Plainly, they did.
"We must flee, Koosh!" Thuko bawled in terror. "Return to the ship!" And suiting action to words, he turned and went leaping back the way they had come. Koosh followed close on his heel, with an alacrity unusual for that individual.
"Wait! Wait, please!" someone called. "We won't harm you!"
Others took it up. But of course Koosh and Thuko did not understand. They rushed on. And the crowd poured after them like a tidal wave, pleading with them to stop.
Through the lobby, out the front entrance, down the steps, the Martians hopped with speed born of desperation. They started across the street, unheeding of the traffic, intent only on escape from their howling pursuers. Consequently they did not see the huge truck bearing down on them.
Nor did the driver of the truck see them. Not that he was unalert. No, it was merely that he did not believe in Martians. Just as dozens of other motorists and pedestrians close around did not believe in them.
The truck rolled forward. There was a crunching, squishing sound. A blue fluid spattered over the hood and chunks of spongy flesh rained down under the wheels as the delicately built aliens came apart in a thousand pieces. An eye-stalk, twitching violently, bounced off the cab roof.