THE SNEAKER

Lately, the best way to get to other worlds is to take the local rocket, according to the science-fiction writers. Or, if you can't afford the fare, you might try the John Carter method, which has yet to be explained.

When Merkel and Masters do something, it's their nature to find a brand new way of doing it. Even when it comes to going to another world.

Norm and I are great fans of ERB and other sf writers, but to think that people could actually travel to other worlds like that? After certain recent events, we weren't quite so sure.

The three of us, the third being Mrs. Masters, as recorded in Unknown 2, were driving to Norm's home in a little out of the way town mentioned only on the most complete maps of Michigan. It was just getting dark and we still had a good part of our trip in front of us.

Kathy (Mrs. Masters to the as yet unenlightened) rolled up her window all of a sudden. "Gosh," she cried, "where's all the cold air coming from?"

Norm was in the process of rolling up his window when Kathy asked her question. "I don't know," he said. "Must have been a freak blast of arctic air. What do you think, John?"

"Sounds as good as anything I could offer," I said, rolling up the windows in the back seat. "I've never felt anything like it before. Sure came on all of a sudden."

Norm drove on for a few minutes, then slammed on the brakes. "You drive for a while, will you Kathy? My eyes are bothering me. Everything's gettin foggy, it seems."

"You'll have to let John drive, Norm. Everything's blurred to me, too," said Kathy.

As you've probably guessed, I could see no better than Kathy or Norm, outside, that is.

Inside the car, everything was normal.

Norm edged the car onto the shoulder to keep us from being hit in the behind, then opened his door. "Come on, John. Let's see what's blocking our view. Must have something on the windows." He handed me a rag and we got out to clean off whatever was on the windows.

It was a good idea, but there was nothing on the windows. Once outside, everything looked normal.

We were the only car in sight. This was a section of M-15 between my house and Norm's that had no houses on it.

Outside there didn't appear to be anything wrong. The stars and a half moon lit up the road well enough for us to make our way along the highway without the headlights, but we couldn't see a thing through the car windows.

"Get in, John. We'll roll down the windows and drive that way. The cold air must have done something to the windows. I'll probably have to have them replaced," he said.

It was a good idea, except we had as much success as we would have had trying to roll down the windshield. The handle turned as easily as ever, but the windows just stayed in place.

Kathy handed one of her shoes to Norm. "See if you can break one, Norm."

"Might as well; we're going to have to get new windows in any case. Watch out for glass." Kathy and I covered our faces with our hands as Norm swung his weapon at the window. "Oww!"

I brought my arms away from my face to see what had happened to Norm.

His arm was missing at the elbow.

It had gone through the window and vanished outside, noiselessly.

Just about then we began to get the feeling that something was going on. We watched Norm bring his hand back through the window, completely unharmed.

"Norm, where's my shoe?" asked Kathy.

"I dropped it when I banged my arm on the side of the car," said Norm, rubbing his elbow. "I'll get it." He opened the door and reached out.

He stopped in mid reach.

"Norm, what's the matter? Norm? Are you okay? John, help him. Something's wrong!"

Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back into the car. He looked as if he'd seen Abraham Lincoln and George Washington having a debate. "I'll get your shoe, Kathy." I reached past Norm.

It hit me, then, too. My jaw dropped and I flopped into the back seat, gasping for breath. I must have been as wide-eyed as Norm.

Kathy reached past Norm to get her shoe. "What's the matter with you two? You're shaking like... Where's my shoe?"

Leave it to a woman. Her normal question brought us around. We just stared at each other for a moment, not knowing what to say.

Someone once said, "Fools rush in where wise men fear to tread." Maybe so, or maybe I'd read too many science-fiction stories. Whichever it was, I poked my head out the window and saw Kathy's shoe laying a few feet from the car, on the cement.

"It's out there, Norm. On the road. I'm going to get it." I got out the door and it was gone again.

"Never mind the shoe, John. Get in. We're getting out of here, right now," said Kathy. She took over the driver's seat and I scrambled into the car.

Norm looked less surprised than I was when the engine didn't start. I wondered what was coming next.

"Wait a minute." I swung my legs out the window. "Let's see if I can get your shoe this time," I said.

