Jake and Lou shoved him through the doors into
the tractor and Doc yanked off his aspirator.
The man was giving vent to a kind of ululating cry, weakened now almost
to a whine that rose and fell with the motion of his legs. Sweat had
once streaked his haggard face, but it was dry and blanched to a pasty
gray.
Doc injected enough narcotic to quiet a maddened bull. It had no effect,
except to upset the rhythm of the arms and legs. It took five more
minutes for the man to die.
The specks were larger this time--the size of periods in twelve-point
type. The lump at the base of the skull was as big as a small hen's egg.
"From Edison, like the others so far. Jack Kooley," Jake answered Doc's
question. "Durwood spent a lot of time here on his first expedition, so
it's getting the worst of it."
Doc pulled the aspirator mask back over the man's face and they carried
him out and laid him on a low dune. They couldn't risk returning the
corpse to its people.
This was only the primary circle of infection, direct from Durwood. The
second circle could be ten times as large, as the infection spread from
one to a few to many. So far it was localized. But it wouldn't stay that
way.
Doc climbed slowly out of the tractor, lugging his small supplies of
equipment, while Jake made arrangements for them to spend the night in a
deserted house.
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