And his hand pulled loose.
He collapsed on the ground. He seemed to be able to watch the pain recede very slowly, like gently rolling waves. An unexpected chill wrenched his body. He lay shivering, his teeth clicking uncontrollably. But at last the pain was something he could look at, and measure, and know that he would endure it. It was no longer larger and stronger and more real than he was. He could tame it.
The visitor's identity disc lay on the ground. Hendley picked it up. When he staggered to his feet he realized that day had come. He could see his way easily through the dense woods.
A scream cut through the cool, damp morning air, rising like the wail of a siren. It broke off cleanly, as if a wire carrying the sound had snapped. The air itself seemed to go on shivering, as if it still trembled from the shrill vibrations of the scream. But there was another sound now in the distance, the growl of the pack leaping upon its prey while the flesh was still warm and the hot blood flowed freely.
Shaking with fear and revulsion, Hendley stumbled out of the woods into the open. The hunt was over.
13
The passengers were told to fasten their seat belts. The precaution hardly seemed necessary, for the copter's motion was almost imperceptible in the windowless cabin. An illuminated board flashed the message that the ship was hovering in the landing pattern over City No. 9, waiting its turn to descend. Hendley had a mental image of the great city below, huge concrete cylinders rising from the brown, barren land. From above a circular eye in the center of each tower would be visible, peering at the sky.
Wondering what time it was, Hendley was startled to realize how readily he had come to measure time by the sun. He looked around for the copter's clock panel, found it at the back of the cabin. It was not yet two o'clock.
There would be time to reach the Historical Museum before four.
Would she be there? Three weeks had passed since he'd suggested the museum as a meeting place. Even if she had clung to the hope that he was alive and safe, she would believe that he was in the Freeman Camp under Nik's identity. Would she still have come, day after day, to look for him? How long would such blind hope have lasted before discouragement came, and then despair?