Then the rain came.  The lightning increased.  The road twisted and turned.  Twice the car veered off onto the road’s shoulders, but each time he righted it.  As time passed conditions grew worse.  It was urgent that he get as far as possible from Serena, because of the Wild Life truck which could seize Jill and himself if its beam generators were repaired, and whose occupants could murder them if they weren’t.  But it was most urgent that he get away beyond the military cordon to find men who would listen to his information and see that use was made of it.  Yet in driving rain and darkness, without car lights and daring to drive only at a crawl, he might be completely turned around.

“I think,” he said at last, “I’ll turn in at the next farm gate the lightning shows us.  I’ll try to get the car into a barn so it won’t show up at daybreak.  We might be heading straight back into the Park!”

He did turn, the next time a lightning flash showed him a turn-off beside a rural free delivery mailbox.  There was a house at the end of a lane.  There was a barn.  He got out and was soaked instantly, but he explored the open space behind the wide, open doors.  He backed the car in.

“So,” he explained to Jill, “if we have a chance to move we won’t have to back around first.”

They sat in the car and looked out at the rain-filled darkness.  There was no light anywhere except when lightning glittered on the rain.  In such illuminations they made out the farmhouse, dripping floods of water from its eaves.  There was a chicken house.  There were fences.  They could not see to the gate or the highway through the falling water, but there had been solid woodland where they turned off into the lane.

“We’ll wait,” said Lockley distastefully, “to see if we are in a tight spot in the morning.  If we’re well away—­and I’ve no real idea where we are—­we’ll go on.  If not, we’ll hide till dark and hope for stars to steer by when we go.”

Jill said confidently, “We’ll make it.  But where to?”

“To any place away from Boulder Lake Park, and where I’m a human being instead of a crackpot civilian.  To where I can explain some things to people who’ll listen, if it isn’t too late.”

“It’s not,” said Jill with as much assurance as before.

There was a pause.  The rain poured down.  Lightning flashed.  Thunder roared.

“I didn’t know,” said Jill tentatively, “that you believed the invaders—­the monsters—­had people helping them.”

“The overall picture isn’t a human one,” he told her.  “But there’s a design that shows somebody knows us.  For instance, nobody’s been killed.  At least not publicly.  That was arranged by somebody who understood that if there was a massacre, we’d fight to the end of our lives and teach our children to fight after us.”

She thought it over.  “You’d be that way,” she said presently.  “But not everybody.  Some people will do anything to stay alive.  But you wouldn’t.”