There was no obvious shelter in sight, notrees, no convenient ruins. The Martians had come, and humanity was aconquered race, but life continued. By the Toils of the Tortugas! Grasping John bellowed from the foredeck, his cloak a-flap inthe rising breeze. He gave a little head-shake, silently saying_don't worry about it_.
_What did I do, God?_ A wind came down on him. A crack-dweller. to thumb their noses at the Great Eraser himself--Death,the black vacuum into which all life was inevitably sucked. _Her_ voice--the voice of the bird-woman in his dreams--had spoken to him through theNeandertal child and told him what to do.
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