“There's another!” he whispered, a strange, choked feeling all around his heart. “And look--three more! They're working in ahead of us. Here, I'll have a shot at 'em, for luck!”
A howl followed the second spurt of flame in the dusk. One of the gray, gaunt portents of death licked, yapping, at his flank.
“Got you, all right!” gibed Stern. “The kind o' game you're after isn't as easy as you think, you devils!”
But now from the other side, and from behind them, the slinking creatures gathered. Their eyes glowed, gleamed, burned softly yellow through the dusk of the great wilderness that once had been the city's heart. The two last humans in the world could even catch the flick of ivory fangs, the lolling wet redness of tongues--could hear the soughing breath through those infernal jaws.
Stern raised the rifle again, then lowered it.
“No use,” said he quite calmly. “God knows how many there are. I might use up all our ammunition and still leave enough of 'em to pick our bones. They'll be all around us in a minute; they'll be worrying at us, dragging us down! Come on--come on, the boat!”
“Light a torch, Allan. They're afraid of fire.”
“Grand idea, little girl!”
Even as he answered he was scrabbling up dry-kye. Came the rasp of his flint.
“Give 'em a few with the automatic, while I get this going!” he commanded.