A chagrined look came over the scientist's face.
"Well, I hate to admit this, Art, but the thing escaped in the confusion. Don't see how it could have gotten very far away. I'll have some of the men look around the grounds for it."
Art shook his head slowly as he went out. Such incompetency seemed unlike the aged savant, but he guessed that inactivity had taken its toll of the old man.
III
The week following was a long, hideous nightmare, during which Art flew from city to city, fighting the ghastly scourge which was cropping up more and more rapidly, all over the globe. Vladivostok, Berlin, Cuba—he could hardly remember them all. He was glad he could not sleep, because he knew his dreams would be tortured by visions of men and women being cut to ribbons by millions of rending jaws. It was dreadfully apparent to Art what was happening. The creatures appeared in a particular area almost simultaneously. Every bit of life was wiped out, except for perhaps a few small shrubs and grasses. Huge trees, buildings, even mountains, all came crashing down. All sources of food supply were wiped out. The creatures could be cleared from the ground by disintegration, but more soon came to take their place.
Art flew back to the laboratory in Washington from Manchuria, scene of his latest struggle, shortcutting across the polar cap. He noted with sick dismay that even the ice fields were beginning to bristle with black stubble.
Arriving in Washington, Art landed at the Institute. He searched hurriedly for Dr. Theller, but was unable to find him Elene, however, appeared.
"Art! I'm so glad to see you safe! Tell me—is it really as terrible as it looks over the televisor?"
"Ever so much worse," Art answered grimly. "We've got to do something, and quick. I know the Martians could help us. Has Dr. Theller appealed to them?"