Flint found his knees sagging. His heart pounded with the exertion of standing up. His body had turned to lead. And in his mind was the terrible fear that he'd black out completely, be lying there on the floor when the other door unlocked and gave him his only chance.
But he couldn't black out! He had to keep on his feet! He was Karen's and Greeno's only chance.
The pointer stood at a hundred and fifty. His ribs felt as if steel bands were being tightened around his chest. He couldn't breathe. He knew he couldn't stand much more.
He turned his head toward the inside door and with all the lung power he could find yelled, "Let me out! I'll talk!"
They heard him. The whistling in his ears ceased for one second, then returned, but now it was the sucking sound of air going out. He got hold of the outer door handle, leaned his weight back against it. His glazed eyes were on the pressure dial. He knew the men in the ship were watching its counterpart.
The pointer came back around slowly and each jump brought blessed relief as the pressure slackened. It was like a tremendous weight being lifted from every square inch of his body.
When the pointer hit zero, he heard the lock click in the door behind him and the door against which he was pulling swung suddenly open. He almost fell backward, then managed to struggle forward through the door.
"Stop him! He's trying to get into our ship!"
He heard feet clattering through the chamber after him. He slammed the door against a beefy blurred face. Stumbling through the double doors of the police plane's air chamber, he managed to close and lock them against his pursuers. Then he staggered over to the control panel.
He cut the switch, pressed the starter. The jets roared behind him as he shot away from his own plane.