"My God—"
Halliday's voice broke and Ward saw that his eyes were staring in horror beyond him, to the still open door where the gray swirling fury of the monsoon was creeping in.
And other things were in the open doorway!
Ward knew that without turning to look. The horror mirrored in Halliday's face told him that more plainly than could his own eyes.
There was horror and fear in Halliday's face, but the tightness of his lips did not relax into the flaccid looseness of hysteria.
With superhuman control he was keeping a grip on himself.
"Don't move!" he snapped, through set jaws. "I'll try to get at the rifle."
Ward's heart was thundering a tattoo of terror. Halliday's words made no impression on the horror-stunned brain. He lunged wildly across the room, dimly he heard Halliday's sudden shouted warning.
Without a backward glance he lurched into the small room that served as a kitchen. Through the fog of terror that swirled about his mind, he remembered only one thing: Halliday's remark of a refuge built there for emergency purposes.
His fingers tore open the small door alongside the refrigerator unit. A black passage stretched ahead of him and he plunged into dark shelter, jerking the door shut after him.