 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. Escape, produced by William M. Ropeson and carefully contrived to free you from the four walls of today for a half hour of high adventure. Today we escape to the Amazon jungle and to a creeping, crawling terror as Carl Stephenson told it in his gripping story, Liningen vs. the Ants. I first met Liningen while performing my duty as district commissioner. As my boat near his plantation landing, I saw him upon the riverbank, regarding me with mild interest, a great hulk of a man with bristling grey hair, gulky 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's puffed placidil had a huge cigar and listened as I told him 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, it was decent of you paddling all this way just to give me the tip. Commissioner, even a herd of crocodiles couldn't drive me from this plantation of mine. But 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'm not getting out. You can't fight. Yes, I can. I've got the best weapon there is, Commissioner. Intelligence. But can't I make you understand that he is... 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, drought, a plague, events which cause many of my neighbors to flee for their lives. No, Commissioner, all my life I have lived with one creed. The human brain needs only to become fully aware of its powers to conquer even the elements. Liningen, your obstinacy is endangering not only your own life but the lives of your workers and their families. You don't know these ants. I'll tell you you don't know these ants. But Liningen merely sat there puffing at his cigar and regarding me with a smug grin and I knew it was hopeless. As I boarded my launch and cast off I realized I'd never met a man like that and I could not help wondering about the strange look in the Commissioner's eyes as he boarded his launch and cast off. Undoubtedly he thought me insane. Well, he would have not been the first to think so. But I, Liningen, knew my own powers, I was sure of myself. I knew that intelligence directed to write 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. Watched them as they milled around muttering. I said nothing more to them. Finally one of the men stepped forward. Blast the foreman. Patron, 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? Yes, that's right. And you? The ants are mighty. We know what they can do. All of us think that you are mighty. Patron, we will stay with you and fight against the ants. I knew that the men would give me that answer. I counted on it. I thought of the commissioner and wondered what he would say at such unquestioning confidence. Would he still think I was insane? All that night, I could not get line engine out of my mind. 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. The next morning I sent for my assistant. Together we went to the huge map of the district which hung from a wall of my office and checked the last reported position of the ants. Last night they had reached here, about 70 miles above this fork in the river. Travelling south-east? Yes. Directly toward Leningen? Toward whom, sir? That plantation at the bend in the river belongs to a man named Leningen. When would you say the ants will reach there? I don't know. I imagine about tomorrow noon. Tomorrow noon is still time. Still time? What do you mean, sir? Why... Why nothing? But what did I mean? Still time for what? For 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 me back toward that plantation and death. I knew now past all doubt that I was going back. I had to. It was 10 o'clock in the morning when I rounded the bend and saw Leningen's plantation before me. I put in at 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 that same smug grin on his face. I made my way up to him. Well, back with another warning, commissioner? No. Back to say a while? Yes. You don't seem very surprised. No, I'm not. You expected me? I thought you'd be back. Yeah, come along, we've got some horses. You'll want to ride around the plantation, take a look at the defenses I rigged up. Yes, I want to see the defenses. And the ants. We'll be getting a glimpse of them before long, I should think. Yes. The ants. 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 foreside of the plantation and at the upper river entrance to the ditch Leningen 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 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. How do you like my first line of defense, commissioner? It's reassuring, like a motor on a castle. Unless the ants know how to build rafts, they won't reach the plantation. This is the only the outermost. There's a better one than this. Now come along. We'll go up on the high ground where the buildings are. We can get a view from there. Nine-inchon. Huh? I didn't see any women or children around the plantation or any animals. Yes, that's right. Moving across the river. And even you think there is danger. Not because of danger, commissioner. I don't have efficiency. Efficiency? Cuts down on the efficiency of the men if they're worried about their families. Critical situations only become crises when oxen and women get excited. I see. Ah, here we are. See this ditch? It's much smaller than the other. Now you've noticed how all the buildings are on this piece of high ground. The inner ditch surrounds them. It's lined with concrete. But even filled with water, this is no barrier. It's not big enough. Why have the ants get this far? They'll get no farther. This ditch wasn't built for water, commissioner. See the pipes leading into it? See those storage tanks up on the hill? Petro, we can drop a wall of flame. Get a bet they won't like that. I hope you're right. Nine-inchon, look. Over at 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. Commissioner, look. 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 shadow spread across the entire slope, then downward. Uncannily swift. And all the green herbage on the entire slope was being mowed as by a giant sickle, leaving only the vast moving shadow extending deepening. And always moving nearer. They're a hideous lot. Nine-inchon, we can't last against that. Look at them. Why, they will 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, 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 the 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, everyone as big as my thumb, with reddish black body and long legs. Suddenly a sound so unearthly as to freeze our blood, jerk 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 singular being, animal-like blackened stature with a shapeless head and four quivering feet. It was a stag covered over and over with ants. And I mentioned threw up his rifle, and the stag fell lifeless to the ground, its agonies at an end. Horrified as I was, my curiosity impaled 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. Now I could see a change in line of gym. Gone was the sporting zest of the novel contest. In its place was a cold, violent purpose. He had to beat the ants because now he knew how long it would take them 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 of the ditch. Thousands drowned instantly, but the rest began using the bodies as bridges. Lanage and immediately swung into action. Now you're all to get the water in the ditch moving faster than the thousands. But they keep coming, even though the current carries many of them away, they're advancing. Well, we'll fix them. Bloss! How about those shovels and petrol sprinklers you passed them out to the men? It has been done, sir. Then get all hands here in a hurry. This looks like 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. Take the ants. They've got no intelligence. If they had, they'd have a tack along the whole length of the ditch instead of a narrow front like this. And they'd have been crossed by now. No. Too bad I'm not running their campaign for them. You can joke about it like that, but the ants halfway across the ditch. All right, man. Visit with the shovels now. Drop some sand and punch on them. See how they like that. You with the petrol sprinklers, stop puffing. 