A Gun for Honey by Fickling G. G

Author:Fickling, G. G. [Fickling, G. G.]
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Pulp
Published: 1958-09-23T04:00:00+00:00

10.

The train curved out of the mist, its steel plates gnashing ruthlessly into the narrow space between me and death. My nervous system erupted like an H-bomb as I tried to move from the tracks. The glistening monster bellowed at the top of its metallic lungs, looming off my shoulder, veering toward my body with such a violent roar that it splintered my eardrums and scattered the embers into a hideous, boiling cauldron of sound.

Mark’s resonant voice, as if squeezed through a narrow tube, reached me first and forced me to open my eyes to his face, which was circled by a bright field of lights beyond.

“Honey, can you hear me?” he said, his voice a distant echo from an impossibly deep well. “She must be able to hear me. Her eyes are open. Honey, say something, please!”

What do you want me to say? I thought dazedly.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” another voice said in that same aggravating whisper. “She doesn’t respond. Her nervous system seems paralyzed from the severe shock of the accident.”

“But she wasn’t hit by the train,” Mark argued. “You said you were absolutely certain of that when we found her in this gully an hour ago.”

“Yes, I know. But do you have any idea, Lieutenant, what you’d do if you looked up to find a train coming at you at thirty or forty miles per hour?”

“I’d probably jump clean out of my skin,” Mark said.

“And that’s apparently what Miss West tried to do. She jumped. The train missed her, but she was still standing on those tracks. At least, that’s what her brain thought. The impact of that image, hinged with the terrible sound of the train striking the automobile, probably stopped her nervous system like a clock.”

You’re kidding, I thought. You must be kidding! I can hear you! I can see you! My nervous system is all right. Here, I’ll show you!

I tried to move my lips, but nothing happened. The words, formed on the blackboard of my mind, just hung there.

“Somebody bring another blanket!” Mark yelled angrily at a rim of faces that glittered weirdly in the fog-dimmed lights.

Now I could hear other sounds. The wet slap of tires as they rolled along the distant highway, the shudder of a diesel engine warming up, the creak of chains and wheels and the noisy voices of the men who ran them.

Another figure moved into the gully. He was short and his pinkish forehead was beaded with moisture. I realized it was Rote. He handed a blanket to Mark.

“Is she any better?” Rote asked.

“Can’t tell yet.”

“Don’t you think she ought to be moved?”

“No!”

Mark! I yelled soundlessly. Look at me! I’ll wink at you! I know I can do that. That should be easy. You watch!

The big detective stared at me. I pushed every ounce of available energy into my right cheek muscle. His expression didn’t change.

“How’s your daughter doing, Mr. Collier?” Mark asked. “Has she explained what happened yet?”

Rote gestured dismally. “Confusion created by the fog, I guess. They made a wrong turn and stopped on the tracks.

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