"What in hell—" the patrolman breathed.
"It's reaching in!" Karen's voice, a terrified whisper. "Look out for its claws!"
Two explosions rang out—Greeno's old bullet gun; he didn't have an ice pistol. Greeno yelled "Get back!" There was fright in even his mechanical voice as a dull crash merged with his words.
Then there was instant silence. Something had smashed Greeno's radio set.
"It's the bat!" Flint said. "It's got them cornered! We've got to get out there!" Somehow, now, the thought of that thing reaching into the door, clawing at Karen Vaun, pressed back against the wall, made him forget all about his plans for capturing the bat, forget he was under arrest for kidnapping. "Let's go—I'll take you to them!"
"It's another of his tricks," one of the patrolmen said. "Trying to lead us into a trap of some kind."
"Listen, you stupid fools," Flint almost yelled, "don't you understand? That bat's out there. They haven't a rabbit's chance. We haven't got time to talk about it."
The big fellow winked at the others. "If it's a space bat," he said, "we'll need help. I'll call for some of the boys to go with us, with some bigger guns—for the bat or for any little ambush you might have planned."
And Flint saw he was only wasting time. He leaped forward and caught the man full in the face with his fist. The blow sprawled the patrolman backward against the controls. Before he could get up, Flint was on him again, struggling for his gun. If he could get out of here, get that police plane—
He got his hand on the gun. Twisted. But it had taken too long.