"John, stay here. We don't know what's happening," said Norm. "Maybe it'll wear off soon."

"All the more reason to get her shoe as quick as possible," I said, and slid all the way out.

Disappointing as it was, I didn't find myself standing on some strange new world, full of evil men and monsters that I would have to meet at sword point to save the beautiful princess from a fate worse than death. For all I could see, I was standing on M-15; nothing had changed, except Kathy's shoe was laying only three feet from where I stood.

It was real. I turned to go back to the car. That was when the fun started.

When I saw all those torches being waved around in the woods a couple hundred yards from where I was standing, I should have gotten into the car, said nothing, and waited for the strange effect to wear off. Like I said, that's what I should have done. What I did was poke my head through the window and hand Kathy her shoe.

"Norm, come on out here and take a look, " I said.

He slid out of the window on his side of the car and I went over there.

"Come back in the car, John. We've got nothing to do with those torches," he said.

"Nothing? They could burn down the woods," I said, trying to give myself a reason for investigating them. As things turned out, heroic little me didn't have to provide a reason.

A scream reached both of us. It was a girl's scream, and a wild guess sent me running straight for the torches.

Norm didn't call after me. He realized that if there was something wrong out there, I'd stand a better chance if they didn't know I was here.

"Kathy, get out of the car, through the window, then get back in through the door. Hurry. I don't know what John's gotten us into, but we'll probably have to get out of here, fast. If you do what I say, the engine may work."

"But what about you, Norm?" asked Kathy.

"Somebody's got to get John."

There were six men, four women and an assortment of children.

Correction. There were _seven_ men. The seventh was laying face down in the little meadow I was watching. Blood was oozing out of the creek-like cuts in the back of his head and the side I could see. He wasn't breathing.

A flame-haired beauty was tied to a pole set up in the meadow. I could see the moonlight reflecting form her wet cheeks. I guessed it was she who had screamed.

The silence in the meadow was broken by a big man who wielded a club as well as a torch. He was kneeling over the prone man.

"Anyone else say we shouldn't burn the witch?" He faced the little group, turning his back on me. None of them moved. "All right, throw that brush around her. Get going." He watched as the group of people moved forward carrying pieces of brush they'd cut from bushes for the purpose only too evident.

I'd never paid too much attention to the posters in the post office, but I remembered this man. It would have been difficult to forget the cauliflower ears and the scar on the left side of his face. The boss was a murderer named Carl Cannon.

Six men, one of them an escaped convict, and a dozen women and kids, all very nicely about to play "Salem, Massachusetts, early 1600's" here in 1966. You don't believe it? I was standing there and I didn't believe it.

That is, I didn't believe it until Cannon set down his club so he could carry a full gas can toward the girl

With a girl's life at stake, somebody had to do something. I was the only one around of the good guy's side.

I moved out of the trees and dashed for the big man's club. It wasn't much against all those people, but it was a lot better than bare fists.

A girl saw me and nudged her mother, saying, "Look, Mommy!"

Cannon saw the motion, though the woman tried to hide the girl's motion by looking in another direction. He saw me and came after me like a fullback.

Football never was my game. He'd have broken my neck if Norm hadn't come into the meaadow. "This is the police! Surrender!" he cried.

I knew he wasn't the police; he knew he wasn't the police; they didn't know he wasn't the police. (Verb conjugation by yours truly.)

They broke and ran, throwing their torches away. Cannon ran faster than any of them.

Norm blew on a whistle, shouting for the men in cover to get to the other side of the meadow and head them off. He passed up a promising career as an actor when he became a teacher.

I drew out the pocketknife the Navy insists become a part of every sailor and set to with the ropes holding the girl to the stake.

She was silent until I'd cut through the bonds, then she said, "Thank Heaven," and collapsed.

Norm was beside me then. "Come on, John. Pretty soon those people are going to start wondering where the police cars are at." He picked up the girl and I got the club. We made tracks for the car.

Kathy was holding the door open.

The windows were clear and the engine was purring like a kitten.

"Someone's coming," she said, looking past us at the woods. "He's coming awfully fast."

"Get in." Norm set the redhead in the back seat and dove behind the steering-wheel.

