Wales thought again how unreal everything on Earth seemed by now. And this scene most of all! This harbor had once been the busiest in the world, and by night the lights of shipping, of docks, of bridges, had flared everywhere, with the electric glow of Manhattan blazing over everything.
And now there was silence and darkness on the waters. All the millions who had lived around these shores had left Earth long ago, and their cities were dark and still. Only the downtown tip of Manhattan still showed patterns of lighted windows, where the ceaseless activities of Operation Doomsday centered.
Wales rowed on, and then rested his oars a moment and turned and peered ahead in the darkness. He saw a lofty shadow now against the stars, and knew that it was the great Statue. He lifted the oars again, rowing now with infinite care to make no sound.
Brr-rumble—oom—oom—oom—
Up into the sky westward rose another of the mighty Marslift rocket-ships, and then in quick succession, two more.
The flare of them in the heavens sent a wild, shaking light over the waters, over the little skiff.
"Get down!" Wales whispered frantically, and he and Martha crouched low in the little craft.
The oom—oom—oom faded away in muttering echoes. Wales could but pray that they had not been seen from the island ahead, and row on.
He hoped desperately that there would be no more rocket-ships taking off, no more flares in the sky, until he reached the island. It seemed to him that he rowed eternally, and got nowhere.
Then, in the darkness, Martha whispered warning. The skiff bumped land. Wales made out a low bank rising above them. He picked up the Venn gun and climbed ashore.