From the city came screams and cries. The spheres had attacked at last.
The men in the wooded field could see the darting balls sending their searing bolts down on the heads of hapless victims. The crashing roar of the slaughter sounded like distant thunderstorms.
Streets were jammed with panic-stricken human beings, fleeing from the unknown menace which slashed with bolts of heat energy.
From the hole in the factory roof poured more spheres to join the destruction.
"They breed fast, the devils!" said Masters.
A figure in khaki approached Taylor. It was Pember with blood running from a cut on the side of his head. He saluted briskly.
"Norden escaped, sir!" he blurted. "The dirty so-and-so cracked me over the head with the trench tool and got away!"
"I never thought he'd turn yellow," Masters said. "Well, maybe it's a good thing he's gone. I never trusted him anyhow."
"Which way did he go?" Taylor asked.
"He went toward the factory, sir!" Pember replied. "He didn't knock me out. Just a glancing blow. I was too dazed to stop him, but I saw him running toward the factory."