For a moment she lay utterly still, paralyzed with pain and horror. It couldn't have happened, she told herself frantically. Not now of all times! But when she finally rose and tried to walk, it was to find that the ankle would not support her weight. Sick with agony from her experiment, she dragged herself to the edge of the stream and lay with her face in her arms.
It was all over, she knew. There would be no escape after all....
Tom, she thought, then. Tom! I need you, Tom! Why don't you answer?
Silence—and the baying of dogs. Close, now, so horribly close.
"Fran!"
Her heart leaped incredulously. That familiar presence ... rushing nearer across some awful gulf.
"Fran, where are you? I know what has happened, but I couldn't reach you before this. Your being discovered so suddenly forced me to complete certain preparations ahead of schedule.... But now, Fran—think carefully. Carefully. Picture the spot where you're located, the route you took reaching it. Picture it, Fran."
She squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating, thinking over in split seconds what had taken so many hours of toil and effort, of suffering and fear. Yet even as she thought, doubt and hopelessness weighted her. How could Tom possibly reach her in time?
"It can be done, Fran! Our abilities include the power to send ourselves instantaneously through space—teleportation. But an objective must be clearly visualized, or supplied by the mind of another. Your thoughts made a path for me."
A voice. Not a silent mental voice—but an audible voice that ended in a soft chuckle.