День триффидов
A Light in the Night
Iwasstretchedincomfortontheedgeofsleepwhentherecameaknockingatthedoor.
"Bill,"saidJosella’svoice."Comequickly.There’salight!"
"Whatsortofalight?"Iinquired,strugglingoutofbed.
"Outside.Comeandlook."
Shewasstandinginthepassage,wrappedinthesortofgarmentthatcouldhavebelongedonlytotheownerofthatremarkablebedroom.
"GoodGod!"Isaidnervously.
"Don’tbeafool,"shesaidirritably."Comeandlookatthatlight."
Alighttherecertainlywas.LookingoutofherwindowtowardwhatIjudgedtohethenortheast,Icouldseeabrightbeamlikethatofasearchlightpointedunwaveringlyupward.
"Thatmustmeanthere’ssomebodyelsetherewhocansee,"shesaid.
"Itmust,"Iagreed.
Itriedtolocatethesourceofit,butinthesurroundingdarknessIwasunabletodecide.Nogreatdistanceaway,Iwassure,andseemingtostartinmid-air—whichprobablymeantthatitwasmountedonahighbuilding.Ihesitated.
"Betterleaveittilltomorrow,"Idecided.
Theideaoftryingtofindourwaytoitthroughthedarkstreetswasfarfromattractive.Anditwasjustpossible—highlyunlikely,butjustpossible—thatitwasatrap.Evenablindmanwhowasclever,anddesperateenough,mightbeabletowiresuchathingupbytouch.
Ifoundanailfileandsquatteddownwithmyeyeonthelevelofthewindowsill.WiththepointatthefileIdrewacarefullineinthepaint,markingtheexactdirectionofthebeam’ssource.ThenIwentbacktomyroom.
