"Make way, there! Way!" The two men reached a door that led by a private passage, through to the steel-and-concrete laboratories.
"Here, this way, Flint!" shouted Waldron.

"If those Hell-devils drop a bomb on us, this building will cave in like jackstraws! Our only safety is here, _here_!" Thoroughly cowed now, with all the brutal bluster and half-drunken swagger gone, Waldron whipped out a bunch of keys, tremblingly unlocked the door and blundered through.

Flint followed.

Behind them, others tried to press, on toward the armored laboratories; but with vile blasphemies the plutocrats beat them back and slammed the door.
"To Hell with _them_!" shouted Flint, perfectly ashen now and shaking like a leaf, the fear of death strong on his withered soul.

"We've got all we can do to look after ourselves! Quick, Waldron, quick!" Both men, sick with panic, with fear of the unknown terror from above, stumbled rather than ran along the passage, and presently reached the laboratory.
Here Waldron unlocked another door, this time a steel one, and--as they both crowded through--pressed a hand to his dizzy head.
"Safe!" he gulped, slamming the door again.