Suspense, which is usually heard at this hour on Thursday nights, is taking its customary summer holiday. Suspense returns to the air four weeks from tonight on Thursday, September 1st. You are isolated 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. We offer you Escape, designed to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Tonight we escape to the Amazon jungle and to a creeping, crawling terror, as Carl Stephenson told it in his famous story, Liningen versus the Ants. I first met Liningen while performing my duties as district commissioner. As my boat neared his 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 a drink brought. I came quickly to the point of my visit and issued my warning. Liningen puffed placidly at a huge cigar as he listened, and then said, exactly what are you trying to tell me? I'm trying to tell you that 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. Tip? You're pulling my leg, of course, when you say I've got to get out. Now look, I assure you, I'm not- Commissioner, even a herd of crocodiles couldn't drive me from this plantation of mine. Oh, you don't understand, 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, and each of them a fiend from hell. Unless you clear out at once, there'll be nothing left of you but a skeleton, picked as clean as your own plantation will be. I am not going to run for it, commissioner, just because trouble's on the way. But it isn't trouble, it's- 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 hideousness- I think it is you who do not understand. In the three years I've been here, I've met and defeated more than one catastrophe. Flood and drought, a plague. Events which caused many of my neighbors to flee for their lives. No, commissioner, all my life I've lived by one motto. The human brain needs only to become fully aware of its power to conquer even the elements. Lineage, in your obstinacy, is endangering not only your own life, but the lives of your 400 workers and their families. You don't know these ants. I tell you, you don't know these ants. But Lineage 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 man who calmly intended to defy one of the world's greatest scourges. I felt a sudden resentment toward him and yet with it was something else. I had never met a man like that. And I couldn't help wondering what combination of elements made up such a creature. I stood 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 deck staring back at me. Clearly he thought me, uh, the very least unreasonable. Well, he wouldn't have been the first to think so. But I, Lineage, 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 Indian workers together in front of the plantation house. I saw their faces go ashen with terror as I told them the ants were coming. Watch them as they milled around muttering. I said nothing more to them. Finally, one of the men stepped forward, Blas, the foreman. We have worked hard here for these three years. All of us. We have built the finest plantation in this district. We all share in 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 mighty. Yes, yes, yes. But, Rone, we will stay and fight against the ants with you. I knew the men would give me that answer. I had counted on it. Suddenly I thought of the commissioner and wondered what he'd say at such unquestioning confidence. Would he still think I was unreasonable? All that night I could not get Leningen out of my mind. One man who calmly evaluated his chances against a deadly menace, coolly decided that 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 of the district which hung from a wall of my office. The last reported position of the ants came in last night. They were here, about 70 miles above this fork in the river. Going southeast? Yes, sir. Hmm. Directly toward Leningen. Uh, toward whom, sir? Oh, that plantation at the bend in the river. It belongs to a man named Leningen. Oh. When would you say the ants will reach there? Why, I don't know, sir. I imagine about tomorrow noon. Tomorrow noon, huh? Still time. Still time? Uh, what do you mean, sir? Hmm? Oh, nothing. Never mind. What did I mean? Still time for what? A Leningen 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 Leningen's fight was drawing my mind, drawing me back toward that plantation and death. I knew past all doubt that I was going back to Leningen's plantation. I had to. It was ten o'clock in the morning when I rounded the bend and saw Leningen's plantation before me. I put in at the dark and tight at the launch and then, then I saw him standing on the bank above me. Arms folded, stubby cigar in his mouth and that same sardonic grin on his face. I made my way up to him. Back for another warning, commissioner? No. Oh, back to say a while? Yes. Ah. You don't seem very surprised. I'm not. You expected me? I knew you'd be back. Come along, we'll get some horses. You'll want to ride around the plantation and take a look at the defenses I've rigged up. Yes, yes. I'll 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 Leningen had devised were quite impressive. Surrounding three sides of the plantation like a huge horseshoe was a ditch 12 feet wide. The ends of this horseshoe shaped ditch ran into the river, which formed the fourth side of the plantation. At the upriver entrance to the ditch, Leningen had constructed a dam by which river water could be diverted into the ditch. A large handwheel controlled the floodgate of the dam. And apparently Leningen 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. Well, how do you like my first line of defense, commissioner? Well, it's reassuring. Like a mold 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. We can get a view from there. Leningen, I didn't see any women or children around the plantation or any animals. That's right. Moved them across the river. Oh, and you think there is danger? Oh, not because of danger, commissioner. A matter of efficiency. Efficiency? Cut down the efficiency