DIAGONALLY ahead through the window we saw the spectres of the great pile of masonry on lower and mid-Manhattan. Spectres of the giant buildings; the familiar skyline, and mingled with it the ghostly gray outlines of the mountains and valley depths of Tako’s world. All intermingled! The mountain peaks rose far higher than the tallest of New York’s skyscrapers; and the pits and ravines were lower than the waters of the harbor and rivers, lower than the subways and the tubes and the tunnels.
“Another carrier!” Don said abruptly. “See it off there!”
It showed like a great gray projectile coming in level with us. And then we saw two others in the distance behind us. Fantastic, ghostly arrival of the enemy! Weird mobilization here within the space of the doomed New York.
“Can they see us?” I murmured. “Tako, the people down there on Staten Island—can they see us?”
“Yes,” he smiled. “Don’t you think so? Look! Are not those ships of war? Hah! Gathered already—awaiting our coming!”
I have already given a brief summary of the events of the days and nights just past here in New York. The terror at the influx of apparitions. The panic of the city’s teeming millions struggling too eagerly to escape.
It was night now—the night of May 19th. The city was in chaos, but none of the details were apparent to us as we arrived. But we could see, as we drifted with slow motion above the waters of the harbor, that there were warships anchored here, and in the Hudson River. They showed as little spectral dots of gray. And in the air, level with us at times, the wraiths of encircling airplanes were visible.
“They see us,” Tako repeated.
They did indeed. A puff of light and up-rolling smoke came from one of the ships. A silent shot. Perhaps it screamed through us, but we were not aware of it.
Tako chuckled. “They get excited, do they not? We strike terror—are they going to fight like excited children?”