"I am to keep you from escaping," Kramer said flatly. "Put the knife away, Jim Reese." Reese glanced past Kramer and saw moving figures--colonists, coming toward him. He recognized them but still there was something unfamiliar about them. They moved stiffly. _Like so many zombies_, Reese thought. Sweat poured down his body. He didn't want to hurt Kramer, not even the strangely-possessed Kramer before him. Stooping quickly, he picked up a handful of the soft, warm _Damballa_ mud and hurled it into Kramer's face. The big man, blinded, spat out mouthfuls of mud. Reese turned and ran. "After him!" Kramer rumbled. "He's getting away!" Reese heard a dozen pairs of feet behind him. He dodged back into the jungle, felt a slimy trailer of vine slap across his face and plunged into a swampy morass covered over with quivering _chulla_-ferns. * * * * * He crouched there for five minutes, ten, listening while the colonists thrashed about searching for him. He felt chilled despite the tropical warmth of the forest. Who was this Tersen? And what had he done to the people of Colony Eight? To Lois...? He had to find out. Somehow, while he had been gone, Tersen had seized control of the minds and bodies of his friends and fellow colonists. He heard their voices--steely, unreal. "Any sign of him?" "No. He has vanished." "Dr. Tersen will punish us. We must find him." "He has a knife. We must be careful." "No. Dr. Tersen said to capture him even at the cost of our lives." Reese shuddered. He recognized those voices, or thought he did. Abel Lester, Dick Fredrics, Chuck Hylan--men he had worked with and known for years. Hunting him now, as if he were some wild _thruuv_ needed to serve as food for the colony. Someone passed within three feet of his hiding place and moved on. Reese was bathed in his own sweat. If he could only stay hidden until they went away, then sneak back into the Colony and find out what had happened, find out if Lois was all right-- A needle of pain shot up his leg. He gasped and tried to keep from screaming. Another bright bolt of agony. Another. Needleworms! Boring up from the mucky depths of the swamp and penetrating the soles of his boots! He cursed. The damnable creatures were everywhere. He went into a little dance, trying to avoid their keen snouts, but there were dozens of them, sensing a juicy meal. If he stayed here any longer he'd be slowly eaten to death. Clutching his knife tightly he edged out of his shelter, looking around. There was no one in sight; the searchers were beating through the underbrush up ahead. He moved on tiptoe back toward the village. And suddenly the thick corded arms of Lloyd Kramer shot around him from behind, pinioning him in an unbreakable grip. The knife dropped from his hands. "All right!" Kramer called. "I've got him! Let's go back now." * * * * *