The Life-Masters by Edmond Hamilton — Read

It had been late on the afternoon of the 27th, less than a half-score hours before the breaking of that great terror upon the world, that young Ernest Ralton had sped away to the northeast in his plane, toward the barren little island retreat of Dr. Munson and his associates. It was not primarily to see Munson, of whom he stood in some awe, that Ralton had offered to make the trip, but to visit young Dr. Richard Mallett, his particular friend, whom he had not seen since the departure of the Munson party for the island some months before. The request of the Association had given him a valid excuse for making the trip, however, and so, slanting up above Manhattan's massed and sky-flung towers Ralton had circled once and then headed away into the gray haze northward.

Hour followed hour while the gray New England coast slid back like a great map beneath him, the sun sinking ever to the horizon westward as he roared on. Hardly conscious of more than the steady, even song of the motor and the rush of wind about him, Ralton checked his progress automatically by the natural features of the coast below him, and at last was flying northward over the tangle of deeply indented bays and islands that forms the Maine coast, veering outward from it over the gray waters to the east, and peering intently for Cone Island. The sun had dipped to the horizon, by then, but he knew from Mallett's account that the island should be clearly discernible by reason of the gigantic squat cone of rock that rose from its level sands.