I pushed Kathy into the back seat also, then got in the front.

Ordinarily Norm is one of the sanest, most careful drivers on the road. This time I'll bet he left a half-inch of rubber on the shoulder when we got out of there. I barely had time to get my door closed.

"Whee! Who said leave was dull?" I chortled. "We ought to do this more often."

"Sure we should," said Norm, "only next time let's be driving a tank, shall we?"

"It would have been a lot safer," I agreed. "Now, what do we do with Red? We can't very well take her to the lost and found department."

"Can't we? Just wait until we reach the highway up ahead. We're going to cut over to US-10 and take her to the state police post," said Norm.

Round trip, that came out to a little better than fifty miles. I didn't have to tell Norm that, he read my mind. "Forget it, John. This isn't one of your stories. We aren't going to play hero and try to find why she was about to be burned at the stake. That's what the police are for."

"Okay, Norm, but you'd better lean on the gas a little more. We seem to have company moving up on the rear quarter," I told him. I saw a car in the rear-view mirror, intent on overtaking us.

"Unless I'm seeing things, we're being chased by Mr. Carl Cannon, one of the most wanted men in the country, Norm."

"Great. Why would he want to catch us? Just to burn the girl? He can't be that superstitious," said Norm.

The redhead moaned; Kathy screamed; and the car began swerving all over the road.

"Blowout," cried Norm. He aimed us at the middle of the highway and let up on the gas. The car skidded to a halt and our pursuer did likewise.

"Well, Norm, ol' buddy, looks like we are going to be playing heroes whether we want to or not." I handed him the club and fished his flashlight out of the glove compartment. Rot of ruck, amigo. Maybe we can take him with a double attack."

Cannon was coming at Norm, choosing the most formidable opponent to eliminate first. Happily, he wasn't especting the kind of teamwork we hit him with.

He caught norm's swing on his uplifted arm, then caught Norm in the abdomen on his swing.

I came off of the car roof and brought the flashlight down on his head. He staggered, then turned on me.

Kathy screamed, then something black was in between Cannon and I.

Ever seen any black Jello, in a people-sized mold? That's what my rescuer looked like. He hit Cannon with his fist and did more damage than I could have with a sledgehammer.

Cannon picked himself up ten feet from us and started to run.

"Jellowman" leapt forward and caught him in a flying tackle. They rolled around a little, then "Jellowman" stood up. He ran to the phone booth on the porch of the store we'd stopped in front of.

"Do you have a dime?" he called to me.

I threw him a dime, then joined Kathy by Norm. "Are you hurt bad, Norm?" I asked him.

"Would you believe it only hurts when I laugh?" he asked me.

"Police car should be here soon. Are you hurt badly?" The "Jelloman" came out of the phone booth.

"I'll be okay," said Norm.

And then we were talking to the redhead.

Norm just wasn't used to this sort of thing; Kathy fainted.

Myself, I was used to heroes of all kinds, but this one took me by surprise. Being the only one who could talk, I, naturally, spoke for us.

"We're fine, miss, thanks to you. We would have been in much worse shape in a few seconds," I said.

"Let's change your tire and leave," she suggested. "The police do not tarry when the Sneaker calls them. They will be here soon."

I changed the tire, and we were long gone before the police arrived.

As we drove toward Norm's house, the girl introduced herself as Antoinette (shortened to Toni) D'Etoile "We are not yet even," she said. "You saved me from being burned alive. I doubt if Carl would have killed you."

"Why not? He killed another man who tried to save you," I said, referring to the clubbed man in the meadow.

Norm changed the subject. "Miss D'Etoile, forgive such a silly question, but what world is this?"

"What world? Why, Firma, of course. Is anything wrong?"

Nothing was wrong with me. I was talking to a real flesh and blood superhero, and on the world I wrote all my stories about.

The world I wrote all my stories about! "Holy cow!"

"You're just realizing it, eh, John? Look at the moon," said Norm.

The moon was there, or half of it was, but it had a different face.

Kathy had recovered. Hearing what the girl had said she turned to Norm and asked the question that was in all our minds. "Norm, how are we going to get back?"

END: PART ONE
[pp. 3 - 15, THE UNKNOWN #4, Summer 1966]

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