He got out of the car, walked cautiously toward the force wall, halted at the yellow stripe. It was maddening to be stopped by that intangible emanation from the silver track.
He started to turn away, paused, staring rigidly at the hill. A man was running blindly away down the curving road which led between the plant men's houses. Even at that distance, Norman could detect something peculiar about the man's flight. He would run several hundred yards, stumble, fall, drag himself to his feet and go on.
As he drew closer, Norman identified him as a plant man. He seemed to be making for the gate in the force wall. He reached the glassite shack, staggered inside. Norman could see him fumble weakly with the switch. The Dohlmite was shutting down the current at the gate.
Still with that strange intentness, the plant man lurched out again, stumbled, fell. He tried to rise, fell back. No flicker of emotion betrayed the terrible fear which must be driving him onward. He pulled himself to his hands and knees, began to crawl through the gate. He reached the silver ribbon, keeping in the center of the yellow lines. His eyes stared straight ahead. He wobbled across the force wall, kept on. Crawling on hands and knees, he passed within ten feet of Norman and didn't seem to see him.
Twenty yards beyond Norman his wobble became more pronounced, like a toy running down. Then he seemed to hesitate. His arms and legs suddenly gave way. He collapsed. This time he didn't try to rise, but lay still, lay still as death. Norman shuddered and looked away.
From head to heels the plant man was covered with the red, rust-like scales.
With a start Norman realized that the way into the city lay open before him. He drew his breath sharply, walked slowly between the parallel yellow lines. His nerves quivered as he stepped across the silver track. He was inside at last. He set out up the hill.
As Norman reached the first houses, the toll exacted by the scabrous red blight became apparent. It had swept the population on the hill like a plague. Plant men lay in the streets, on the balconies, in the houses, their bodies scaly with rust. It had even begun to spread to the festooned hanging gardens.
Crowning the apex of the hill was a tremendous structure pillared like the incredibly ancient Grecian temples of which a few pictures still survived. A feeling of elation seized him. This surely was the building which housed the death broadcasting machine. This was the end of his journey.