Escape! You are located on a remote plantation in the crawling Amazon jungle, and an immense army of ravenous ants is closing in on you, swarming in to eat you alive. A deadly black army from which there is no escape. Escape! Designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight at the request of many of our listeners, we bring you a repeat performance of one of the most gripping escape stories. Tonight we escape to the Amazon jungle and to a creeping crawling terror, as Carl Stephenson told it in his famous story, Line-engine versus the ants. I first met Line-engine while performing my duty as district commissioner. As my boat neared its plantation landing, I saw him upon the river bank regarding me with mild interest. A great hulk of a man with bristling gray hair, bulky nose and pale eyes. His entire appearance somehow suggested an aging and shabby eagle. He escorted me to the terrace and had drinks brought. I came quickly to the point of my visit and issued my warning. Line-engine puffed placidly at a huge cigar and listened as I said. And unless they alter their course and there's no reason why they should, they'll reach your plantation in two days at the latest. Well, commissioner, it was decent of you paddling all this way just to give me the tip. But a herd of crocodiles couldn't drive me from this plantation of mine. No, no, you do not understand at all. These aren't creatures you can fight. They're an elemental force, a gigantic catastrophe. Ten miles long, two miles wide, ants, nothing but ants, and each one as big as your thumb. Once you clear out it once, there'll be nothing left to do but a skeleton picked as clean as your own plantation will be. I'm not an old woman, commissioner. I'm not going to make a run for it just because trouble's on the way. But it isn't just trouble. And don't think I'm the kind of fathead who tries to beat off lightning with my fists, either. I've got a better weapon, commissioner. Intelligence. With me, the brain isn't just a second appendix. I know what it's there for. Can't I make you understand the hideous thing? All my life I have lived by one motto. The human brain needs only to become fully aware of its power to conquer even the elements. Lionel, you are a madman. I've done my best. Your obscenity is endangering not only your own life, but the lives of your 400 workers. You don't know these ants. I tell you, you do not know these ants. But Leningrad merely sat there puffing at his cigar and regarding me with a sardonic grin. And I knew it was hopeless. As I boarded my launch and cast off, I turned to look once more at this madman who calmly intended to defy one of the world's greatest scourges. I felt a sudden resentment toward him, yet with it was something else. I had never met a man like that. And I could not help wondering what... I sat on the bank of the river watching the commissioner's launch until it rounded a bend and was lost to sight. There was a strange look in the commissioner's eyes as he stood on the deck staring back at me. Clearly, he thought me insane. No, well, he would not have been the first to think so. But I, Lineagean, knew my own powers. I was sure of myself. I knew that intelligence directed right always makes man the master of his fate. That night I called my 400 Indian workers together in the front of the plantation house. I saw their faces go ashen with terror as I told them the ants were coming. Watched them as they milled around muttering. I said nothing more to them. Finally, one of the men stepped forward. Bloss, the foreman. We, we have worked hard here for these three years, all of us. We have built the finest plantation in this district. We all share it. It has been a home for all of us and our families. Now the ants come. So? Those ditches we dug last year, the pipe we put in the ground, that was for the ants? That was for the ants. If we moved our families across the river, the ants could not reach them? That's right. And you? The ants are mighty. We know what they can do. All of us think that you are more mighty. We will stay with you and fight against the ants. I knew that the men would give me that answer. I counted on it. Suddenly I thought of the commissioner. I wondered what he would say at such unquestioning confidence. Would he still think I was insane? At least I knew he was not so forgetful. One man who calmly evaluated his chances against a deadly menace, coolly decided he could win and was willing to stake his life on it, to risk a horrible death for it. It was terrifying. And yet, it was fascinating. When dawn came, I sent for my assistant. Together we went to the huge map on the district which hung from a wall of my office. What was the last reported position of the ants? Up here, about 70 miles above this fork in the river. Traveling southeast? Yes. Directly toward Lineingen. Toward whom, sir? That plantation at the bend in the river belongs to a man named Lineingen. When would you say the ants will reach there? I don't know. I imagine about tomorrow noon. Tomorrow noon. Still time. Still time? What do you mean? Oh, nothing. Never mind. But what did I mean? Still time for what? For Lineingen to flee? Or still time for me to? Even as I rejected the thought with horror, I knew that the fascination of that man was more than I could resist. That Lineingen's flight was drawing my mind. Drawing me back toward that plantation and death. I knew past all doubt that I was going back to Lineingen's plantation. I had to. It was ten o'clock in the morning when I rounded the bend and saw Lineingen's plantation before me. I put into the dock and tied up the launch. Then I saw him standing on the bank above me, arms folded, stubby cigar in his mouth, and a sardonic green on his