In the comparative quiet and peace, Curt Wing's dulled mind, clarified by the stimulating drug, was beginning to work again; his spirit numbed and beaten down by pain and inability to solve the enigma of the shadows and their weapons was lifting itself, shaking itself from its lethargy, as something stirred within.
Just that buoyant spirit of man which refused to admit defeat? Wing was wondering. Or was despair so deep that I couldn't go any deeper so I have to come up toward hope again?
The rocket car suddenly sloughed to a stop.
"Sorry," Pat said softly, and laughed. There was a note of hysteria in that laugh. "But we're surrounded." The three men peered out through the plastic windshield. The shadow-things were ahead, moving toward them.
But no destruction was spitting from those ghostly figures. For the first time, Curt Wing had a chance to observe closely.
They seemed about the height of a man—but distorted like a man's shadow falling before him as he trudged up a hill with the sun behind. Yet not so distinct. They wavered, too, within themselves, although the outline remained constant.
The rain was only a light patter now and the sky was brightening as the three men and one woman crawled out of the rocket car. The shadows were very close now, but there still was no sign that their weapons would speak.
Silently the shadows moved, scores of them. That straight line they made began to bend and curve around the four who stood waiting.
No threatening gestures, no weapons visible, just that relentless, closing circle.
"Damn you," said Dead-Eye suddenly. "Elizabeth didn't get a chancet at you before. But she will now."