Space aliens, maybe. No one locked up, not way out here. Cruise or Curtis or whatever his name is may be a madman, but he's right about one thing: there is infection. Say again, thirty to forty-five.
The Tensor lamp was still on, the paperback noveltented open on the sheet beside him, his body naked and perspiring in the August heat. 'Too much light in this place,' he said. The pure aquamarine waves came inlike undulant snakes, rose like cobras, crested out white, tunneled and struck like asps at the blazingyellow beach. The first two fingers, coated with dried blood up to the second knuckles, were poked out and hooked.
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