День триффидов

           Hemusthavebeenawayfullyfourhours—andtherewasnothingtodobutgoback.Allthesame,therewasnoreasonwhyheshouldgobackempty-handed...Withhisstickherappedhiswayalongthewalluntilitrangononeofthetin-plateadvertisementswhichadornedthevillageshop.Threetimesinthelastfiftyorsixtyyardsstingshadslappedonhishelmet.Anotherstruckasheopenedthegate,andhetippedoverabodylyingonthepath.Aman’sbody,quitecold.

           Hehadtheimpressionthattherehadbeenothersintheshopbeforehim.Nevertheless,hefoundasizablepieceofbacon.Hedroppedit,alongwithpacketsofbutterormargarine,biscuitsandsugar,intoasackandaddedanassortmentofcanswhichcamefromashelfthat,tothebestofhisrecollection,wasdevotedtofood—thesardinecans,atanyrate,wereunmistakable.Thenhesoughtfor,andfound,adozenormoreballsofstring,shoulderedhissack,andsetoffforhome.

           Hehadmissedhiswayonce,andithadbeenhardtokeepdownpanicwhileheretracedhisstepsandreorientatedhim-self.Butatlastheknewthathewasagaininthefamiliarlane.Bygropingrightacrossithemanagedtolocatethetwineofhisoutwardjourneyandjoinittothestring.Fromtheretherestofthejourneybackhadbeencomparativelyeasy.

           Twicemoreintheweekthatfollowedhehadmadethejourneytothevillageshopagain,andeachtimethetriffidsroundthehouseandonthewayhadseemedmorenumerous.Therehadbeennothingfortheisolatedtriotodobutwaitinhope.