Blinked: shining bars of metallic bone arched over its eyes in a protective mask. It could not use its head to fight, but it could nevertheless protect itself from that prey that elected to stand and fight. An instrument as crude as the axe could only harass, not kill.

Bossman struck again and again, stinging the exposed fringes of the painted face, and it retreated farther. But as it did so, the tail advanced, and that was worse. The circle was very nearly closed, as the long body expanded inexorably and limitlessly.

“We’ve got to kill it or drive it away,” Aton shouted. “Or push it into the water.”

That would be a fitting end to it. The caterpillar drowning and threshing the water with all its marching feet; the jelly-whale choking on an interminable morsel, one that it could never swallow entirely. Both might die.

It was unlikely. A concerted attack by the entire human group might dislodge the caterpillar. Men and women could skirt the jelly-whale and grasp the myriad legs from below, prying them off the ledge; or climb onto its back and wedge it away from the wall. Yes—it could be conquered. But not by a terrified mob. The necessary organization, in the face of the immediate panic, would be impossible. Direct obvious escape—only this would mobilize the screaming people.

“The river!” Aton shouted, gesturing toward the swirling hole. Bossman heard him above the clamor and glanced about. Catching on, he backed up to that area and stood guard, ready to prevent the caterpillar’s advance.

“Through!” Bossman yelled, pointing down. “THROUGH!” A man in the crowd saw the sign and dived into the shallow water between the central hump of the jelly-whale and the rim of the pool. Half-swimming, half-walking on the spongy flesh, he splashed his way to that exit and plunged headfirst into it. The flowing water gathered behind him and helped him on.

A pause; then another man followed, popping out of sight before the water monster could find him. Then a woman, and the others queued up, gladly choosing the unknown avenue in preference to the visible horrors.

The sixth man into the hole was Hastings. He weighed two hundred and seventy pounds, by his own estimate. Too late, they discovered that his girth was too great for the exit. His head and shoulders disappeared; his kicking legs and feet did not.

“Get that bastard out of there!” the crazed creatures behind shouted. Both head and tail of the caterpillar were advancing, as it stretched out its body. The water monster was sliding its terrible tongue within range of the hole. If the obstruction was not cleared away quickly, the rest of them would perish.

Aton jumped into the water and grabbed the kicking feet. He braced his own feet against the stone fronting the hole and strained, but the water had backed up against the plump body and sealed it tight. He changed his tactic and tried to heave it through, but the size was prohibitive. It would not budge either way. The two legs continued to kick violently, hampering his efforts. There seemed to be no way to free the man.