"Yeah," said Andrews, and left him.
After a little while the trembling in his limbs began to subside, breathing became easier. He leaned forward and watched a strange battle. The Assassin was about seventy yards ahead, moving slowly nearer. Two men stood on the right hand side of the car, pumping bullets into the grey, indistinct mass. Andrews stood watching with his hands in his jacket pockets. Suddenly he said, "All right, let go. You're only wasting bullets."
Simon looked at him in alarm. "Hey, you're not just going to stand there. It doesn't like the light, but light can't kill it."
"Lie down on the floor," said Andrews dourly, without looking at him.
"Eh?"
Andrews ignored him, stepped two paces forward. The Assassin was about twenty yards away now, seeming to have to fight against the stream of light. Andrews took his hands from his pockets. Simon saw what he was holding, and dived for the floor. He clasped his hands over the back of his neck as the night exploded with a gigantic crash.
When his ears had stopped screaming he got up. Andrews, an elbow on the window ledge, was watching him expressionlessly.
"You might have left me something to dissect," complained Simon. "Somebody's got to, you know."
"I'll mop you up a sponge full," said Andrews.
"Oh, no, you won't. You and your men stay back here. It's probably crawling with alien bacteria."