The Noctoli poison—!
Garth stepped back, white to the lips. A sudden, horrible sense of loneliness pressed down on him. In the jungle things seemed to move, closing in menacingly.
He was alone now.
Alone—with twelve helpless companions to guard!
Somehow—somehow!—he had to get them through. One more day, and they would be at their goal. They could not stay here, that was certain.
Garth searched Sampson's pack till he found a half-empty whiskey bottle. He poured the burning stuff down his throat, though it rocked him back on his heels. But he needed artificial stimulation; it was the only thing that could keep him going now.
It helped. Garth took Sampson's gun and stuck it in his belt. If his own jammed or ran out of ammunition, today, it would be unfortunate.
One more day.
One more day!
Somehow, he got Sampson, Brown and the others lined up. They would march when he gave the word. The hypnotic trance of the Noctoli pollen had turned them into robots.