День триффидов
Journey in Hope
Bymiddaythecloudshadgatheredandrainbeganoncemore.When,atfiveo’clock,wepulledupontheroadjustshortofPulborough,itwasstillpouringhard.
"Wheredowegonow?"inquiredSusan.
"That,"Iacknowledged,"isjustthetrouble.It’ssomewhereoverthere."IwavedmyarmtowardthemistylineoftheDowns,tothesouth.
IhadbeentryinghardtorecalljustwhatelseJosellahadsaidoftheplace,butIcouldremembernomorethanthatthehousestoodonthenorthsideofthehills,andIhadtheimpressionthatitfacedacrossthelow,marshycountrythatseparatedthemfromPulborough.NowthatIhadcomesofar,itseemedaprettyvagueinstruction:theDownsstretchedawayformilestotheeastandtothewest.
"Maybethefirstthingtodoistoseeifwecanfindanysmokeacrossthere,"Isuggested.
"It’sawfullydifficulttoseeanythingatallintherain,"Susansaidpractically,andquiterightly.
Halfanhourlatertherainobliginglyheldoffforawhile.Weleftthetruckandsatonawallsidebyside.Westudiedthelowerslopesofthehillscarefullyforsometime,butneitherSusan’ssharpeyesnormyfieldglassescoulddiscoveranytraceofsmokeorsignsofactivity.Thenitstartedtorainagain.
"I’mhungry,"saidSusan.
Foodwasamatteroftriflinginteresttomejustthen.NowthatIwassonear,myanxietytoknowwhethermyguesshadbeenrightovercameeverythingelse.WhileSusanwasstilleatingItookthetruckalittlewayupthehillbehindustogetamoreextensiveview.
