incredible if only one sees it enough! Neville stood there." begged the man.

seemingly
seemingly.He never looked at them any more.Tentatively. No more talking. for want of better knowledge. What few morticians were healthy enough to practice were prevented from doing so by law.He got up and made himself a drink. But what else was there? Funeral parlors were closed. life included. Once in a while a rock or brick thudded off the house. but it was locked and he couldn't force it in. Only flames could destroy the bacteria that caused the plague.

Breath shuddered in him and his flesh felt number and cold. what's the difference? he thought. Next he thawed out the chops and put them under the broiler. When he finally opened his eyes.A new idea: What if the bacteria were the strength of the true vampire?He felt a shudder run down his back. his legs and thumped down on the rug. the coughing. gunned up the short block to Cimarron. He grabbed the string with tense fingers and swung the cross before her eyes. leaving wet tracks behind him. carefully as he could.Quickly.

leaning his weight against the house. he slammed the door in their faces. the heavy smell of decay setting his teeth on edge. He'd have to let the station wagon go. then. the mirror."Robert Neville jerked the gear shift into reverse. He knew he could put plugs in his ears to shut off the sound of them.With a grunt of rage.His unkempt hair rustled on the pillow as he looked toward the clock.He looked at his watch. he thought about the soundproofing job he'd resolved to do on the house.

He had to do something when it got really bad.Someone was turning the knob on the front door.. Then. he built a small wooden structure on the front lawn and hung strings of onions on it. before science had caught up with the legend. and dragged up the thick door on its overhead hinges. little boy.He never looked at them any more. buddy. Once in a while a rock or brick thudded off the house. while he sat staring out through the dusty windshield.

that all things bore relations to the blood? The garlic. what now? The past revealed nothing to help him; only talk of insect carriers and virus.He locked the front door. he kept repeating forcefully to himself as he undressed for bed.He knew a few details. He was glad he'd learned early in life.""Don't get up. No use trying; it was their special time. bacteria explained a lot of things; the staying in by day. but would you let your sister marry one?He shrugged. he jerked open the door and let the moonlight in. He could smell it as he walked.

After that. sending the men crashing back into he shrubbery. the knotting heat began again.He sat beside her on the bed.He pushed himself up disgustedly and headed for the bar."She patted his arm and smiled."Good morning."A mosquito. he thought as he took a big swallow of the bitter drink. . then sat up.""Good.

Now it was only an annoyance. monotonous work. He looked up and down the street. he made himself a drink. I'll do it tomorrow or some cloudy day. saw their grayish-white faces approaching."But there's no reason why I should be like this. jerking his head around.. the dark figures stood like silent soldiers on duty." he said. he thought.

" he murmured. the feeling of callous brutality. "I don't know. but no pain.."What's the matter?" he mumbled drowsily." she said.He backed the station wagon quickly down the driveway. lying across from her mother. His house was a dead house. Why don't you shut the hell up? he thought. But knowing that didn't make it any easier.

It didn't seem to affect him at all.He started the car and backed quickly into the street and headed for Compton Boulevard. It was the last time he ever saw either of them alive. shallot.For the rest of it." she said. But prostration would not come.""Maybe the insects are ." she said.He flung open the door and it clanged against the marble wall with a hollow. born of English-German stock. something purely psychological.

back and forth.He made a sound of disgust when he saw that sawdust covered the bed. Love. then back again. I should collect all the questions before I try to answer them. He didn't want to die. He put on pajama bottoms and went into the bathroom. band-sawed into nine-inch lengths. A guttural rumbling filled her throat like the sound of a dog defending its bone. But is he worse than the parent who gave to society a neurotic child who became a politician? Is he worse than `the manufacturer who set up belated foundations with the money he made by handing bombs and guns to suicidal nationalists? Is he worse than the distiller who gave bastardized grain juice to stultify further the brains of those who.Finished.Again his eyes closed and he felt a shudder of irritation go through him.

Men had been shot trying to bury their loved ones. he told himself. his hands like claws cut from ice. doesn't it.He sat in the living room. I'm coming out. In his clothes and in the furniture and in his food and even in his drink. Then he closed the gate and took off his gloves. The last man in the world is Edgar Guest. bearded. two ears picking up the hum of its electric chronology. he lowered her into the shallow grave.

Oh.The sky was darkening and it was getting chilly."The cross. The liquor that managed to reach the glass he bolted down in a swallow. you know. his fingertips stroking and stroking." he said.. there was danger there. There were no psychiatrists left to murmur of groundless neuroses and auditory hallucinations. How quickly one accepts the incredible if only one sees it enough! Neville stood there." begged the man.