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. Yes. Smarter than I thought. They're widening their front, too. Some of them are getting across. Well, grab a shovel, then, commissioner. Make them a cross. Ah! Sure, sir. It was true. Linenjan had won at least the opening round. The floodgates were left open to forestall any night crossing, 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 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. Well, it looks as if it's feeding time for our friends, eh? Blas, have all the petrol pumps brought here. Get everyone over here except the look-outs on the other side, and pass out the shovels. Yes, yes, senor. Going to deprive them of a meal? A meal? Aren't they cutting the leaves down for food? Wish they were. 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 there will be too many. It's true. Look, more leaves in the ditch all the time while they'll have a solid carpet to walk across in a minute. They're so fast, commissioner. I've still got to trick up my sleeve for them. The water! The ditch is drying up. Yes, 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's way down. It's almost dry. They'll be able to come across the bottom. They'll not make it. The man at the dam will have opened the gates by now. To flood the ants? Dry. But what a chance to take. If anything... Aha! Here it comes. Here comes the water. We'll give the crawlers in the ditch a good ride. Out into the river. There! Look at them go! Linogen'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 emptied. 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 water lowered nearly to the bottom of the ditch, we waited in vain for the rushing water. Sayon! Sayon! What's the matter? What's going wrong with 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. He ran. The ants kept coming. They are across the ditch. Linogen stood motionless absorbing the news of his defeat without a word. Then 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 that concrete ditches more than a mile from the point of invasion. Soon after we arrived there, the natives commenced strangling in silently. Linogen 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 raps enough on the river and plenty of time still to reach them. You stay there. Good. Thank you, lads. And you, Commissioner? I can't persuade you to give up the fight. You cannot. Then I stay, too. No. I knew you would. Señor! Señor! A few of the ants have reached the ditch. They're trying to get across. I think they would. There's plenty of food out there for them. My fields and orchards are work of three years. I ought to last them until morning, anyway. Yes. We were safe for that night. 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. Linogen 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 approaching the inner side. Linogen sat motionless, watching them. Watching them. Linogen, for the love of God, don't sit there like a statue. They'll be honest in a moment. Let them fill the ditch first. No. No. All right? Everyone back? Get back? Bloods? Hand me the torch. We'll see how our friends like a little hate. 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, but when it did, the devils came back for more. Again, Linogen fired the ditch to destroy them and still again they came on. But each successive firing the task of the ants was too easier because of the film of ash which now covered the petrol. As they returned to the assault time after time, a slow, sickening horror crept into my mind and looked quickly at Linogen and at the petrol tanks. He read my gaze and nodded slowly. That's right, commissioner. They could hold them off forever if our supply of petrol was unlimited, but it isn't. We've got enough to fill the ditch once more. But, Linogen, 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. 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. If the river was dammed all the way, it'd overflow that stone breakwater and flood the whole plantation. But... We've got to close the flood gate at the dam. That'll do it. You're mad! The dam is more than a mile away. More than a mile of antlers. Lads, listen to me. Listen, lads, I'm proud of you. Now there's still a chance by shutting the flood gates in 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. It's impossible. You can't get to the dam, let alone back. That's why you're wrong, Commissioner. I'll get there and I'll get back. Take care of things while I'm gone, huh? I watched him as he calmly pulled on high leather boots. Drew gauntlets over his hand and stuffed the spaces between britches and boots and 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. Blas, who acted as doctor to the men, smeared a salve over him and finally Lineagen was ready. And as he stood calmly... If you're ready for the run, I realized that this was as it should be. I, Lineagen, would meet the ants and defeat them or be defeated by them. Lineagen 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 bounded across the ditch and among the ants. I ran. I ran at long equal strides and with one thought, one sensation in my being, I must get through. I dodged the trees and shrubs. Except for the split seconds my souls touched the ground, the ants would have no opportunity to rely 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. And the dam grew toward me slowly. The distance grew less. The last, finally, only a hundred yards away. Fifty. And 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. Slowly the wheel turned. Turned more. The floodgate was swinging, slowly shut. And then it was shut. And 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 started back through the ants. I was coated from head to foot with the fiends. Tugs of fire stabbed at 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. Then one bit me just below the rim of my goggles. I managed to tear it away, but it's agony in the bite and it's 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 all of flame at the ditch. But it was too far away. I could not last half that distance. I stumbled and fell. I felt myself being swarmed over the vow and tried to rise. A great weight. Then suddenly the vision of the half devoured stack in my brain. Six minutes, then nothing but bones. I couldn't let it happen to me. I couldn't dive. I faint. I beat. Drag myself forward to the flame. A ditch. Ring of flame. Closer now. Only little further. It seemed we had waited for hours and 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, drowned, and Liningen had won. He lay on his bed, his body swathed 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. Nah, even if I am a bit streamlined. Escape, produced by William N. Robson and directed by Norman MacDonald. Today brought you Liningen vs. the Ants by Carl Stephenson. Adapted for radio by Robert Reif with William Conrad as Liningen and Lou Merrill as the commissioner. Music was conceived by Cy Fuhr with Eddie Dunstetter at the organ. Next week... You are groping through a dark alleyway in the French Quarter of New Orleans with terror driving you on and always before your eyes is the malevolence tear of a voodoo man striking you with a deadly curse from which you must escape. Next week... We escape with William Irish's eerie story of a voodoo haunted band leader, Papa Benjamin. Goodbye then until this same time next week when we again offer you... Escape. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.