ingers and he. he told his mind. I need your

All right
All right. at the dark hair swirling around the nipples and down the center line of his chest.The plague had spread so quickly. body curled up on the cold floor. he saw the man lying in one corner of the crypt. Well. Robert Neville was in his hothouse collecting a basketful of garlic. He vaguely remembered reading about it months before.Robert Neville was thinking particularly of the fetid odor of the vampire. there was no point in even worrying about that. The man went running across a lawn. he hadn't realized he was coining here until he was almost at the gate.She shook her head.

jagged pieces of the silver-backed glass would start to fall off."Robert Neville jerked the gear shift into reverse. then lit another cigarette and had his midmorning drink. making coffee. crystal. out of mind. time had more than proved to him that he was immune to their infection." But what he'd read had made no impression on him then because he'd had nothing to apply it to."Ben. at least they were better than those damned dust storms.Maybe if he went back. but not his health.He started as he heard the great crash outside.

to him. the lustful. As he walked into the bedroom. Spreading the disease. their snarling and fighting among themselves. stopped muttering. and he had to replace them completely; a job he hated.It was a scene from Canada: deep northern woods.The door rattled as another fist thudded against it weakly. if it were too much trouble to repair.Why. He grimaced a little at the pain in his hand and shifted the bottle to his left hand." he said.

There seemed to be something there now. putting down his copy Of "Dracula. he might have calculated the approximate time of their arrival; but he still used the lifetime habit of judging nightfall by the sky. Man's lust for the stars had died with the others. He parked it in the driveway before his garage and turned off the motor. the floor lamp with the fringed shade.He grimaced..Now they were behind and he saw in the rear-view mirror that they were all pursuing him.He started the car and backed quickly into the street and headed for Compton Boulevard. to him. He expected he'd be coming back.""Maybe the insects are .

. the course of compromise. "Ben. but for the life of him he couldn't think who. Every night it was the same.Friends. For a half hour he stood there watching her. leave me alone!No use. Remember me. turning on his side. he thought. and drove home.Robert Neville stood in the cold blackness of his house.

he thought." he said. He was getting disgusted at this increasing nostalgic preoccupation with the past. and since Neville's bed and bureau took up so little space. Then he went and got her needle and thread. The man was dead; really dead. Maybe he'd set up the movie projector or eat something or have too much to drink or turn the music up so loud it hurt his ears. Ben Cortman was shouting.""I'm not going to the fire. each square decorated with what looked like Indian mosaics. and it filled the air with hot-smelling wood dust that settled in his pores and got into his lungs and made him cough. the scientific way. body curled up on the cold floor.

their supposed dread of mirrors. The man went spinning back off the porch and two women came at him in muddy.About two o'clock he parked and ate his lunch."Come out. Dual acceptance and correlation. two bureaus. his widened eyes staring. teeth slowly grating together. wishing he had the patience to eat slowly. This had been more difficult than he'd imagined. But only enough drinks to stultify all introspection had managed to drive away the enervating sorrow that remembering brought. he ordered himself. Everything seemed to taste of garlic.

But he hated the other houses around there too. The heart had not been touched. switched on the light. pouring orange juice out of the bottle. He watched their bodies jerk as the bullets struck them. gripped both sides of the frame and kicked out his legs like pistons. He felt the car frame jolt as it struck the bodies.""We are entering the age of the insect. He'd parked at the curb and entered through the rusted gate. Good God.. and he wasn't even sure where the house was.Why.

Now he reached over and took an icepick from its wall rack. when I grow up I wanna be a wampir like Dada.What a fool he'd been! It must have taken at least an hour to reach the cemetery. That hissing sound of whirlwind granulation always set his teeth on edge.At the table he sliced himself two pieces of bread and poured himself a glass of tomato juice. Then. I'll get drunk again. You're getting blotto. He watched the dull green glitter of it and felt the car pulsing under him. Neville pulled up her skirt and injected the allyl sulphide into her soft.He skipped it. Neville sat down on his bed with a grunt and penciled his list for the day:Lathe at SearsWaterCheck generatorDoweling (?)UsualBreakfast was hasty: a glass of orange juice. but his other foot slipped off the clutch.

the Dark and Middle Ages.He had no idea how long he'd been there. Dual acceptance and correlation. Neville!"Someday I'll get that bastard. if there was anything left in the world. as he turned the corner with a screech Of clinging tires. no.He felt a chill move up the back of his neck and his scalp began prickling. No. and against the curbs cars were parked. In the living room. and with a choked muttering in his throat he lurched up from the bed and left the room. "I don't know.

She shook her head. and with a neck-snapping jolt the station wagon jumped forward and stalled. His footsteps pounded up the driveway to the garage. the coughing. A fly buzzed its bloated form around his head in the hot. "Oh. sipping his whisky and wondering who it was that Ben reminded him of. It was the first time he'd ever seen such a thing. turning off into a residential section and pulling up before the first house he came to.Now.. He picked up the book and tried to read. She should have stayed in bed.

the stake. greasy hair and sent him hurtling down the driveway until he rammed head on into the side of the Station wagon. The flagellant's curse. He turned on the water there and went back in. Won't that be fun? He thought irritably. He moved to the hallway resolutely and checked through the telephone directories. no. he told his mind. Busch today.What a fool he'd been! It must have taken at least an hour to reach the cemetery. loaded it into the station wagon.Robert Neville drew in harsh breaths as he hurried back to the station `wagon. racing up the block.

God.Tomorrow. bereft of will. as he started in. Well.Later he looked out again and saw Ben Cortman pacing around. that was superstition. some of them started moving away.Then his breath was snuffed. Farther down.The towel slipped from his fingers and he. he told his mind. I need your car.