The Flying Eyes. J. Hunter Holly
and knees.
To his right, a woman went down, sprawling against the retreating legs of the people before her.
“Help me!” she cried, and her arms flailed upward to Linc.
He grabbed for her, but a shove from behind sent him forward and his hand barely brushed hers. Then she was behind him, still crying for help. The crowd closed over her. Her head dashed forward under the impact of a foot, and he couldn’t see her any more.
Everywhere people were being trampled; men ran with their children held high over their heads to keep them from the pounding feet.
He saw the arches of the stadium supports and knew freedom lay that way. He rammed up to the gateway, stopped a moment to make sure Kelly and Wes were with him, and when he tried to move, the fat stomach of a giant man barreled into him.
“Get out of the way!” the man cursed, and an elbow crashed against Linc’s head and he was thrown off balance. He went down to one knee. A foot landed on his bent leg and pain shot up his thigh. He toppled forward, scrambling to catch hold of something before he was ground to pulp beneath the mass of running feet. Kelly’s hand was strong, holding him up from behind, and then Wes’ arm was under his shoulder and was lifting him forward, through the gate. When he regained his feet, he never broke pace.
Everyone was running under the blue sky. The crowd thinned, but the speed of it was a headlong flight aimed at the parked cars. Wes was even with him now, and together they pulled Kelly along, dashing for the red bulk of his car. He pulled the door open and shoved Kelly into the back, then got under the wheel. The engine started without a miss, but there was nowhere to go. Traffic was piled up before him. A parked car blocked him from the rear, and a Linc of honking, roaring cars defied his escape forward.
He craned around, and as he looked toward the stadium, he saw a double line of people, calmly walking in the center of the crazed flight of the rest. They walked as though they didn’t see the terror, didn’t share it, or care about it. Beside them, people ran and fell; above them, men who had tried to climb down the outside of the stadium walls tumbled howling onto the cement; but the marchers looked neither left nor right. They simply walked.
Over the stadium, a shape appeared, and a great Eye came sailing over the wall, down the line of people, clearing their heads by inches, and fell into place before them. It hovered there and moved along backward, leading them in their strange march, through the parking lot, toward the river, then turned to move parallel to the water. The people followed, and the parking lot suddenly heaved as cars, despite the lack of room, roared forward. The crunch of metal on metal and the breaking of glass were added to the frantic blast of horns.
Linc couldn’t sit still any longer. The panic around him fed his own, and he put the car into reverse and rammed into the one parked behind him, pushing it back. He maneuvered forward again, then back, until there was room for him to move into a lane comparatively free of cars. He swerved in and out, taking chances he knew he couldn’t afford, but making each one pay.
As he neared the river, the cars creeping ahead of him were a slow-running snake. Then the one directly before him stopped. The doors opened and two people emerged, their faces free of panic, their bodies almost limp. They left the car doors open and walked off at a slow pace toward the river, where the two Eyes had taken up hovering positions. More cars stopped, and more people crawled out to join the strange march. The abandoned cars blocked traffic, but there was only one between Linc and freedom. The rest of his particular Linc had gained the road.
“I’ll get it,” Wes shouted and jumped out. He ran forward and leaned in the driver’s side of the other car, turned the wheel, and motioned for Linc to push. Linc edged up, gave it a firm shove, and it wheeled off to the side. He stepped hard on the accelerator and raced for the clear space. He paused for Wes, then took off at full speed for the road, heading away from the river.
The river route was the shorter into town, but he had seen what was happening down there. The dead-marching people were crossing the road, and cars were backed up waiting for a passage through that never came. The people paid no attention to honkings or shouts. One car raced through them, knocking down six people and running them over, but others filled their places.
“I’m turning off to take side streets home,” Linc said. “Everybody else will want to stay on the main route.”
At the first side street, he blasted his horn and cut recklessly across the path of the oncoming cars. His tires squealed as he took the corner at seventy, but he beat the nearest car by a taillight and the street ahead of him was clear.
He sped past houses where people had come onto their porches to investigate the noises coming from the stadium. It wouldn’t be long before the question on their faces would turn to panic, too. Home seemed the only safety in the world, and he had to reach it before his hard-pressed sanity revolted and fled to a safety of its own.
CHAPTER TWO
The white frame house the lab had rented and then given to Wes and Linc, stood on a quiet street, shaded by elms and maples. But the peace that usually comforted Linc when he saw it wasn’t there today. It no longer looked like home. Now it was simply a refuge.
He wheeled the car into the drive, and with Wes’ help, got Kelly into the house. She was trembling, her slim body alive with fear. She made no sound except a rapid gasping for breath.
They sat her down on the couch, and Linc poured a brandy, holding it to her lips and helping her drink. Wes watched anxiously until she began to sob, then he simply sat down and patted the head of his spotted, mongrel dog.
“Do you want a drink?” Linc asked him.
Wes shook his head.
“Well, I do.” He swallowed the rest of Kelly’s brandy, embarrassed at the tremor of his own hands. He circled her with one arm. “Please, Kelly. It’s all right now.” He looked to Wes. “What shall I do with her?”
“Let her cry it out,” Wes said. “It’s the best way.” He stood up and headed out of the room, the dog walking beside him.
“Where are you going?” Linc called.
“To feed Ichabod. His supper is overdue and he has a hungry look. Haven’t you, old fellow?”
The dog lopped out his tongue and whined under his breath. “See?” Wes smiled. “He agrees.”
Linc watched him go helplessly. Wes invariably turned to his dog for comfort, carrying on one-sided conversations with the mongrel. Linc had never cared much for the animal. The energy Wes spent on him seemed a waste.
“Kelly?” he asked, and turned her face up to his own.
She looked like a frightened child, her green eyes red-rimmed.
“Where’s the old Irish?” he asked her. “Come on, honey, take a deep breath and pull yourself together.”
“Give her a few minutes,” Wes called from the kitchen. “We all need a chance to calm down.”
“But we can’t waste time rallying our nerves,” Linc protested. “We’ve got to find out what’s happening and make plans.”
“What plans?” Kelly cried. “What were those things, Linc? What were they doing to those people? Did you see them? They walked as though they were dead.”
She broke off shivering, and Linc left her, unable to bear the impatience of listening to her cry, while incapable of doing anything about it.
“Let’s get some news,” he growled, and snapped on the radio.
Ichabod waddled back into the room, and Wes followed, to resume patting the dog’s head. A lethargy had settled over him, and Linc felt suddenly alone. Kelly was hysterical, Wes was numb, and he was alone with the terrible need for action.
The radio sputtered to life with the frantic voice of an announcer:
“…and people are following them—where, no one knows—why, no one knows. They just follow. The