I wish I could tell Walt that, she thought. Maybe it would be of some help to him.
The four saucers landed.
She bent forward tensely.
Has he convinced them? Are they coming out to surrender?
CHAPTER XII
Walt was outside the ship. His feet planted firmly, he waited. The four advancing mutants were not yet adjusted to the space disorientation. Behind them, the tip of the Washington Monument loomed starkly white above the trees.
Walt's anger rose to an even greater fury. He knew how Julia had felt as a child: the hot, impotent flare of rage; the senseless desire to throw something; to smash and destroy something; to disprove helplessness by some savage action.
The mutants were closer; terror was dying out of their eyes. Their lips were relaxing. Their bodies were loosening to their wills.
We're going to kill you, Walt: with our hands.