Greg swung his fist blindly. He took the boy by surprise. The child had no time to rematerialize at a safe distance. Greg's fist struck his chest and the boy went down, with a cry of agony. Greg felt a subconscious surge of satisfaction; humanity hadn't been defeated after all and the children were by no means invulnerable. Surprise—physical initiative—gave men their trump card over these undernourished mind readers.
Greg sprinted toward his ship. The body lay on the drifting sand gasping for breath, gesturing futilely with his small hand.
Greg's foot was on the ramp when he heard a scream behind him. He looked back toward the road. He saw Dr. Vayle and Holly Wilson running toward him. A mongrel, frothing at the mouth, was yapping at their heels.
Greg reacted with an altogether human instinct. He ripped a metal bar loose from the ramp rail and went back to help them, two fellow humans in trouble. A tiny warning of logic flamed briefly in his mind: this could be a trick; his only real chance of escape was to leave now, while he could. But he ignored it.
He ran across the field and swung the bar at the dog, crushing its skull with one blow. The woman clutched his arm. Her hands were shaking; her face was white with fear.
"What happened?" Greg demanded.
"Adrian and I were clearing the breakfast table. Suddenly the dog was—he was just there, growling at us."
"A mad dog," the astrophysicist added. "The kids did it. They can make any living thing appear anywhere they please."
"A trick!" Greg said. The whisper of logic had been right. He glanced at where the boy had fallen; the child was gone.