face. I made my way up to him. Back for another warning, Commissioner? No. Back to stay awhile? Yes. No. You don't seem very surprised. I'm not. You expected me. I thought you'd be back. Come along. We'll get some horses. You'll want to ride around the plantation, take a look at the defenses I've rigged up. Yes, I will want to see the defenses. And the ants. We'll be getting a glimpse of them before long, I should think. Yes, and the ants. Come along then. The defenses Lineingen had devised were quite impressive. Surrounding three sides of the plantation like a huge horseshoe was a 12 foot wide ditch. The end of this horseshoe shaped ditch ran into the river, which formed the fourth side of the plantation. And at the upriver entrance to the ditch, Lineingen had constructed a dam by which river water could be diverted into the ditch. A large hand wheel controlled the flood gate of the dam. And apparently Lineingen had ordered it opened immediately after my arrival. For as we now approached the ditch and rode along it, I could see that it was nearly full. How do you like my first line of defense, Commissioner? Well, it's reassuring like a moat around a castle. Unless the ants know how to build rafts, they won't reach the plantation. But this is only the outer moat. There's a better one than this. Come along. We'll go up to the high ground where the buildings are and get a view from there. Lineingen. I didn't see any women or children around the plantation or any animals. Yes, that's right. Move them across the river. I might have known. Nothing. Here we are. There, you see the ditch? Much smaller than the other. You've noticed how all the buildings are on this piece of high ground. This inner ditch surrounds them, lined with concrete. But even filled with water, this is no barrier. It's not big enough. Why, if the ants get this far, they will seem... They'll get no farther. This ditch wasn't built for water, Commissioner. You see the pipes leading into it? See those storage tanks up on the hill there? Petrol. We can throw up a wall of flame. They won't like that. Well, I hope you're right. Lineingen, look. Over the edge of the jungle, all those animals. Yes, running like the wind. Everything from jaguars to monkeys. Good heavens. Remember, they don't have any ditches. But can they escape? They'll be all right as long as they don't get caught between the river and the ants. They cannot run the crawlers. But if they get trapped, it's either the ants or the crocodiles. Look. Look, Commissioner. Look over there on the horizon. There are your ants. Look at them. It was a sight I will never forget. Over the range of hills, as far as I could see, crept a darkening hem, ever longer and broader, until the shadows spread across the entire slope, then downward, downward, uncannily swift and all the green herbage on the entire slope was being mown as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow extending, deepening, and moving rapidly near. They're a hideous lot, aren't they? Lineingen, we can't last against that. Look at them. Where they could fill your ditches with their corpses and still have enough to destroy every one of us. We've got to run. No. They haven't gotten to us yet. They never will. The hostile army was approaching in perfect formation. No human battalions, however well-drilled, could ever hope to rival the precision of that advanced. Along the front, they moved forward as uniformly as a straight line. The ants drew near and near to the water ditch as they approached two outlying wings of the army, detached themselves from the main body, and started marching along the side of the ditch, no doubt expecting at some point to find a crossing. And during this hour-long flanking movement, the main army remained still across the scant 12 feet of ditch. I stared at them, and they stared back at me, a solid mass, everyone as big as my thumb, with a reddish-black body and long legs. Suddenly a sound so unearthly as to freeze our blood jerked our heads in the direction of the jungle on the far side of the ditch. Coming toward the ditch at a stumbling gallop was a stag, covered over and over with ants. One threw up his rifle, and the stag fell lifeless to the ground, its agonies at an end. Horrified as I was, my curiosity impelled me to glance at my watch. I had to know how long the ants would take. After six minutes, only the white, polished bones of the stag remained. The line-engine and I exchanged glances, and I could see a change in him. Gone was the sporting zest of the novel contest. In its place was a cold, violent purpose to send these vermin back to the hell where they belonged. If he did not, we were both only too sure of the alternative, and now we even knew how long it would take the ants once they got to us. Around four in the afternoon, the ant scouts, having found no crossing, there was a stirring among the main army, and then an immense flood of ants, a glimmering black cataract about a hundred yards in width, commenced pouring down the far slope of the ditch. Thousands drowned instantly, but the rest began using the bodies as bridges. Leningen immediately swung into action. Can I help? Get to the dam, open the floodgate more, and get the water in the ditch moving faster. Senor. Oh, this looks like the spot for action. Commissioner. Yes. Beginning to see what I was talking about. What do you mean? About intelligence being more than a match for anything it tackles. Like the ants, they've got no intelligence. They had, they'd have attacked along the whole length of the ditch instead of a narrow front like this. It'd have been a cross by now. Too bad for them, I'm not running the campaign for them. You can joke about it like that with the ants halfway across the