The stream swept through the space
occupied by the fugitive. It leaped convulsively and crashed to earth.
It kicked blindly.
Cochrane swore. Between the instant of the beginning of the creature's
flight and this instant, less than two seconds had passed.
The threads which were smoke-trails drifted away. Then a new thread
streaked out. Johnny Simms fired once more at his still-writhing victim.
It kicked violently and was still.
Holden turned angrily. There seemed to be shoutings between him and
Johnny Simms. Then Holden trudged around the reed-patch. There was no
longer any sign of life in the still shape on the ground. But it was
normal precaution not to walk into a jungle-like thicket in which
unknown, large living things had recently been sighted. Johnny Simms
fired again and again from his post in the airlock. The smoke which
traced his bullets ranged to the woodland. He shot at imagined targets
there. He fired at his previous victim simply because it was something
to shoot at. He shot recklessly, foolishly.
Alicia, his wife, touched Jamison on the arm and spoke to him urgently.
Jamison followed her reluctantly down the stairs.
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