CHAPTER 18
Ross fought to break that hold, to turn his head, to face the peril
which crept upon him now. Unlike anything he had ever met before in his
short lifetime, it could only have come from some alien source. This
strange encounter was a battle of will against will! The same rebellion
against authority which had ruled his boyhood, which had pushed him into
the orbit of the project, stiffened him to meet this attack.
He was going to turn his head; he was going to see who stood there. He
_was_! Inch by inch, Ross's head came around, though sweat stung his
seared and bitten flesh, and every breath was an effort. He caught a
half glimpse of the beach behind the rocks, and the stretch of sand was
empty. Overhead the birds were gone--as if they had never existed. Or,
as if they had been swept away by some impatient fighter, who wanted no
distractions from the purpose at hand.
Having successfully turned his head, Ross decided to turn his body. His
left hand went out, slowly, as if it moved some great weight.
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