of the men if they're worried about their families. Critical situations only become crises when oxen or women get excited. I might have known. Eh? Nothing. Here we are. See the ditch? It's much smaller than the other. You've noticed how all the buildings are on this piece of high ground. This inner ditch surrounds them. It's 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'll... They'll get no farther. This ditch wasn't built for water, commissioner. See the pipes leading into it? See those storage tanks on the hill? Petrol. We can throw up a wall of flame. You care to bet they won't like that? Leningen, look! Over the edge of the jungle, all those animals. Ha! Running like the wind, everything from jaguars to monkeys. Good heavens. Ha ha, remember, they don't have any ditches. And there's no escape. They'll be all right as long as they don't get caught between the river and the ants. They can outrun the crawlers. But if they get trapped, it's either the ants or the crocodiles. Those. Look. Look over there on the horizon. There are your ants. Look at them. It was a sight I'll 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 and then downward, downward, uncannily swift and all the green herbage on the entire slope was being moaned as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow extending, deepening and always moving nearer. Oh, they're a hideous lot. Leningen, we can't last against that. Look at them. They could fill your ditches with their corpses and still have enough to destroy every one of us. We've got to run. Well, I... No. They haven't reached us yet and 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 advance. Along a front that moved forward as uniformly as a straight line, the ants drew nearer and nearer to the water ditch. As they approached, two outlying wings of the army detached themselves from the main body and started marching along the sides 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, every one as big as my thumb, with a reddish black body and long legs. Suddenly, a sound so unearthly as to freeze our blood. Jerk-dyed heads in the direction of the jungle on the far side of the ditch. Coming toward the ditch at a stumbling gallop was a singular being, a writhing animal-like blackened statue with a shapeless head and four quivering feet. It was a stag covered over and over with ants. Line-engine throw up his rifle and the stag fell lifeless to the ground. Its agonies had been 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 remain. Now I could see a change in line-engine. One 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 about a hundred yards in width commenced pouring in a glimmering black cataract down the far slope into the water-filled ditch. Thousands drowned instantly, but the rest began using the bodies as bridges. Line-engine immediately swung into action. Get to the dam, open the floodgate more to get the water in the ditch moving faster. Look at them drown by the thousands. Yes, but they keep coming, even though the current carries many of them away, they're advancing. We'll fix them. Blas, how about those shovels and petrol sprinklers? Have you passed them out to the men? And get all hands here in a hurry. 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. Keep the ants. They've got no intelligence. If they had, they'd have attacked along the whole length of the ditch instead of a narrow front like this. They'd have been across by now. Too bad for them. I'm not running their campaign. You can joke about it like that with the ants halfway across the ditch. All right, men, busy with the shovels now. Dump some sand and clods on them. See how they like that. And 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. What's keeping Tanaio? He should be at the dam by now. They're getting across. More of them. Grab a shovel, Commissioner. Make them regret it. What's the matter? I didn't throw the shovel. They're on my arm. Into the petrol, idiot. Douse your paws in the petrol. Keep at it. Keep at it. You're lost if you stop now. The water's moving faster. Tanaio got the floodgates open. Yes. Look at the ants. They can't get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. They're going to get away. 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 out. It was true. Line engine had won the opening round. The floodgates were left open to force tall in the night crossing. 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 lined 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. Glass, have all the petrol pumps brought. Let everyone over here accept the lookouts on the other side, and pass out the shovels. Si, senor. It 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. And 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 was crawling with ants. Don't worry, commissioner. I've still got a trick up my sleeve. The water! The ditch is drying up. 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 from... Look, put the waters way down. It's almost dry. They'll be able to come 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. You've got a chance to take it. Anything should happen. Don't you... Here it comes. Here comes the water. Now we'll give the crawlers in the ditch a good ride out into the river. There. Look at them go. Lineage's 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. But the fourth time, as the level dropped nearly to the bottom of the ditch, we waited in vain for the rushing waters and then... Senor! Senor! What's the matter? What's gone wrong at the dam? The ants! The ants, Senor! Just as the man at the dam lowered the water almost to the bottom, the ants attacked. Before he could open the floodgate, he was almost surrounded. He ran. The ants kept coming. They are across the ditch, Senor! Lineage unsteady, motionless, absorbing the news of his defeat without a word. Then simply he raised his pistol and fired three shots into the air. A pre-arranged signal for all men to retreat instantly to the second line of defense. A concrete ditch is more than a mile from the point of invasion. Soon after we arrived there, the natives commenced straggling in, silently. Lineage waited until all of them had gathered. Then he spoke to them. Well, lads, we won the first round and 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 stay then? Good. Thank you, lads. And you, Commissioner? I can't persuade you to go up the fight, huh? You cannot. Then I stay too. I knew you would. Senor, a few of the ants have reached the ditch. They're trying to get across? No. I didn't think they would. There's plenty of food over there for them. My fields, my orchards, my work of three years. Ha! Or to last them until morning, anyway. Yes, we were safe for the moment. But the next morning, the black swarm was solid around us. 