Mistress of the Undead | Page 4

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.
"For?for 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 that.
Turner tried to find the tree where he had left the injured girl. He was afraid she had crawled away and died.
HIS watch pointed to one minute after seven o'clock when he looked at it. She was dead now. There was a sudden glow at the foot of a tree. He ran toward it. There was the shallow crypt where he had laid her. It was empty. From beneath the roots there rose a wraithlike glow through the fog.
He flung himself face downward on the ground and mourned her death, groaning in his agony.
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