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.

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