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. Line-engine stood silently watching this operation, and I could see a grudging admiration in 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. Line-engine sat motionless watching them. Watching them! Line-engine, for the love of God, don't sit there like a statue. They'll be on us in a moment. Let them fill the ditch first. Now, all right, everyone back from the ditch. Blas, hand me the torch. Offends like a little heat around them. The flames from the ditch shot into the air, devouring ants by the millions. It was some time before the petrol burned down to the bed of the ditch, and when it did, the devils came back for more. Again and again, Line-engine fired the ditch to destroy them. But as they returned to the assault time after time, a slow, sickening horror crept into my mind. I looked quickly at Line-engine, and then at the petrol tanks. You read my gaze, 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 only got enough to fill the ditch once more. Line-engine isn't there a way, any way at all? Ah, there must be. Yes, there must be a way. 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. If 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 more than a mile away, a mile of ants. It's impossible. You'll never get there, let alone get back. That's where you're wrong, Commissioner. I'll get there, and I'll get back. Ha, ha. Take care of things while I'm gone, eh? I watched him as he calmly pulled on high leather boots, drew gauntlets over his hands, and stuffed the spaces between britches and boots, gauntlets and arms with petrol soaked rags. He shielded his eyes with close-fitting mosquito goggles and plugged his nostrils and ears with cotton. Then the natives drenched his clothes with petrol. Blasso acted as doctor of the men, smeared a salve over him, and finally, Line-engine was ready. And he stood surveying the course he must take to the dam. I sensed a sudden calm. As I stood near the ditch ready for the run, I realized this was as it should be. I, Line-engine, would meet the ants and defeat them, or be defeated by them. Ha, Line-engine 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 trees and shrubs. Except for the split seconds my souls touched the ground, the ants would have no opportunity to light 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 them mechanically, scarcely conscious of their bites. The dam drew toward me slowly. The distance grew less. Less. Finally, only a hundred yards away. 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, but slowly the wheel turned and turned more. 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. Then it was spilling over. The flooding of the plantation had begun. I let go of the wheel, started back through the ants. The first time I realized I was coated from head to foot with the fiends. Tons of fire stabbed me as they bit into my flesh. I almost lost my head with the 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. Managed to tear it away. 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. Then I could see dimly that wall of flame at the ditch, but it was too far away. I couldn't last half that distance. I stumbled. I fell. I felt myself being swarmed over, devoured, tried to rise. Great weight. And suddenly the vision of the half devoured stag in my brain. Six minutes, then nothing but bones. I couldn't let that happen to me. I couldn't die like that. To my feet. My feet. Drag myself forward. Toward the flame. The ditch. Ring of flame. Closer now. Only a little farther. Ten steps. Eight. Ten steps. Eight. Five. It seemed we had waited for hours. When all at once through the blazing ring around us, an apparition hurtled and fell full length on the ground. It was Liningen 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 open 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. The ground. And Liningen had won. He lay on his bed, his body swayed from head to foot with bandages, but alive and still in command. Everything in order? Everything's in order. I told you I'd come back. Even if I am a bit streamlined. He grinned, shut his eyes. He slept. Escape was directed this week by Richard Sandville and tonight brought to you Liningen versus the Ants by Carl Stephenson, adapted for radio by Robert Reif with Tudor Owen as Liningen and Gerald Moore as the commissioner. Conducted by Wilbur Hatch. Next week. You are standing at the doorway of the cabin on Cashear Creek. Up on the ridge the bloodhounds have caught your scent. And between you and a fortune, between you and escape, you're on the white jaws of a deadly snake. A cotton mouthed moccasin. Next week we escape with Irvin S. Cobb's ironic story, Snake Doctor. Be with us next week at the same time when once again we offer you Escape. Bethelbert, Anne and Casey will be along in a few moments with tonight's crime photographer drama entitled Sellout. All year long Casey, crime photographer, has been one of radio's top rating shows. You're sure to enjoy the proceedings coming up over most of these same CBS stations. Tip Corning speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
