The rain was turning heavier now, turning chill, soaking through their own burnt and tattered clothes. It was relentless, that rain, almost as if it were bent upon breaking the spirit of man as the shadow-things were rending and tearing the flesh. The two limped on alone, ahead of the advancing shadow line. They walked alone through death and destruction as man's promise and hope darkened. We're walking toward the end of our world, Wing thought. We'll soon be nothing but dust motes kicked up by the tread of a new, more powerful race. The hell of it is, we're not even fighting back. Why, he thought in amazement, we're not even trying any more. "Dead-Eye," he asked suddenly. "What are we running away for?" Dead-Eye's slumped figure straightened suddenly. "Gee, Cap, I was wondering when you'd begin wondering about that. You ain't been acting natural at all. We never ran away from a fight before. Let's go knock 'em dead right now, huh, Cap?" Wing looked at Elizabeth, strapped snugly to Dead-Eye's left hip, then at his own two empty bandaged hands. "Well, Dead-Eye, here, as your owlhoot pard would say, 'here goes nuttin'." Not for many days had Curt Wing felt such a sense of peace and relief as he did that moment when he turned back toward the unknown and implacable enemy. Deep inside he was chuckling. It was silly for the two of them to march against the shadows. Silly, sure, his proud spirit admitted, but wasn't that the way of man? Wasn't it man's way to thumb his nose at impossibilities and forge ahead? It wasn't a matter of winning, really, but having the guts to go ahead and try. Dead-Eye snapped open the cylinder of his powder gun, observed candidly: "I hope I don't get rattled again and try to shoot my toes off. Those six slugs jerked out of Elizabeth so fast before that there explosion I couldn't even control her at all." They moved back deeper into hell. All around them buildings, trees, streets and sidewalks were being flung about as the power of the shadows smashed. The rain was coming down in torrents now, and the two of them could barely see a few feet ahead. But always they knew where the shadows were--the slashing bolts pointed them out unerringly. They were very close to that unseen line of shadows. The thunder of those bolts was rending the air and mixing in the fresh smell of ozone with the pall of smoke and putrid smells which even the driving rain could not beat to earth. Suddenly, Wing and Dead-Eye stopped. It was as if they had walked into a solid wall. But this wall was different. It pushed them backward easily, although they strove to move ahead. * * * * * "A harmless force wall," Wing said in answer to Dead-Eye's query. "But we can't get through. There goes our grand gesture, Dead-Eye. We can hardly thumb our noses while we're being pushed backward."