He'd been wondering, while they moved quietly through the groups of
people, and up the stairs. There was no place left. He had about a
dollar in change, and that would be of no use to them. They'd have to
dig a hole in the ground and pull it over them....
It joggled his memory, and he grabbed her hand and jerked open the
door of a cab that was waiting for the light. He barked out an
address----the corner of Tenth Avenue and one of the streets below
Twentieth. The driver got into motion, not bothering to look back. The
address was near enough to where Hawkes wanted to be--an old
warehouse, with a loading platform. He'd played there as a kid,
climbing back under it and digging holes down into the damp, soft
earth, as kids have always done. He'd been by there since, and it had
remained unchanged.
Sooner or later, the aliens would locate them. But it would give Ellen
and him a chance to rest--perhaps long enough for him to waylay
someone at night and steal enough for them to leave town. That
wouldn't be much help--but it was all he had left to count on.
He saw trucks loading there, as he paid the cab-driver. His heart sank
abruptly, until he studied the way the big trailer was parked. If he
watched carefully, he could slip under it from the side, and there was
a chance he wouldn't be seen.
He darted beneath it.
Luck, for once was with him as he drew Ellen under the trailer and the
platform. The old opening was covered with rubble, but he scraped it
aside, and found an entrance barely big enough for them to wiggle
through. Then they were back in a dark pocket under the back of the
platform, barely big enough for them to sit upright. The hole had
seemed bigger when he was a kid.
Outside, he heard a boy's voice yelling. "Monster attacks cops!
Monster kills five cops! Extra Paper!"
Now he was a monster, to be shot on sight, probably.
"I shouldn't have brought you into this, Ellen," he said bitterly. "I
should have left you. You don't even know what's going on--you haven't
the faintest idea. If it were just humans, as you think...."
She snuggled against him in the coldness of the little cave. "Shh. I
got you into it. I--I ratted on you, Scarface!"
* * * * *
But he couldn't reply to her attempt at humor. There was no fear
now--not even the relief of fear. He'd felt brave for a few minutes,
back in the hallway of the apartment. Now the chips were down, and
sunk. They were here, in a dank hole, without food, and without a
chance, while all the world searched for him to kill him--and while
still-unknown aliens with unknown reasons played out their little game
with consummate skill that would inevitably locate him.
It might take them a day--they probably would do nothing to him until
night came, and the warehouse street was deserted! Ten more hours!
If he only knew what they wanted of him, or why! If he could remember!
He sat there, numbed within himself. Ellen leaned her head forward
onto his lap, and he began stroking her hair softly. He'd have liked
to have had a chance with her. One night wasn't enough for a whole
life. He reached down to draw her face to his....
Fear hit him, as something rustled behind him. He tried to turn and
look, but his neck refused. The fear grew to panic, and swelled higher
as the golden haze began to spread over the little cave. Then his
muscles snapped his head around sharply. The slim young man was
crawling toward them, holding something that looked like a flashlight.
Behind it, he could see the tense lips drawn back over clenched teeth.
The man wasn't smiling now. He opened his mouth, just as the thing
like a flashlight sprang into light.
No time seemed to elapse, but suddenly Ellen and the young man were
both gone, and he sat in the dark hole, alone. He let out an animal
cry, and dashed out, crawling through the opening, and kicking the
rubble back as he went. He slipped out, and under the trailer. But
there was no sign. They'd taken her, and left him unconscious!
He groaned, trying to figure. He'd always gone back to the same place
to hide, since he'd found it. They must expect him back there. They'd
take Ellen there and wait for him, drugging her, changing her mind,
setting her up to use against him. The first time hadn't worked, but
they'd try it again. It had to be that. If they hadn't taken her
there, he had no way of finding her, and he had to find her.
He began running down the street, forcing himself to believe she was
there. Then he slowed. It would do no good to have them all notice
him, here on the street. Someone might recognize him then. He turned
around, walking back to the bus stop. There were still two dimes and a
nickel in his pocket.
* * * * *
He hunched down on the seat of the bus that seemed to crawl up Tenth
Avenue. But no one noticed him in the almost empty vehicle. He got off
at Sixty-Sixth and forced himself to walk to West End, up that to the
apartment-house.
Men were drawing up in cars--men with guns in their hands. He made a
final dash for the apartment entrance. This must be the real show--for
which the other had been only a dress rehearsal to throw him off
balance. They could wait.
He fumbled with the lock, until he finally got it open. Then he jumped
in, slamming the door shut behind him. Ellen stood there, and the
creature that had assaulted him before was pawing at her. But he had
no time for the monster.
"Stay there!" he shouted at her. "You can't risk it outside now! We've
got to--"
He saw she wasn't listening to him. He had to get rid of the creature
somehow, if he could get it far enough away from her. Then they'd find
some way to get outside, without going out through the entrance.
The creature sprang at him awkwardly. His arm darted down to catch one
shoulder, and his right hand swung back and up. There was a savage
satisfaction in seeing the creature crumple.