Hardy stared unblinkingly at the window, watching the darkness creep back in, and did wonder to himself how much longer he could carry on doing this.

Winter is coming, and the nights are getting longer. Just where it was when they first came.Īs the light began to fade again, Hardy placed the chair back into its exact spot, sat in it in the exact same position, and tried to think of not moving. Just give himself to them, but his fear always won out, and every evening saw him walking the walk, checking that everything was just where it should be. He sometimes wondered if he should just end his routine. His almost constant depression made his first hour of consciousness the worst of the day, the hardest to deal with. He forced himself to a sitting position, his brain struggling to become fully aware, to take In his surroundings. Hardy awoke to the ringing of the clockwork alarm, the sound jarring his senses. A fuller trash can, a recently closed blind, a fresh footprint. Now most of the chickens were gone they searched for change, for sounds, for anything that signified food presence. When they first came they were like foxes in the chicken coops. Muchly most of everything was no more.Įxcept them. If the initial TV reports were to be believed the situation was global, so Hardy supposed that the world population had dwindled somewhat too. Hardy had no idea how much of the town's population still survived, he hadn't been out of the house in a while, not since his last supermarket scavenge, but he suspected it would not be many. They would notice the difference, would investigate, would discover him. A place for everything and everything in its place. He would replace everything back exactly where it had been. His routine gave him life, continued existence. They shut down until the fading day came around again, renewing, revigorating. The day brought them deafness and blindness. They couldn't see movement in full light. Then, and only then, did he feel safe to move. Hardy sat without moving, without blinking, and strove to sit without even thinking, as the light grew, crept to grey, crawled to full daylight. He ached like a bitch, but still he remained motionless. The hours of immobility had taken their toll on his muscles and joints. The dining chair felt like concrete beneath his buttocks. A faint, barely perceptible tinge of light was evident, dawn was on the way. Bernard Hardy stared into the darkness, stared at the curtain-less window.

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