День триффидов
Evacuation
Imovedmyboxesofcartridgesfromthecartothecabofthetruckinreadiness.ThegunIkeptwithme.
IfoundtheroomfromwhichIhadrushedtothefakefirealarmexactlyasIhadleftit:myclothesonachair,eventhecigarettecaseandlighterwhereIhadplacedthembesidemyimprovisedbed.
Itwasstilltooearlytothinkofsleep.Ilitacigarette,putthecaseinmypocket,anddecidedtogoout.
BeforeIwentintotheRussellSquaregardenIlookeditovercarefully.Ihadalreadybeguntobecomesuspiciousofopenspaces.Sureenough,Ispottedonetriffid.Itwasinthenorthwestcorner,standingperfectlystill,butconsiderablytallerthanthebushesthatsurroundedit.Iwentcloser,andblewthetopofittobitswithasingleshot.ThenoiseinthesilentsquarecouldscarcelyhavebeenmorealarmingifIhadletoffahowitzer.WhenIwassurethattherewerenootherslurkingIwentintothegardenandsatdownwithmybackagainstatree.
Istayedthereperhapstwentyminutes.Thesunwaslow,endhalfthesquarethrownintoshadow.SoonIwouldhavetogoin.WhiletherewaslightIcouldsustainmyself;inthedark,thingscouldstealquietlyuponme.AlreadyIwasonmywaybacktotheprimitive.Beforelong,perhaps,Ishouldbespendingthehoursofdarknessinfearasmyremoteancestorsmusthavedone,watching,everdistrustfully,thenightoutsidetheircave.Idelayedtotakeonemorelookaroundthesquare,asifitwereapageofhistoryIwouldlearnbeforeitwasturned.
