A dull grinding roar rose from everywhere below Art as he crossed the city. Clouds of dust billowed up as the huge pyramids fell in upon themselves piece by piece. He saw now the grimly effective way in which the creatures did their job. As long as there was one piece left standing on another, they would bore and chew until it was reduced to fragments. Blind instinct, rather than malice, seemed to impel them. But the effect was equally devastating. Art saw scores of people wiped out by falling wreckage when the rapidly shuttling overloaded fliers failed to remove them in time. He saw one man, trapped amidst a mass of the writhing horrors, make a sudden dash for freedom, and go down screaming in agony as dozens of savage jaws instantly fastened themselves in his flesh. Art shuddered. Something had to be done to stop this carnage. * * * * * By the time he sighted the commissioner's flier atop the silver pyramid of the Civic Center, he had evolved the rudiments of a plan. He wasted no time on amenities as he met the police chief, but came to the point immediately. "Here's my idea of it, Horne. Los Angeles as a city is doomed. But I think we can save most of the people who are still here." "How about those disintegrators?" cut in Horne. The disintegrator, being still in the experimental stage, was dynamite in the hands of the untrained. The terrific atomic explosions it set up were uncontrollable and unpredictable. Only the most highly respected and trusted scientists were even allowed to handle one. Horne nursed an idea that all his patrolmen should have been issued one to pack on their hips, and that if they had, this would never have happened. "I have a couple with me. We can use them, but we'll have to be extremely careful. My main proposal is to get to San Francisco, Los Vegas, and all the other principal cities around here organized. Have them send millions of civilian fliers. Did you ever hear of the battle of Dunkirk in World War II? The British saved their army to fight again another day, just in that manner." "Do you suppose I haven't thought of that?" snapped the chief. "I've already asked them. They're afraid to come. Only a few ships have trickled in." "We've got to convince them that it's safe for a flier," insisted Art. "Show them on the televisor--send your patrolmen out to explain--anything!" "All right," agreed Horne. "We'll try it. But I don't believe we can get them all out in time even so. Do you know that there are ten million people out in the poorer residential section, very few of whom own a flier, who depend on the public surface cars for their transportation? Central Power is dead--not a car moves in the city. My patrolmen have been out in La Brea six hours, trying to find an avenue of escape, through which they can lead those people out on foot. Every time they run into a new growth of these--these damnable monsters, and have to start all over again."