He ran a block, doubled back, entered a department store, lost himself in the crowd, took the elevator up to the third floor.
He tried to look interested in the merchandise. Each second cost him an extra heart beat. He left a counter and went to the stairs. He became inconspicuously preoccupied with distant thoughts. He was once more on the ground floor. He left the building by the opposite entrance.
He hailed a taxi. His heart beat desperately.
Once settled in the rear seat, he felt almost secure. The worst was over. He told the driver, "Down town."
After a dozen blocks, he got out. When the cab was gone, he walked back the way he had come. He found a hotel, registered, and was shown his room.
He stood at the window. A police car cruised by. For a moment, he was afraid it would stop.
I must get a gun, he thought. Time seemed to be falling swiftly in the bright air.
I must, I must.
He went to the television set and switched it on.
The starships were still occupying the screen. The sun was slanting its rays across the desert.