Chapter VIII

Hawkes leaned forward cautiously as the gray sedan moved up Tenth Avenue. His finger found the gun in Dan’s coat pocket; and he pulled it out stealthily.

He knew that the only answer for him was suicide. He had to destroy himself, since no one else could!

He propped it up, pointing at his head, and his thumb pressed back on the trigger, further and further, until he felt sure the smallest change would set it off. Then he waited for the rough spot in the street or the sudden stop at a light that would do the trick before he could stop it.

The car lurched--and the gun suddenly vanished, leaving his hand empty.

His responses were too quick--and his mind wasn’t waiting, once it knew there was danger. He slumped back on the rear seat, trying to think. Drugs were out--he knew his system could throw them off.

But he couldn’t remove himself!

He lifted his wrist--to his teeth, and bit down savagely. If he could sever an artery ... Pain shot through him, and he stared down at the blood.

Then the blood was gone, and the wound was closing before his eyes, until only smooth flesh remained. His mind could juggle the cells back into their original form.

It would have to be sudden, complete death.

And no death was that sudden! For a fraction of a second, there’d be life left--and during that split second, the damage would be repaired, or he would be shifted from danger.

There was no way out--unless he could pull himself to another planet, or throw himself back into the dim past. But that would take voluntary control, and he knew now that hours of effort had shown him how impossible that was. He hadn’t been able to lift a crumb of bread from the table deliberately, in his original tests after he had treated himself.

He was faced with a problem that had to be solved--and there was no possible solution that he could find.

No man could face that dilemma forever without going insane. Hawkes shuddered, trying to picture what would happen if he went mad, and the wild talents began operating at every whim of his crazed mind!

Ellen shouted suddenly, grabbing for the wheel. Hawkes felt himself tense, and began lifting from the seat of the car. But there was no visible danger, and Dan was slowing to a halt at the curb, Hawkes’ body dropped back slowly.

“Dan,” Ellen was whispering hoarsely. “Dan, we can’t. If we take him back, they’ll find him, and they’ll know what he can do. They’ll kill him. Eventually, they’ll kill Will!”

Hawkes started to protest, but Dan’s words cut him short.

“You’re right, Sis. They’ll wait their time, until he won’t know when to expect it--and then they’ll drop an H-bomb on him, if they have to. That’s faster than any nerve impulse!”

He swung back to face Hawkes, reaching for the door of the car. “Get out, Will--and get as far away as you can. I’m not going to drive you to your death. They’ll get you eventually, but I won’t be the one to make it easier for them!”

Hawkes jerked. The old fear came back suddenly.

You can’t escape! They’ll get you. Run! GO!

He screamed, as the golden haze flickered again. He could wipe out the Earth, but he couldn’t survive, then. He could move back in time, but it would only mean other dangers--no man could stay awake forever, and he was used to civilized living.

The haze hesitated, while the sense of danger mounted. Then it was gone, as if the beast in his head had found no answer.

Suddenly the gray sedan lifted again, to a height of fifty feet above the tallest building. It shot forward, hesitated, and came down softly on a deserted side-road in Central Park.

His mind felt as if it were going to split. Dan and Ellen stared at him speechlessly.

_You can’t survive alone! No power is enough by itself! They’ll get you! You are your own death-sentence! RUN! DON’T RUN!_

Hawkes put his hand to his splitting skull, trying to force words through the agonies of pain, while slow understanding began to reach him.

“Dan! The scientists ... get me there!”

Then his mind seemed to clamp down on itself, and he was unconscious. He could protect himself from almost anything--except his own brain!

He was conscious of no pain, but only of irritation. There was a needle in his arm, and he removed it!

He opened his eyes slowly, to find himself the center of a group of men, while a white-clothed doctor stood staring at an empty hand that must have held a hypodermic.

Ellen cried out suddenly, and ran to him, cradling his head in her hands. He found her arm with his own hand, and stroked it slowly.

“You’ve found the answer?” he asked. Then he nodded, while the weight that had lain on him so long began to lift. His voice was suddenly positive. “You found it!”