There was a dull report like a melon striking, and something soft and fuzzy whizzed past Simms' head to hit the water with a hollow plop. A mold gun! In the relentless light of Halleck's search lamp, the lieutenant saw the living fungus erupt into a hundred wriggling spores that germinated in a matter of seconds.
Simms leaped into the cabin and fumbled for the starter switch. Once a dozen years before he had driven a hydrocar on a pleasure cruise a short distance up the Martian Central Canal. Now his fingers touched the stud, and the motor roared into life.
But before he could press the trigger out into the swamp, he saw Halleck leap through the water and hurl himself onto the car's hood. The man broke the windscreen into a hundred glass fragments and thrust a mold gun through the aperture straight into Simms' face.
But before he could press the trigger something happened. Back in Xenthar village a mighty wailing scream pierced the air. Like a frightened banshee the sound raced into the upper register, leaped to a grinding, ear-shattering shriek.
Halleck dropped the mold gun and clapped his hands to his ears. On shore the Kamalis uttered cries of pain and fell groveling as the sound mounted into the supersonic range and the piezo-electric crystals began their action.
With a jerk Simms swung the wheel, throwing Halleck off balance and plummeting him into the water. The hydrocar roared out into the swamp like a runaway comet.
All night Simms drove, weaving through aisles of man-high rip grass, circling denser groves of blue priest trees and ardaleptic ferns.
At dawn he drew up at a small island, built a fire and cooked some of the food he found packed away in a rear compartment of the hydrocar. He rested half an hour, reentered the car and drove on at a more leisurely speed.