"And how! Those inner stalks drop a new batch of seeds every five minutes or so. Presto!--a flock of new plants spring up ten feet from the first; dozens of them for every pod that drops. You know how geometrical progression works out. They'll cover the whole country--the whole world. Lord!" "Man alive, this is terrible! I hadn't thought of that before. What'll we do?" "Yeah, that's the question: what can we do?" Van started his motor and jerked the car to the road. "First off, we're going to get away from here--fast!" Bart gripped his arm as he shifted into second gear. "Look, Van!" he babbled. "They're out of the woods already. Loose! The red snakes are loose from their stalks. They're alive, I tell you!" It was true. Several of the slimy red things were wriggling their way over the macadam like great earthworms, but moving with the speed of hurrying pedestrians. Free, and untrammeled by the roots and stems of the mother plants, they had set forth on their own in the search for beings of flesh and blood to destroy. Millions of their kind would follow; billions! In sudden panic Van stepped on the gas. * * * * * Fifteen minutes later, with shrieking siren, a motorcycle drew alongside and forced them to the curb. "Where's the fire?" the sarcastic voice of a stern-visaged officer demanded, when Van had brought his car to a screeching stop. Seventy-five, the speedometer had read but a moment before. "It's life and death, officer," Van started to explain. "We must get to the proper officials to warn the--" "Aw, tell it to the judge! Come on now, follow me." "But officer, there's death on its way from the hills, I tell you. Red, creeping things that'll be here in a couple of hours--" "Get away, from that wheel. I'll drive you in meself. You're fulla applejack." Bart had opened the door on his side and was limping his way around the back of the car. This was serious. They had to get away; had to spread the word in a way that would be believed before it was too late. The officer was tugging at Van's arm, astonishment and black rage showing in his weather-beaten countenance. Speeding, drunk, resisting an officer--they'd never get out of this mess! A swift uppercut interrupted the proceedings. Bart's leg was numb and stiff, but his good right arm was working smoothly and with all its old time precision. His second punch was a haymaker. With his full weight behind it, it drove straight to the chin and stretched the officer on the concrete. Thoughtfully, Bart removed his pistol from its holster before scrambling in at Van's side. "Boy, now we're in for it!" he gasped. "And we might as well make a good job while we're at it." Van let in his clutch with a jerk, and again they were breaking all traffic regulations. * * * * *