Fear No Evil. John Davis Gordon

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      For a hundred yards he crashed down the mountainside, then he swung south again, parallel to the Appalachian Trail.

      Until well after dark he kept them trekking doggedly across the wild mountainside. It was killingly slow going. His legs trembled, and his stomach was a knot of exhaustion. He bitterly regretted not having just blundered on down the Appalachian Trail after the screaming woman until she had thrown herself off it, out of the way. But he could not bear to see her so frightened, and she could have fallen and been trampled; as it was he was worried that she might have run so far that she could not find her husband afterward.

      When it was properly dark they stopped and threw themselves down, to sleep for four hours.

      King Kong was fully grown, and the hair on his back had turned to silver. He weighed six hundred pounds, and his shoulders were thick and powerful. He stood nearly six feet tall, and his shaggy arms reached below his knees; his knuckles were twice as broad as a man’s, and his jaws were big and strong. In the zoo, nobody had dared go into his cage without elaborate precautions, except David Jordan. When they asked him how he did it he had replied ‘because he knows I understand.’

      A gorilla understands very well. King Kong did not remember much about his life in the Congo, but he remembered the green things and the space, the joy of climbing through the trees. For ten long years he had sat in his cage with the other gorillas, under a neon light, with a concrete tree and a concrete floor, and he looked at the people who came to stare, and grin, and make faces at him; he knew they were the same kind that had massacred his clan to capture him, but he also knew they could not get at him in here, and time had numbed his fear. But every day of his life his great body yearned for space, to stretch his limbs, to walk and run; for green things growing, and real earth, and trees to climb, and sun and wind and sky.

      And that is what Davey Jordan understood, and most zoo men do not. Zoo people will sincerely say that their animals are happy, because they are fed and safe from predators; that they neither remember much nor instinctively yearn. But David Jordan had the gift, the heart and the compassion to be able to put himself into the big black breast of the gorilla, and feel what he was feeling, so that he felt like a gorilla himself. When he sat in their cage, and talked to them, and even made their sounds, King Kong knew that David knew what his gorillaness wanted and needed and yearned for. But even more: King Kong knew that Davey was not a gorilla but a creature superior to him. And to everyone in the animal kingdom, superiority is important.

      Now King Kong understood what had happened, although it was very confused in its urgency. He knew he had been set free, and he sensed the fear and the excitement of the other animals, and he was frightened. There was not yet any joy of freedom, but he sensed that he was running for his life, and he would keep on running forever, following his leader in this desperate race.

      Now his leader was asleep, and King Kong wanted to sleep also. But he was frightened of the dark forest about him. He wanted to be up above the ground. He did not yet remember how to build nests in trees, although he knew he wanted to.

      He looked up at the trees uncertainly. He knew how to climb a tree. But he also knew, just by looking, that in these trees he could not lie down to sleep. The big gorilla looked around at the darkness apprehensively, then, uncertainly, he began to do the best he could: he began to scrape the leaves and twigs into a circle about him.

      The other gorilla watched him. Then slowly, uncertainly, she began to do the same. King Kong lay down on his side in his nest, and tucked his shaggy legs up to his shaggy black stomach, and he crooked his arm under his big worried head as a pillow.

thirteen

      A forest road crossed the crest of the Appalachians, through a treeless sag at the base of Big Bald Mountain.

      It was after midnight. Dr. Elizabeth Johnson sat, locked in her rented car, on the dirt road, hidden in the trees on the edge of the sag. Trying vainly to sleep; waiting for first light. She had bumped her way over all the crisscrossing tracks, peering into the darkness for the shining of eyes, the flash of movement; she had even gotten out and tried to examine the road for spoor in the headlights: it had been hopeless. Scores of miles of winding tracks through a hundred square miles of wilderness. She had been frightened every time she got out of the car.

      She was frightened now, locked inside it, sick with the fear the deputy Sheriff had instilled into her, the horror of the men in the Erwin gun shop. She had wrapped her new sleeping bag around her shoulders. She had eaten, and had had a good few nips of whisky. But she could not sleep. She had a lot of tramping around to do tomorrow if she hoped to find them before the gunmen of Erwin. But she was too desperate to sleep.

      She sat in the dark, nerves screaming with exhaustion. Big Bald rose treeless to the south, ghostly silver in the moonlight. It was completely still. Spooky. O God, the wilderness was spooky. She had tried to dismiss her fear contemptuously, then to examine it logically. But it was man’s primitive fear of the wilderness itself, its wildness, that she was afraid of, just as much as a madman with an ax. Driving up here, she had been fearful that demons would leap out of the shadows. Demons—the same that had frightened cavemen and the Pilgrim Fathers and made them set out grimly to ‘conquer the wilderness,’ turn it into a garden, to take its primeval menace out of it. Childish … But no—it was the primitive man in her.

      She took a deep, tense breath, and reached for the whisky bottle.

      If Bernard could see her now … Then she felt foolish for even thinking about him. She lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, and inhaled grimly.

      She took another sip of whisky, and almost gagged. Then she could hear Jonas Ford saying, ‘Whisky isn’t a very feminine drink, my dear.’ Well to hell with you, Jonas, it tastes damn good, and it’s making me feel a whole lot better. Where the hell are you? While I sit here scared witless …

      She sighed.

      She was not being very reasonable. It had been her wild decision to hurl herself onto a plane and get down here. Jonas was doing the right thing, staying to organize things. And what good did she think she was going to do here, anyway? What was she going to do even if she found David Jordan and the animals?

      She massaged her forehead with her fingertips.

      She did not know.

      Except somehow stand between the animals and a bloodbath, somehow shout the hillbilly gunmen out of shooting, somehow warn David Jordan about them, somehow shout some sense into him …

      David Bloody Jordan … A fat chance she had of talking any sense into him. She remembered him clearly, and he was obviously very bright—even Jonas Ford had once described him as ‘very intelligent,’ and coming from Jonas that was quite something. The keepers had talked about him with such awe, and all the stories—like the time one of the grizzly bears had got his paw jammed in a tin can that some idiot had thrown into the pen. He was going berserk, and the staff was trying to lasso him to tie him down and there was a terrible hullabaloo, and apparently David Jordan had just walked into the den, cool as a cucumber, grabbed the enraged animal’s paw and wrestled the can off. ‘Quite fearless,’ the curator of mammals had described him. ‘Damn stupid,’ Jonas Ford had said. But even Jonas had described him as ‘quite a remarkable fellow,’ and the previous vet had said that he had ‘almost a Saint Franciscan ability with animals.’ She had heard a good deal about him before he had unexpectedly turned up at the zoo.

      She’d heard the commotion in the Big Cat House, and gone over to investigate, and there was the great СКАЧАТЬ