"Move! Move!" he muttered through cold-stiffened lips. "Move! Keep warm!"
He stumbled across the dust in the direction the Prince had taken. The cold tugged at him. His breath froze in swirls of ice. With all his will he fought the deadly desire for sleep.
He had not gone far when he came upon a dark shape in the night. It was the Prince, carrying Paula in his arms.
"I found her lying on the sand," he gasped to Bill. "She was awake. She was glad—forgave me—happy now."
The Prince was exhausted, struggling through the sand, burdened with the girl in his arms.
"Why go on?" Bill forced the words through his freezing face. "Never make it. They shot atomic bombs at Red Rover. Then something happened to them. Green light."
"The vitomaton!" gasped the Prince. "Vortex of spinning, disintegrated atoms. Controlled by wireless power. Alive! Consumes all matter! Disintegrates it into atomic nothingness!"
He staggered on toward the dark line of cliffs, clasping the inert form of the girl to his body.
"But Paula! I love her. I must carry her to the ship. It is my fault. We must get to the ship."