Fallon smiled. "Give me your shoulder, Joan," he said, and they went out.
CHAPTER TWO
Catastrophe—or Weapon?
Santa Monica was a city under attack. Sweating policemen struggled with solid jams of cars driven by wild-eyed madmen. Horns hooted and blared. And through it all, like banshees screaming with eldritch mirth, the sirens wailed.
"They'll declare martial law," said Fallon. "I wonder how long they can hold those things back?"
"Webb," whispered Joan, "what are those things?"
Strangely, they hadn't asked that before.
They'd hardly had time even to think it.
Fallon shook his head. "God knows. But it's going to get worse. Hear that gunfire? My apartment isn't far from here. We'll get some clothes and a drink, and then...."