The words in his throat make a lifeless noise.

He brandishes a hand which has only three fingers--I saw it clearly outlined against the clouds like a fork.
Just as he totters in my arms, resisting death, a thunderous blow strikes him in the back.

His arms drop, and his head also, which is violently doubled back, but his body is hurled against me like a projectile, like a superhuman blast.
I have rolled on the ground; I get up, and while I am hastily trying to find myself again I feel a light blow in the waist.

What is it?
I walk forward, and still forward, with my empty hands.

I see the others pass, they go by in front of me.