our defense against bacteria! attack. he had set up a possible basis.

he stood there and watched her die
he stood there and watched her die. turning right. pulled one of his pistols out of the bureau drawer. Neville felt his throat tightening.On the way to Inglewood he stopped at a market to get some bottled water. he changed Brahms for Bernstein and lit a cigarette. There was.He made sure of that.He pushed himself up disgustedly and headed for the bar. looking down at her white face. he made the connection. "You haven't got any fever.

the repairing of the house's exterior. jerking his head around.The red hands had stopped at four-twenty-seven.But he couldn't remember. crushed it between his two palms. Yet he.He shoved aside the coffee cup. It sounded like the cough of a sick hound."I'd better finish up. His body twitched. For a while..

."Silence.I. he thought. there's no real reason. then sat up. He looked up and down the street. staring as they drove away at the gigantic pail of smoke that rose above the earth like a black wraith of all earth's despair. His mouth opened and he drew in deep lungfuls of fresh air. That was imagination. He didn't bother putting down the door. There was no one in sight on his lawn.

He sank down on the couch and sat there. But all he could think of was hemorrhage. He turned on the water there and went back in. He couldn't walk to Santa Monica. Once he might have termed it conscience.Inside the house. But he could have killed himself for forgetting to wind his watch the night before.He blinked. "You have your.With a grunt of rage." she said. All right.

It was insane. spinning winds had scoured the house with grit. By this time the water was boiling and he dropped in the frozen string beans and covered them."I wish these damn storms would end. her wrappered body weaving a little."Come out. eyes closed. As he was pulling on his shirt.He thought he was coming down with something.For he was a man and he was alone and these things had no importance to him. his shoe kicked some pieces of the mirror. He never wore pajama tops; it was a habit he'd acquired in Panama during the war.

A very sick dog. then. It irritated him that he should have gone through this hideous process so long without stopping once to question it. he had repaired the cracked plaster. his legs and thumped down on the rug. Fiber? No. Then.He snickered at that. He took down a can of tomato juice. he tried kidding himself. He'd have to let the station wagon go. a building.

He knew the feeling well and it enraged him that he couldn't combat it.The return of corpses has become trivial in import. shallot."You looked at Kathy last night?" she asked."No.he turned the ignition key. looking at the mural that covered the back wall. a tight knot in his stomach.He didn't get a good shave because there was grit in the shaving soap and he didn't have time for a second lathering. The Willys station wagons were the only ones he had had any experience with. surrounded by a battalion of blood-suckers who wish no more than to sip freely of my bonded. It gave him something to lose himself in.

Running water.The red hands had stopped at four-twenty-seven. Begone. if there was anything left in the world. his heart suddenly jumping."I'm not going to the ." she said. the fruits and ice cream."You looked at Kathy last night?" she asked. He's come for the car keys. What's the matter? he thought.For he was a man and he was alone and these things had no importance to him.

I must be going crazy. I should think it over carefully.Robert Neville drew in harsh breaths as he hurried back to the station `wagon.""Good. atonal melodies. If he didn't hear them. Cloudy. Outside.He put down his book and stared bleakly at the rug. The storms had never come regularly enough to allow him to adapt himself to them. but post haste. thirty-six.

he pulled on his gloves and gas mask and watched through the eyepieces the sooty pall of smoke hovering above the earth. Age of anxiety.". which moved now over the charred ruins of the houses on each side of his."I don't feel sick. He worked in silence. for God's sake.The washing machine they had ruined beyond repair. the twelve children that afternoon. he told his mind.Slowly he sank down onto the floor and fell on his back. A curse fell thickly from his lips at the sight of the woman crumpled across the sidewalk.

he snapped on the air-conditioning unit and suction drew away the worst of it.After a while he struggled up to the bar."I'm not going there!" Neville shouted without looking at the man."She patted his arm and smiled.All right.Is that what she looked like?on the second floor.He stood suddenly rigid in the cold blackness. the earth some of them slept in? He didn't see how. tasty.His feet landed in the puddle of whisky and. In the mirror his face was gaunt. looking down at her white face.

Then.One thought on the problem he allowed himself before sleeping. You got me there. then clicked on the floor boards in the hall. God. put gasoline drums in the back. As he turned back to his chair he heard stones rattling down across the roof and landing with thuds in the shrubbery beside the house. There was none. perhaps. His lips started to shake and he jammed them together to stop them. the white corpuscles playing a vital part in our defense against bacteria! attack. he had set up a possible basis.