Well, quite a lot for Psychology maybe, because at twenty feet he
seems to have missed me.
* * * * *
I pick myself up and touch something which apparently is his weapon,
gun or whatever. I leave it and hare back to the stretcher, next-to
fall over it but stop just in time, and switch on the antigrav. Up;
level it; now where to? The cliffs enclosing the bay are about thirty
yards off to my left and they offer the only cover.
The shingle is relatively level; I make good time till I stumble
against a rock and nearly lose the stretcher. I step up on to the rock
and see the cliff as a blacker mass in the general darkness, only a
yard away. I edge the stretcher round it.
It is almost snatched out of my hand by a gust of wind. I pull it back
and realize that in the bay I have been sheltered; there is pretty
near half a gale blowing across the face of the cliff.
Voices and footsteps, away back among the rocks where the man came
from.
If the clouds part again they will see me, sure as shooting.
I take a hard grip on the stretcher and scramble round the edge of the
cliff.
After the first gust the wind is not so bad; for the most part it is
trying to press me back into the cliff. The trouble is that I can't
see. I have to shuffle my foot forward, rubbing one shoulder against
the cliff to feel where it is because I have no hand free.
After a few yards I come to an impasse; something more than knee high;
boulder, ridge, I can't tell.
I weigh on the edge of the stretcher and tilt it up to get it over the
obstacle. With the antigrav full on it keeps its momentum and goes on
moving up. I try to check it, but the wind gets underneath.
It is tugging to get away; I step blindly upwards in the effort to
keep up with it. One foot goes on a narrow ledge, barely a toe hold. I
am being hauled upwards. I bring the other foot up and find the top of
a boulder, just within reach. Now the first foot--
And now I am on top of the boulder, but I have lost touch with the
cliff and the full force of the wind is pulling the stretcher upwards.
I get one arm over it and fumble underneath for the control of the
antigrav; I must give it weight and put it down on this boulder and
wait for the wind to drop.
Suddenly I realize that my weight is going; bending over the stretcher
puts me in the field of the antigrav. A moment later another gust
comes, and I realize I am rising into the air.
Gripping the edge of the stretcher with one hand I reach out the
other, trying to grasp some projection on the face of the cliff. Not
being able to see I simply push farther away till it is out of reach.
We are still rising.
I pull myself up on the stretcher; there is just room for my toes on
either side of M'Clare's legs. The wind roaring in my ears makes it
difficult to think.
Rods of light slash down at me from the edge of the cliff. For a
moment all I can do is duck; then I realize we are still well below
them, but rising every moment. The cliff-face is about six feet away;
the wind reflecting from it keeps us from being blown closer.
I must get the antigrav off. I let myself over the side of the
stretcher, hanging by one hand, and fumble for the controls. I can
just reach. Then I realize this is no use. Antigrav controls are not
meant to go off with a click of the finger; they might get switched
off accidentally. To work the switch and the safety you must have two
hands, or one hand in the optimum position. My position is about as
bad as it could be. I can stroke the switch with one finger; no more.
I haul myself back on to the stretcher and realize we are only about
six feet under the beam of light. Only one thing left. I feel in my
pocket for the Andite. Stupidly, I am still also bending over the
outlet valve of the helmet, trying to see whether M'Clare is still
breathing or not.
The little white cigar is not fused. I have to hold on with one hand.
In the end I manage to stick the Andite between thumb and finger-roots
of that hand while I use the other to find the fuse and stick it over
the Andite. The shortest; three minutes.