Mistress of the Undead | Page 4

pilots and the insane hypnotist were laughing
fanatically, like they were hilariously drunk.
"I was the only one out of eighteen not instantly killed. I lived thirty
minutes after the crash. No one knows that," she moaned.
"I couldn't find anyone when I stumbled out of the wreckage. I've
looked here in the marsh every night for a year, since the wreck
happened. People seem afraid to come through here at night. You are
the first one I've found. Please, please get me a doctor," she pleaded,
and then fainted in his arms.
HORRIFIED, John Turner tried to revive her. Cupping his hand, he
dipped up swamp water and dashed drops on the beautiful face, as pale
as death.
Soon her eyes opened. They were a beautiful blue, deep as shadowy
pools against the white of her face. She smiled wanly, seemingly
refreshed, and pressed her soft body tightly against his. Her warm
breath was on his face, as she looked at him and inquired, "What time
is it?"
"Six-thirty-five," he told her, looking at his watch by light of the plane
flames.
"Twenty-five more minutes," she said, pitifully, tears dampening her
cheeks.
"ForÑfor what?" he stammered.
"To live," she sobbed. "I die at seven o'clock, unless you get me a
doctor here. I've tried every night to find someone to send. I've failed so
often. I don't believe I can try again."
"I'll get him," Turner said, determinedly, "but won't it be better for you
to come with me?"
She looked at her shoulder. "I'm too weak from loss of blood," she

answered. "I'll be all right. Nothing ever bothers me here, with them.
But please do hurry! I want to tell just how the accident happened.
There have been so many guesses and rumors; none of them right."
He looked at her, face drawn from pain, but still beautiful. She looked
so pathetic. So alone. He bent and kissed the red lips.
"Thank you so much," she smiled, and clung tightly to him for a
moment.
He lifted her in his arms, and gently placed her in a shallow, dry
depression that ran back under the roots of a large tree.
Her fingers grasped his arm as he started to rise. He bent and kissed her
again. She closed her eyes, and smiled faintly, as he smoothed the hair
back from her brow.
John Turner rose and plunged off frantically toward Lake Worth for the
doctor. His feet sank deeply in the swamp grass. Low limbs switched
him fiercely in the face. The cold numbed his arms and legs, but he
stumbled on.
He was thinking of the injured girl. He had thought very little about
girls. Few of them interested him. Strangely, this one did. He wanted
her to live!
How did he know he was going in the right direction? It seemed that
someone asked him that question. He stopped. The forest was quiet. He
was alone there. Then he forgot from what direction he had come.
Something was trying to confuse him. He had to hurry. The girl would
die at seven o'clock.
He started running, feeling confident that Lake Worth must be in front
of him, although he did not actually know in what direction he was
moving.
A fallen log tripped him. He fell, sprawling in cold water. It was
several seconds before he could get to his feet. Time must be flying.

She'd die unless he hurried. He wanted her to live. She was young, and
beautiful. She deserved to live.
Suddenly the swamp ended. Lights loomed up in the distance. Lake
Worth! He was almost exhausted, but he sped along with every ounce
of energy left in his weary body.
He found the doctor at home. It was impossible for him to talk
coherently, but he thought he made the doctor understand.
His clothes were torn and caked with mud. His hands and face were
bleeding from cuts and scratches. The doctor begged him to come in
and rest, but he refused.
He watched the doctor mount his horse and gallop off down the narrow
wagon trail, then John Turner ran back toward the swamp, back toward
the scene of the crash and the girl.
Turner had no idea where he was going, but his feet seemed to think for
him. He plunged into the marsh and ran, stumbling blindly through
water and undergrowth.
There was a dim light in front of him. The burning plane! He flung
himself in that direction. Remains of the giant liner had been reduced to
embers when he reached it. It was growing dark again. He couldn't see
the bodies of those strewn on the ground any longer.
He called the girl. There was no answer. The doctor was not there. He
could have ridden faster than