Run, run, run, he thought despairingly, because two Oholos are ten times as deadly and efficient as one....
CHAPTER VIII
D-Day minus four. General mailing day.
Parr, his mind fatigued, his body tense, phoned the warehouse twice, and twice received enthusiastic reassurances behind which he could hear the hum and clatter of parcels being moved, trucks being loaded ... cursing and laughing and subdued shouting.
How many hours now? His mind was clogged and stuffy and sluggish. An hour's sleep, ten minutes sleep—any time at all. If it could be spent in clear, cold, real sleep.
Eat, run. Always, now, he was running, afraid to stop longer than a few minutes. He needed time to think.
And the pressure was steady.
Get away. Leave Los Angeles!
"Parr, Parr. This is Parr," he whispered hoarsely from the back seat of the moving cab into the comset.