The new sound was a sharp crack, and someone screamed in a rusty voice. He turned to see one of the crowd twitching on the pavement, then followed the faces turned up to Conqueror Punitive's window. There was a shadow there—a shadow with a rifle.
"The last bulb," Adele said. "Smash it."
He drew back his arm and the crack of rifle fire reached him a second after the hot streak creased his shoulder. But he wasn't hurt, and threw the stone.
As the glass shattered there was an eruption of strange language from the building—a terrified shouting. The trainees stopped walking, then broke into frenzied movement and hoarse shouts. They pushed George and Adele aside in pursuit of the gray-uniformed figure running toward the gate. The third shot was inside the building, and then the crowd picked up the fleeing Conqueror. His screams died quickly.
Into the building the Americans poured—shaggy skeletons shrieking hatred. By the time George and Adele followed, men and women stood silently in the rooms and halls. Punitive looked ridiculously small crouched in a corner, his head back, the rifle between his knees with the barrel in his shattered mouth. The total number of gray-uniformed bodies was six, all but Punitive killed by the Americans.
But the trainees began to file from the building and run back toward their rooms, for the body in the large room filled with complex electrical equipment was lying in front of a high-powered sending set—a radio whose tubes still glowed red.
George looked at the radio, then at Adele. "They sent for help," he whispered. "Soon, every American here will be dead. And it's because of us."
She didn't answer, and he expected no answer. The room grew dark as they stood looking at the humming set. Then he fumbled over the dials, switched the current off, and led her out into the street.
There was no whistle for the evening meal. The streets were empty, and the silence hemmed them in like a solid wall. They walked toward the men's feeding hall.