День триффидов
Frustration
Thebuildingnextbutonetothenorthsideturnedouttobeacar-hireservicewiththreeofitscarsonthepremises.Itwasanawkwardjobgettingthepartyoverthetwointerveningwalls,particularlythemanwiththebrokenarm,butwemanagedit.Somehow,too,IgotthemallpackedintoalargeDaimler.WhenwewereallsetIopenedtheouterdoorsoftheplaceandranbacktothecar.
Thetriffidsweren’tslowtobeinterested.Thatuncannysensitivenesstosoundstoldthemsomethingwashappening.Aswedroveout,acoupleofthemwerealreadylurchingtowardtheentrance.Theirstingswhippedoutatusandslappedharmlesslyagainsttheclosedwindows.Iswungbardround,bumpingoneandtopplingitover.Thenwewereawayuptheroad,makingforahealthierneighborhood.
TheeveningthatfollowedwastheworstIhadspentsincethecalamityoccurred.Freedofthetwowatchdogs,ItookoverasmallroomwhereIcouldbealone.Iputsixlightedcandlesinarowonthemantleshelfandsatalongwhileinanarmchair,tryingtothinkthingsout.Wehadcomebacktofindthatoneofthemenwhohadbeentakensickthenightbeforewasdead;theotherwasobviouslydying—andtherewerefournewcases.Bythetimeoureveningmealwasover,thereweretwomorestill.WhatthecomplaintwasIhadnoidea.Withthelackofservicesandthewaythingsweregoingingeneral,itmighthavebeenanumberofthings.Ithoughtoftyphoid,butI’dahazyideathattheincubationperiodruledthatout—notthatitwouldhavemademuchdifferenceifIbadknown.