ditch. All right, man, busy with the shovels now. Dump some sand and clods on them and see how they like that. You with the petrol sprinklers, start pumping. They don't like it, Commissioner. They don't like it a bit, look at them. Yes, but look at the ones on the far side of the ditch. Whole clumps of them rolling into the water. The rest are using them for bridges. Commissioner, Commissioner, the water's moving faster now. Canayo, got the floodgates open. Yes, look at the ants. They can't hold their own against the current now. They're being washed away. Look at them, Commissioner. The water's carrying them away. We beat them. We won them. It was true, Line Engine had won at least the opening round. The floodgates were left open to forestall any night crossing. I suppose I hoped that the ants would go on passersby, but when dawn came, the dark blanket was still there motionless across the ditch. Then we noticed a feverish activity on the other side of the plantation. Here, a grove of tamarind trees lying on the far end of the ditch and every tree swarmed with the crawling insects. But instead of eating the leaves, they were merely gnawing through the stems so that a thick green shower fell steadily to the ground. Well, it looks as if it's feeding time for our friends. And Blas, have all the petrol pumps brought here and get everyone over here except the lookouts on the other side and then pass out the shovels. Yes, Senor. Looks like I underestimated them when I said they didn't have intelligence. What do you mean? I said if they wanted to get across, they'd have to have rafts. That's just what they've got. Those leaves are their rafts. Even as he spoke, the leaves went tumbling down the far bank by the thousands. The current drew them away from the bank and each leaf carried several ants. Don't worry. As long as you keep spraying them and shoveling dirt on their rafts, they can't land. But they will be too many. It's true. Look, more leaves in the ditch all the time. Why, they'll have a solid carpet to walk across in minutes. Not so fast, Commissioner. I've still got to trick up my sleeve for them. The water! The ditch is drying up. Yeah, of course it's drying up. That's the plan. Those are the orders I sent to the dam. Are you mad? As soon as it's empty, what's to prevent the ants? Look, the water is way down. It's almost dry. They'll be able to crawl across the bottom. They'll not make it if the man at the dam carries out his orders. He should have opened the gates again by now. To flood the ants? Right. But what a chance to take. If anything should happen. Commissioner, here it comes. Here comes the water. Now we'll give the crawlers the ditch a good ride out in the river. Look at them. Look at them go. Line engines tactics were successful at first. The violent flow of water at the original depth raced through the ditch, overwhelming leaves and ants and sweeping them along. Three times the ditch was empty. Three times the ants raced across its bottom. And three times the rushing water arriving just in time carried them away. The fourth time, as the water lowered nearly to the bottom of the ditch, we waited in vain for the rushing waters and then... Señor, señor. What's the matter? What's gone wrong at the dam? The ants, just as the man at the dam lowered the water almost to the bottom, the ants attacked. Before he could open the flood gate, he was almost surrounded. The ants ran. And he ran after them. They had across the ditch. Line engines stood motionless, absorbing the news of his defeat without a word. Then simply he raised his pistol and fired three shots into the air. The pre-arranged signal for all men to retreat instantly to the second line of defense. The concrete ditch is more than a mile from the point of invasion. Soon after we arrived there, the natives commenced straggling in silently. Line engines waited until all of them had gathered. Then he spoke to them. Well, lads, we won the first round, lost the second, but we'll smash the crawlers yet. Anyone who thinks otherwise can draw his pay and push off. There are rafts enough on the river and plenty of time still to reach them. You'll stay then. Good. Thank you, lads. And you, Commissioner? I can't persuade you to give up the fight. You cannot. Then I stay too. I knew you. Señor, señor. A few of the ants have reached the ditch. They're trying to get across? No, señor. I didn't think they would. There's plenty of food out there for them. Crops they've spent three years raising. Not to last them until morning anyway. Yes, we were safe for the moment. But the next morning the black swarm was solid around us and their shock troops were hard at work. They were dropping shreds of bark and twigs and leaves into the petrol-filled ditches, forming a floating bridge across the surface of the liquid. Linenjand stood silently watching this operation and I could see a grudging admiration on his face. Then after several hours the attack came. Down the ditch they poured millions of them and across the bridge of twigs rapidly approached the inner side. Linenjand sat motionless watching them. Linenjand, for the love of God, don't sit like a statue. They'll be honest in a moment. Let them fill it first. Now. All right. Everyone back from the ditch. Blas, hand me the torch. Now we'll see how our friends like a little heat around them. The flames from the ditch shot up into the air, devouring ants by the millions. But as they returned to the assault time after time, a slow sickening horror crept into my mind. I looked quickly at Linenjand, then at the petrol tanks. I saw a gasp and nodded slowly. That's right, Commissioner. We could hold them off forever if our supply of petrol was unlimited, but it isn't. We've got only enough