День триффидов
Dead End
"Whichmeanslayinginstoresagainstthewinter,andjustgoingonasweare.Whatelseshouldwedo?"askedStephen.
"I’vebeenthinkingaboutthat,"Cokertoldhim."Maybeit’dbeallrightforawhile—butwhathappensafterward?"
"Ifwedorunshortofstocks—well,there’splentymorelyingaround,"saidtheradioman.
"TheAmericanswillbeherebeforeChristmas,"saidStephen’sgirlfriend.
"Listen,"Cokertoldherpatiently."JustputtheAmericansinthejam-tomorrow-pie-in-the-skydepartmentawhile,willyou.Trytoimagineaworldinwhichtherearen’tanyAmericans—canyoudothat?"
Thegirlstaredathim.
"Buttheremustbe,"shesaid.
Cokersighedsadly.Heturnedhisattentiontotheradioman.
"Therewon’talwayshethosestores.ThewayIseeit,we’vebeengivenaflyingstartinanewkindofworld.We’reendowedwithacapitalofenoughofeverythingtobeginwith,butthatisn’tgoingtolastforever.Wecouldn’teatupallthestuffthat’sthereforthetaking,notingenerations—ifitwouldkeep.Butitisn’tgoingtokeep.Alotofitisgoingtogobadprettyrapidly.Andnotonlyfood.Everythingisgoing,moreslowlybutquitesurely,todroptopieces.Ifwewantfreshstufftoeatnextyear,weshallhavetogrowitourselves;anditmayseemalongwayoffnow,butthere’sgoingtocomeatimewhenweshallhavetogroweverythingourselves.
