День триффидов
The End begins
Ipulledbackthecurtainsonthenearestwindowandletinashaftofbrightsunlight.Itwasasurgicalwardwithabouttwentypatients,allbedridden.Leginjuriesmostly;severalamputations,bythelookofit.
"Stopfoolin’aboutwith‘em,mate,andpull‘emback,"saidthesamevoice.
Iturnedandlookedatthemanwhospoke.Hewasadark,burlyfellowwithaweather-beatenskin.Hewassittingupinbed,facingdirectlyatme—andatthelight.Hiseyesseemedtobegazingintomyown;sodidhisneighbor’s,andthenextman’s.
ForafewmomentsIstaredbackatthem.Ittookthatlongtoregister.Then:"I—they—theyseemtobestuck,"Isaid."I’llfindsomeonetoseetothem."
AndwiththatIfledfromtheward.
Iwasshakyagain,andIcouldhavedonewithastiffdrink.Thethingwasbeginningtosinkin.ButIfounditdifficulttobelievethatallthemeninthatwardcouldbeblind,andyet...
Theelevatorwasn’tworking,soIstarteddownthestairs.OnthenextfloorIpulledmyselftogetherandpluckedupthecouragetolookintoanotherward.Thebedstherewerealldisarranged.AtfirstIthoughttheplacewasempty,butitwasn’t—notquite.Twomeninnightclotheslayonthefloor.Onewassoakedinbloodfromanunhealedincision,theotherlookedasifsomekindofcongestionhadseizedhim.Theywerebothquitedead.Theresthadgone.
Backonthestairsoncemore,IrealizedthatmostofthebackgroundvoicesIhadbeenhearingallthetimewerecomingupfrombelow,andthattheywerelouderandclosernow.
