"They'll be after us."
"If they weren't killed." Mike found a small opening and peered out. Help had come from the city now and he saw a line of stretcher bearers moving away from the wreck. His spirits rose as he identified three of the casualties. McKee, Talbott, Katal'halee. Were any or all of them dead? He had no way of knowing. But at least they appeared to be past caring about the four prisoners—at least for a time.
This did not insure safety however. The entrance to the improvised cave darkened and a face appeared. Mike held his breath, expecting challenge and exposure.
But none came. Then Mike realized that dusk had fallen and the eyes of the searcher could not penetrate their hiding place with any degree of surety. There were sharp words in the alien tongue. Obviously the searcher was calling for any trapped or injured person.
Desperately, Mike hoped he would let it go at that. But such was not the case. The man got down on his knees and pushed inside.
He found himself taken instantly into the iron grasp of three desperate tenants. The H'Lorkan got him by the legs, Nicko hit him in the middle, and Mike got strong hands on his throat, drove powerful fingers into it, shutting off the man's breath forever.
The man struggled helplessly for a few moments. Then he lay still as Mike snapped his neck suddenly backward and broke it.
The darkness served another purpose. It kept Doree from the horror of seeing a man killed not two feet from her eyes. But she realized what was happening and buried her face in her hands.
"I'm sorry," Mike whispered. "But this is a matter of survival. Try and look at it in that light."