"We've got to know what it is," cried Norman. "If it's the blight, and
it leaves only one plant man alive, he's still master of every one
of us." He paused, bit his lip, said, "Koal, issue the green suits
to a select force. Have them ready to storm the hill. I'm going to
reconnoitre the force wall."
"Watch your step," the Martian cautioned. "This may be a trap." He
turned on his heel, left the apartment.
"Norman," said Jennifer looking utterly miserable, "do be careful."
He kissed her, said, "I will," and started for the door. A heady
excitement was pounding in his blood.
From the apartment he drove to the gate in the force wall.
Two parallel lines of yellow intersected the silver track at right
angles and indicated the segment which could be shut off. Just within
the wall he saw a small cage like a switchman's shack on a railroad.
But the plant man who operated the gate was not there.
He frowned, swept the hill above with his eyes. Not a figure stirred on
any of the airy balconies. Nothing moved in the streets. The city of
the Dohlmites was a ghost town.
A feeling that he was being watched made his heart beat faster.
He caught his breath. For a moment he thought he had detected a faint
movement in one of the doorways. Was this a trap after all? Minutes
slipped past but the movement was not repeated. The high noon sun beat
down on the empty street.
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.