Side by side, Tom and Randi trudged across the black sand in the blistering heat. Breathing scalded their lungs; motion was agony; but they moved on in unremitting flight. Tom knew nothing else to do. Fleeing was all he had done as long as he had existed…
Her eyes smarting, Randi peered ahead. The ground was becoming gradually steeper. A short distance directly before them the desert pouted up in a circular ridge — as if its white-pimpled black face had been scarred by a gigantic pockmark. A saddle broke the near rim.
Exhausted, wanting to avoid the climb to the ridge ahead, Tom angled away from the rise.
He stopped.
He listened, staring dully out over the emptiness.
From the distance in the direction he was headed, the faint droning sound of motor vehicles toiling through the soft sand and ash in low gear came rolling ominously across the desert.
The monsters were coming for him.
Fright and anger and dismay darkened his sun-tortured face. He turned and started off in the opposite direction, quickening his steps.
They had gone only a short distance — away from the oncoming demon growls — when Tom again stopped dead.
Ahead of him the muffled noise of more engines laboring across the sand rose with the shimmering heat.
For a moment he stood frozen in indecision, his mind numbed with fatigue. He touched the fresh wound in his side. It pained him with every step he took. In his mind the torment was conclusively associated with the grating, growling monsters and the creatures with their lightning flashes of roaring sound.
With growing alarm he looked back, aware of the motor sounds behind him. And now in front of him as well. The monsters were closing in on him from both sides, persisting in their relentless pursuit.
He glanced at the ridge ahead and turned away. He grabbed Randi by the arm and urged her on — back toward the foothills from which they'd come…
They had gone only a few steps when Randi sank to her knees. She turned up her face to look at Tom, beseeching him with tear-misted eyes. “Please, Tom,” she whispered. “No more… Please let them get to us… help us… Please.”
He watched her. He did not know what she was saying, but he knew her anguish. He thought that fear of the terrible demons after them had taken her.
With deep anxiety he listened to the droning clatter of the monsters moving in from both sides, and his own dread grew. Doggedly he yanked Randi to her feet. He pushed her on. They must flee. Flee from the creatures that roared terror and hurled out pain.
And he heard it.
The deep-throated rumble of still more demons bearing down on them — this time from straight ahead.
Desperately he looked around, straining to see his enemies.
And he saw them. Steadily crawling toward him across the black expanse. More than he had ever seen before — the growling menace of unrelenting encirclement from all sides. Except one.
The ridge rising from the black desert floor.
Suddenly a new, piercing sound shocked remembered terror in his mind. The strident, raucous blast of a horn rang out sharply over the sand. As if in answer, eager for the hunt, the blaring horn was taken up by others all around him, blowing discordantly, filling the air with a penetrating din that reverberated through the world.
In terror, he turned away. Dragging Randi along, he began a stumbling, shuffling half-run toward the only way left free to them by the threatening monsters.
The crater ridge.
They hobbled on.
A sudden fear chilled him.
With icy dread he gazed up at his old enemy — the searing, incandescent disk high above. Was it, too, hurtling down to chase him? As before? Would it reach him this time? Engulf him with agony? He increased his effort to run. His feet were leaden. They scuffed little grooves in the black sand as he dragged them forward, unable to lift them free.
The ridge was rising under his feet. Pulling Randi along, he headed for the break that stood out on the crater rim like a giant's thumbprint in a pie crust.
Slowly the ring of vehicles lumbering across the desert herded the two fugitives toward the saddle in the rim of the little crater. Air Force scouts, EST “six-packs,” National Guard trucks, Ranger pick-ups and jeeps converged on the slope.
Paul stood in his scout in the center group of vehicles approaching from the foothills. He raised his arm and pumped it up and down.
Gradually his scout, driven by Hays, pulled ahead of the group — followed by a second.
From each of the groups on his left and right two vehicles pulled out. The six of them formed a semicircle, steadily driving Tom and Randi toward the break in the crater rim…
The shrill ring of the telephone standing next to her elbow made her jump. She picked it up.
“Chief Ranger Stark's office,” she said. “Debbi speaking.”
The voice on the phone made her sit up.
“This is FBI Agent-in-Charge Irwin Buter.” it said crisply, “May I speak to Colonel Jonathan Howell? It's important.”
“I'm sorry, sir,” she said. “Colonel Howell is not here.”
“Is Captain Jarman available? Captain Paul Jarman?”
“No, sir,” she said regretfully. “Everyone's gone. Chief Ranger Stark, too. There's nobody here right now.”
“How soon can you contact Colonel Howell?” Buter asked. “It's extremely urgent.”
“I–I don't know.” She bit her lip. “I think radio communication is possible. I'll try to find out.”
“Please. Contact him as soon as possible. Tell him to call me at once. At the FBI office in Los Angeles. Agent-in-Charge Irwin Buter. It's vitally urgent. Have him ask for Operator 77.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “Operator 77.” She was getting excited. “Is there any message I may give Colonel Howell?”
There was a moment's pause. “Tell him we checked the list of names he gave us,” Buter said. “Tell him my men are on their way up there.” He paused again. He continued tightly. “Tell him I have some urgent information about one of the names on his list.”
Debbi ran from the office to the Visitors Center. What she had said was true. Everyone — or nearly everyone — was away from the Headquarters Building. It was out of season and the center was all but deserted. Only one Ranger was on duty. Perhaps he could be of help. He would know how to operate the radio transmitter. She knew there was a transmitter somewhere around, but she wasn't familiar with it — didn't, in fact, even know where it was. After all, she was only filling in for two weeks while the Chief Ranger's regular secretary was away on vacation.
The ranger station in the Visitors Center was deserted. There was no one around.
She glanced at her watch. Lunchtime. The man would be eating somewhere. Should she run out and try to find him? No. She might easily miss him. And she would be gone if he returned. She'd wait for him right here at his station… No. That way she'd miss any possible telephone communications coming into the office. She looked around. She found a crayon under the Ranger-station counter. She pulled a large poster from the wall and in big letters wrote on the back of it: COME SEE ME IN CHIEF RANGER STARK'S OFFICE. URGENT! She signed it: DEBBI, and propped it up on the Ranger's chair. She ran back to the office.
She wondered what it was the FBI agent so urgently wanted to tell Colonel Howell.
Whatever it was, she loved being part of it…
Stumbling with exertion, Tom and Randi crested the saddle and started down the slope into the crater itself. Slipping, sliding, they staggered down the incline until, utterly spent, they reached the hard, flat bottom.