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It was daylight when he awoke； a sort of daylight。 Grey drizzly fog pervaded the damp forest； dripped steadily off the branches。 A crow was calling harshly a short distance away。
Eric's pain was worse； his arm thick and swollen； red with poison。 He didn't want to look at it。 He wouldn't； he would go and find 。。。 he couldn't remember her name； the woman who was his mate。 She would soothe him； bathe his infection with cool fresh water。
He tried to get to his feet； almost made it then fell back again； almost blacked out。 He grunted； tried to shout but only a hoarse whisper came from his parched throat。
And that was when his fear really hit him。 Fear of the unknown； a dark forest world where fierce tribes hunted and animals roamed in search of easy prey。 Worse than that； the loner was afraid of being alone。
You 're going to die！
The will to survive was weaker； nothing left to fight with。 It had been a long gruelling search and it had proved futile。 The woman was not far away； even now he scented her； but his strength was failing。 He whimpered softly； closed his eyes。
He was going to die。
Sylvia had made up her mind to go to Eric。 Tonight。 She could not leave him out there any longer。 For two whole days now she had not caught sight of him because the tops of the hills had been shrouded by low cloud。 He might not still be up there。 On the other hand he might。 She had to go and see。
For once Jon did not fall asleep the moment he got into bed。 Damn him； tonight of all'nights he would choose to be restless。 She thought for one awful moment that he might be in the mood for love； would have yielded to him just to get it over with and then perhaps he would go to sleep。 But no； he was in a talkative mood。
'There's an awful lot of them moved up into the hills。' He had remembered to bring the shotgun upstairs tonight。 'I counted one lot of at least fifty。 Funny thing； they didn't all seem to be together； rather small groups which had met up； just happened to be travelling the same route。 It looks to me like they're going to winter in the forest。 Well； there certainly won't be much in the way of food up there for them。 I heard some shooting； too； sounded in the direction of the village。 I'm just wondering if the army's constantly moving them on； trying to drive them to outlying areas whilst they try and get things back to normal。'
Things will never be normal again。' She laughed bitterly。 'How can they？' Just look what they've done to my Eric。 Christ； I wish they'd done it to me； too。 It would solve a lot of problems。
'I reckon there've got to be more survivors than we think；' he answered her。 'Damn it； it would take hundreds of germ bombs to destroy a whole country the size of Britain。 The Continent； the States； you've got an even better chance of dodging the germs there。 All we can do is sit tight； hold on and wait。'
You can； Jon。 Me； I'm going out there and even if I don't find Eric I'd sooner die than go on living like a prisoner； not knowing when you're going to be attacked。
His conversation dwindled and she could tell he was being drowsy。 At length his breathing became regular and she knew he was asleep。
Cautiously she slid off the bed； crawled on her hands and knees towards the bedroom door； stopped every time a floorboard creaked。 But he didn't waken。 Down the stairs； dressing in the living…room。 She wouldn't need anything except a torch。 Eric would surely have some food and if not then perhaps she could persuade him to acpany her to a deserted cottage or farmhouse where there was sure to be an abundance； these throwbacks didn't understand what packaged food was。
She let herself out into the night； clicked the door softly shut behind her。
And that was when she saw them。 And they had seen her； too！
The throwbacks were in the yard； ten or fifteen of them； an ominous semi…circle of them stealthily closing in on the cottage； surrounding it。 Stooped creatures that would have seemed more natural walking on all…fours； every one of them carrying some kind of improvised weapon； scythes； pitchforks； clubs。
Sylvia froze； cringed。 Searching their bearded squat faces； they all looked the same in the faint starlight； might all have been cast from the same mould。 They stopped； watching her。
She fought to make her vocal cords work； struggling to get words out and when finally she succeeded all that she managed was a hoarse frightened whisper。 'Eric 。 。 。 are you there； Eric？'
No answer。 No movement。 Staring at her； eyes narrowed as though they suspected a trap。 Shuffling forward a few paces； stopping again。
Sylvia screamed； a long shriek of sheer terror； and in that instant movement returned to her limbs。 Panicking； turning back； her fingers struggling with the heavy door handle； slipping； unable to secure a grip and turn it。 Pulling； pushing； knowing that they were ing for her； smelling their rancid animal odour。 Eric wasn't amongst them； he wasn't like this'； he would not hurt her。
She screamed again； an inarticulate yell； tugging at the door。 Don't touch me； you brutes。 'Jon 。 。 。 Jon！'
And then she felt their grip； claw…like fingers digging into her arms and shoulders； dragging her out of the porch； lifting her up； carrying her。 She struggled； kicked until they grabbed her legs； grunted their surprise and lust at finding one so unlike themselves。 Curiosity； others crowding round； prodding at her； hurting her； starting to tear her clothes。
She almost passed out。 They would rape her； maybe kill her when they had finished with her。 Perhaps they had already murdered Eric； he would not let them do this to her。
Sobbing softly； her eyes closed because she could not bear to look； wanted to die now and get it all over； there was nothing left to live for。 Kill me； please1。
Suddenly there was a deafening explosion； an ear…splitting report that ripped through her； a vivid flash that she saw even with her eyes closed。 A sensation of falling； hitting the ground； lying there； not understanding； not wanting to。 Oh God； I want to die； please let me be dead。
A second explosion and then she heard her captors screaming； primitive cries of pain and fear。 Opened her eyes； saw but did not understand。 One of them was lying on the ground； a still； crumpled form from which blood poured out of innumerable wounds。 Surely he was dead。 Two others； bleeding but still upright； whimpering； pawing at their bodies in shocked amazement。 The rest were running； howling。
'Sylvia 。 。 。 Sylvia are you all right？'
She recognised Jon's voice； got to her knees。 A sliver of orange light played on her； momentarily dazzled her。 A torch； ing from an upstairs window。
Two more loud reports。 She recognised the stabbing flames of a shotgun blast； screamed as she saw the two wounded throwbacks stagger； clutch at their faces。 Oh Jesus God； they didn't have faces any longer； just scarlet bloody mulch； their screams drowned by the blood that spouted from where their mouths had been seconds before。 They hit the ground； did not move again。
Sylvia knelt there； tried not to think； heard the door opening； Jon's bare feet running across the yard。 Smelled the sharp tang of burned gunpowder； coughed and was almost sick。
'Sylvia。 。 。Sylvia。 。 。'Still holding the gun； helping her to her feet with his free hand。 'Are you OK？'
'I'm all right。' The words came instinctively； a habit of civilised society。 Somebody asked you how you were and you said you were OK even if you were ill。 Polite conversation because nobody was really interested in your health。
This was neither the time nor the place for formalities； though。
He was helping her back to the house； supporting her weight； moving backwards so that he did not have to turn his back on the dark night； holding the heavy twelve…bore one…handed。
He kicked open the door； bundled her through； slammed it behind him and forced the key to turn。 Then he shone the torchlight on her； r