"Look out, Bob!" Knight called. But the butterball was quicker than Mallory's pistol. He squirmed suddenly, his face stiffening with the pain of the Thing's entrance.
"Look out!" Knight called. But the thing was quicker than Mallory.
Knight caught a sudden thought within his mind. With an abrupt movement, he spun, dashed for the guardsmen by the door and plowed his way through them somehow, feeling the shock of a half-dozen Things darting into his body.
But he broke through, the Things within him screaming and snarling at his mind. Sammy had the answer! He still has the answer. Sammy has the weapon. The words pounded into his mind, upholding it against the onslaughts of the Things.
They hate me! He gloried in the thought. Let them. I have the weapon now. Hating me won't hurt any more!
He fell, tripping; one leg had momentarily refused to function as the concentrated power of the thoughts of the half-dozen Things within him lashed at his mind. He staggered to his feet, his mind fighting, his lungs laboring.
He found the cubicle door at last, and with a tremendous effort of will stepped across the threshold. Sammy was there—good, wonderful, precious Sammy, with his bald head, his hook nose and his bottle. His bottle.