicle straightened. The chained tires found traction as the car shot forward. Bullets punctured the fenders and shattered the wind screen. Glass rained down on Richard’s head. The plane passed overhead. It climbed and turned for another run.

  “Faster, we’ve got to get to town.” Richard slapped the seat in frustration. “We’ve got to stop that idiot.”

  The rust bucket topped a small rise near the city limits sign and went airborne. The vehicle landed hard. Its rear end and bumper scraped along the roadway. Bullets kicked snow into the air by the side of the vehicle. Jenkins drove the sedan off the highway, the front end bounced from the shallow ditch and climbed up the embankment. Steam rose from under the hood, turning to icy fog. The plane circled overhead and returned to Wright City.

  The Ford crashed through a line of brush bordering a dirt road that ran parallel to the highway. Jenkins steered the wounded duck onto the gravel and sped toward Wright City.

  “If this thing holds together, we’ll be there in a few minutes.” A loud clanging came from the laboring engine. The slow moving vehicle passed the outskirts of Wright City. The sounds of rifle fire echoed from the center of town. Several minutes later the Roadster rolled to a stop.

  “My God, look at this.” Richard gazed through the cracked windshield at the carnage on the streets. The dead and dying lay scattered
like straw before a high wind. Captain Anderson lay on his side behind a Model T truck, his hand clutching a bloodstained rifle. Crimson stained the snow from the gaping wound in his neck.

  The trio climbed from the vehicle. Smoke rose from several fires, blotting out the weak sunlight. Richard stared down the street. He spied the white Junkers in the distance, beside the blue Northrop. A flurry of activity came from the area. Richard saw several men scurrying about. Gunshots popped in the distance.

  “Someone’s putting up a fight.” Richard ran to Anderson’s side prying the rifle from his dead hand.

  “Who are they fighting?” Larry removed the .45 automatic from the side holster.

  “I don’t know, but I want to find out.” He turned to Jenkins. “Get yourself some more ammo. Sounds like things are going to get rough.”

  “I’m ready.” Jenkins went through the pockets of a dead soldier, gathering extra ammunition. “I just hope I get a chance to get some of these jokers.”

  “Split up. We’ll meet at the jail. Remember everyone is an enemy.” Richard nodded.

  “I hope that red head in Philly has an understanding nature.” A smile cracked Larry’s pug face. “See you at the jail.”

  Richard crouched, his powerful legs propelling him forward. He darted between the leafless trees lining the street. A bullet kicked snow at his feet as he crossed the boulevard and hid behind a bullet riddled car. The steady drone of gunfire grew louder. He raced from the vehicle and flattened himself against a storefront wall. He took a moment to catch his breath. The blood rushed through his veins, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

  A chorus of gunfire sounded behind him. He turned to see Jenkins crouched behind a rusted Chevrolet. The young private pressed his cheek to the rifle stock. The rifle bucked in his hands. Richard saw a man fall from the roof of the general store.

  “Get to the jail,” Jenkins shouted. “I’ll hold them off.”

  A bullet struck the wall, brick dust peppered Richard’s face. He wheeled. The rifle settled into a familiar shoulder niche. Richard took a moment to sight down the barrel and fired. A thick burly man hiding behind a tree exposed himself briefly, lining up another shot. Richard’s bullet caught him in the throat.