By George R. Stewart
The cabin had regularly been a distinct retreat for Isherwood Williams, a haven from the calls for of society. yet in the future whereas mountaineering, Ish was once bitten through a rattlesnake, and the solitude he had so wanted took on dire new importance. He was once ill for days — even though, in some way, he by no means doubted that he'd pass though the ordeal. usually delirious, he did unsleeping at one element to discover strangers peering in at him from the cabin door. but oddly, rather than providing support, the 2 ran off as though terrified. no longer lengthy after that, the coughing begun. Ish suffered chills by means of fever, and a measles-like rash that had not anything to do with snake chunk broke out on his epidermis. He was once one of many few humans on the planet to pass though that extraordinary illness, yet he didn't comprehend it then.
Ish headed domestic whilst he ultimately felt himself again—and spotted the strangeness presently. No automobiles handed him at the highway; the fuel station now not faraway from his cabin had an air of abandonment; and he was once stunned to determine the physique of a guy mendacity via the roadside close to a small city. and not using a radio or cell, Ish had no proposal of humanity's abrupt death. He had escaped dying, but couldn't break out the awesomeness of the catastrophe—and, with an eerie detachment, he discovered himself curious as to how lengthy it might be ahead of all lines of man's civilization pale from the Earth.
At an analogous time, he couldn't aid puzzling over no matter if others had survived, and even if even a handful of people could
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Extra info for Earth Abides
No sooner was the blow delivered than Curze was in motion, swooping through the darkness like a shadow. Cries of alarm echoed as his gaolers realised he was amongst them, stabbing beams of helmet lamps crisscrossing madly as they sought to pinpoint his location. With skill borne of decades spent as a murderous hunter of men, Curze ghosted invisibly between the beams of light. Another warrior fell with his torso ripped open, blood squirting from torn arteries like ruptured pressure hoses. Gunfire split the darkness, starbursts of muzzle flashes, as the warriors opened fire on their unseen attacker.
A sensation unlike anything he had felt previously danced in his blood and Curze savoured it as he understood it for what it was. Contrary to Guilliman’s rash pronouncement, it seemed Astartes could know fear. This fear – such as it was – was something to be treasured. Mortal fear was a rancid, sweaty thing, but this… this was caged lightning in the marrow. Curze pounced towards the armoured Templar, one of Dorn’s best and bravest. Veteran or not, he died as any other man did – in blood and agony.
Doubt, regret and hesitancy were weaknesses others might suffer from, but not Konrad Curze. His breathing deepened and the tenebrous chamber came alive to him. Curze felt power in the darkness; the cold intellect of hunters and creatures of the night that killed beneath its cloak. Lethal instincts honed on a thousand battlefields were now heightened to undreamed of levels and would now serve him equally well on this one. He spread his arms wide and a ripple of psychic force pulsed like the blast wave of an explosion with Curze at its epicentre.