He shifted his cramped legs and peered down through the interstices of the foliage at the gray shape of the hunter. Some of his initial terror had left him when he'd finally realized that they couldn't see through leaves any more than he could; that They, as well as he, needed an open target in order to make a kill. So he was relatively safe in the tree--for a while, at least. Perhaps he could find safety in trees for the rest of his life. Trees might be the answer. He felt a little better. A portion of the fear that had followed the meteor shower was still with him, however. The fear that had detonated in his mind the morning after the shower when Pa had come running to the barn, shouting: "The cities! All the cities have been blowed up! They ain't no more cities in the whole world. Radio just said so 'fore it went dead. We're bein' invaded!" _Invaded?_ Invaded by whom? He hadn't been able to grasp it at first. At first he'd thought Russia, and then he'd thought, no, it couldn't be Russia. Pa had said _all_ the cities. All the cities in the whole wide world. And then he'd begun to see the people on the road. The terrified people, the walking, running, stumbling people heading for the hills--the hills and the forests, the hiding places that ships couldn't see, that bombs couldn't find. But that hunters could. Hunters hunting with incredible silver guns, skimming along the roads to the hills and the forests in fantastic vehicles, alighting by roadsides and lumbering across fields to timber stands; routing out the people from elms and oaks and maples and locusts and even sumac, flushing them out like rabbits and shooting them down in cold blood with blinding shards of bullets. He had run when he'd seen the first vehicle. He'd run wildly for the woods. He'd forgotten Pa and Ma. He'd even forgotten his gun. He'd been scared. Crazy-scared. What did They want to kill people for? What was wrong with people? He shivered on the limb, in the chill morning wind that had sprung up after the first frost of the season. Martians, he'd bet. Martians landing on Earth and wanting everything for Themselves, afraid to let people live for fear _they'd_ get some. Greedy Martians, trying to hog the whole world! The gray shape below him moved slightly and his terror broke out afresh. The hunter appeared to be reclining against the trunk of a nearby tree, its gleaming weapon resting on its huge tentacular legs. Waiting. For an irrational moment he considered climbing down and approaching it, getting down on his knees and begging it for mercy. But he'd only be wasting his time. He realized that right away. He knew he'd see no pity in those cold inhuman eyes. He knew he'd see nothing but death. The trees were the only answer. The trees with their friendly screens of foliage, their lofty leafy hiding places. By living in the trees a shrewd man might be able to elude the hunters forever. If he was careful. If he never let himself be seen.