A slow, shrill screaming in his ears. Trilling up and down the scale, it escaped momentarily beyond the range of audibility, then slid down in wild, despairing crescendo.
The hair prickled on the back of his neck. He turned the heater up a notch and whirled about, as if to find the source of the wailing behind him.
There was nothing, of course. And Johnson's words came back to him. "Your suits are haunted."
Of all the incredible nonsense! But where did the sound come from?
He realized now that it had been there all the time just on the verge of perceptibility. But his senses had not recorded it until the cold, depressing surroundings began to weigh on him.
Psychological.
He listened hard, straining his ears with all the voluntary effort he could muster. Even his heartbeat began to sound loud inside the suit.
It was there. Actual, physical sound waves were producing that sensation. It was no mere delusion of the senses. He was certain of that.
He looked at the row of carcasses that had almost stopped swaying. Fiercely, he jabbed out again.
A wild scream pierced his ears. Simultaneously, his arm snapped back as if it had been hit with a club. In half numbing pain, he regarded his arm. It projected straight out at his side — immovable.