The yearning for physical movement grew out of proportion to all other torments. The nerve endings that had once reported the flow of muscular power through legs and arms and back were not wholly dead, John thought.
Now above all he wanted to run. He wanted to feel the surge of tightening thigh muscles, the hot fast breath of agonized exertion. He wanted to feel the fatigue of exhaustion and let it flow over him, burying him. He wanted to sleep.
How much could their minds stand, even with the help of the forcing fields, before sliding into the schizophrenic retreat where Eden beckoned?
“John—John, don’t, please!”
“What? Don’t what, Martha?”
“You—going off like that. It frightens me. It’s like those brains we invaded. It’s like Al. I’m scared, John. I’m afraid he’s not coming back.”
“