to fill the ditch once more. Linenjand, isn't there any way, any way at all? We've got to do something. Yes, I know, I know. There must be a way. There must be something on earth that will drive this devil's spawn back to the hell they came from. Yes, there. Yes. Yes, yes. What is it? We'll flood the whole plantation. Flood? But how? The river's higher than any point except this high ground we're on now. The river was dammed all the way. It would overflow that stone breakwater and flood the whole plantation. We've got to close the floodgate at the dam. That'll do it. You're mad. The dam is nearly two miles away. Two miles of ants. Lads, listen to me. Listen, lads. I'm going to tell you something. Listen, lads, I'm proud of you. Now, there's still a chance by shutting the floodgates on the dam and flooding the whole plantation from the river. The moment I'm over the ditch, set fire to it. That'll allow time for the flood to wash away the ants. Then all you have to do is wait for me. This is impossible. You can't get to the dam, let alone get back. That's why you're wrong, Commissioner. They'll get there and they'll get back. Take care of things while I'm gone. I watched him as he calmly pulled on high leather boots, drew gauntlets over his hands and stuffed the spaces between breeches and boots, gauntlets and arms with petrol soaked rags. He shielded his eyes with clothes fitting mosquito goggles and ploughed his nostrils and ears with cotton. Then the natives drenched his clothes with petrol. Blas, who acted as doctor to the men, smeared a salve over him and finally, Leningen was ready and as he stood calmly surveying the poor snake. As I stood near the ditch, ready for the rod, I realized this was as it should be. I, Leningen, would meet the ants and defeat them or be defeated by them. No, Leningen versus the ants. Yes, it was right that it should be like this, but now there was no more time for thought, only action. I took a deep breath and then bounded across the ditch and among the ants. I ran, I ran in long equal strides with one thought, one sensation in my being. I must get through. I dodged all trays and shrubs and except for the split second my souls touched the ground, the ants had no opportunity to alight on me. I ran on. I was halfway to the dam before I felt ants under my clothes and a few on my face. I struck at the mechanic, scarcely conscious of their bites and the dam drew toward me slowly. The distance grew less and less. Finally only a hundred yards away, then fifty, then I was there. I gripped the ant covered wheel, but hardly had I seized it when a horde of ants floated over my hands and arms. I strained and slowly, slowly the wheel turned and turned more and the flood gate was swinging, slowly shut and then it was shut. The water was rising, rising behind the breakwater, closer to the top, closer and then it was spilling over. The flooding of the plantation had begun. I let go of the wheel and for the first time I realized I was coated from head to foot with the fiends. Tongs of fire stabbed at me as they bit into my flesh. I almost lost my head with a pain as I ran, knocking ants from my body, brushing them from my bloody face and then one bit me just below the rim of my goggles. I managed to tear it away, but the agony of the bite and its venom drilled into the eye nerves. I saw now through circles of fire into a milky mist. I was almost blinded, but I knew that if I tripped and fell, I ran on, my heart pounding as if it would burst, blood roaring in my ears, a giant's fist battering my lungs. And then I could see dimly that wall of flame at the ditch, but it was too far away. I could not last half that distance. I stumbled. I fell. I felt myself being swarmed over and devoured. I tried to rise for great weight, but then suddenly the vision of the half devoured stag in my brain. Six minutes, there's nothing but bones. I couldn't let that happen to me. I couldn't die like that. I could not move my feet, my feet dragged myself over toward the flame of the ditch, the ring of flame, of course, and now only a little farther. Ten steps, eight. The king had waited for hours when all at once threw the blazing ring around us. An apparition hurtled and fell full length on the ground. He was linenten, alive with ants, unconscious, with glazing eyes and lacerated face. We rushed to him, stripped off his clothes and tore at the ants that covered him. His body seemed almost one opal wound. In one place I could see a white bone. Later as the curtain of flame lowered, I looked out where that blanket of ants had been and saw only a vast expanse of water covering the entire plantation and working its way to within a few feet of the concrete ditch. The ants were gone, drowned, and linenten had won. Linenten lay on his bed, his body swathed from head to foot with bandages, but alive. Everything in order. They are gone. I told you I'd come back, even if I am a bit streamlined. He grinned and shut his eyes. He slept. He was alive. Escape is produced and directed by Norman MacDonald and tonight brought to you Linenten versus the Ants by Carl Steffensen, adapted for radio by Robert Reif, with Bill Conrad as Linenten and Jane Avello as the commissioner. This was conceived by Sire Fuhrer and conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Next week. You are stealthily stalking into a silent desert fortress, walking into what you know may be a trap. Around you stand a legion of dead men and over you hangs a menace unseen but felt, a purpose from which you cannot escape. Next week we escape with Percival Rand's immortal story, Beau Jest. Good night then until the same time next week when once again we offer you Escape. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
