The Green Killer by Kenneth Robeson

Author:Kenneth Robeson [Robeson, Kenneth]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Action & Adventure, Pulp Action
Published: 2009-08-24T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER IX - All Is Lost

The bony Scot uttered a war whoop and began to hit out with deadly fists. There couldn't be any shooting or knifing in those cramped quarters. It was fists or clubs alone. His fists were as good as any club.

Beside him, Mac felt a one-man hurricane, which was The Avenger in action. And he heard a couple of shrieks as those iron hands fastened on someone. Then the Scot felt Benson's steely fingers on his own wrist.

He was urged forward and down, cramped between a couple of the transport's seats. But behind him, he heard the fight rage on just the same.

"Chief?" he whispered doubtfully to the man beside him, lips to ear.

Another pressure reassured him. This was Benson, all right. The Avenger had attacked several men from right and left angles that had drawn each to the other. They were now viciously and industriously fighting themselves. "I've got one of 'em," a voice ground out. "Club -- " The voice stopped with a thwack of something on bone. "Get Heber We got to have Heber."

The voices were sounding a little behind them, now, for the reason that Mac and Benson were crawling over seats toward the rear of the cabin. They made it as the sounds of battle were diminishing.

The scrambling, striking men were beginning to wonder if everything was as it should be.

"Get that light, somebody," bawled a man. "Maybe we've knocked 'em out. Or maybe -- "

Mac felt the rear cabin door, leading into the baggage space in the tail, under his fingers. He opened it and stepped through with Benson, who had Heber effortlessly over his shoulder.

Mac shut the metal door and felt a slide bolt. The transport had been a passenger plane. The men's lounge was back here, with a fastening bolt. They were safe in here for a moment. Nobody had a way to get in till they'd knocked that sturdy panel down.

But there was no way to get out, either. That is, there was no way till The Avenger reminded Mac of something.

"Got your little torch with you, Mac?"

"Whoosh!" said the Scot. "Of course."

The thing he took from his pocket looked like a perfume atomizer that might have been found in a boudoir. Only in the belly of the little thing was not perfume, but acetylene. This, in special pellets, produced a flame equal to the best a large blowtorch could produce.

Mac lighted it and began applying the intense blue pinpoint of flame to the metal wall between ribs of the tail.

Duralumin will take a lot of punishment, but not too much heat. The little flame sliced along like a knife through butter. A section fell out, and cool night air came in. But Mac wasn't quite through.

There was a furious hammering at the door, and thuds which told that any minute it would go down. But Mac had seen a cable in the light of the tiny flame. An exposed control cable. So he took time to play the flame on that.

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