PART IV: January 1979
THEY CAME BY NIGHT. Came in their dark cars with their spotlights1 and their guns and their axes and pikes. Came from the blackness with a great sound of motors, the long white arms of their spotlights snapping around the boulevard corner and clutching out at Cimarron Street.
Robert Neville was sitting at the peephole when they came. He had put down a book and was sitting there watching idly when the beams splashed white across the bloodless vampire3 faces and they whirled with a gasp4, their dark animal eyes staring at the blinding lights.
Neville jumped back from the peephole, his heart thudding with the abrupt5 shock. For a moment he stood there trembling in the dark room, unable to decide what to do. His throat contracted and he heard the roar of the car motors even through the soundproofing on his house. He thought of the pistols in his bureau, the sub-machine gun on his workbench, thought of defending his house against them.
Then he pressed his fingers in until the nails dug at his palms. No, he'd made his decision, he'd worked it out carefully through the past months. He would not fight.
With a heavy, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach he stepped back to the peephole and looked out.
The street was a scene of rushing, violent action illuminated6 by the bald glare of the spotlights. Men rushed at men, the sound of running boots covered the pavement. Then a shot rang out, echoing hollowly; more shots.
Two male vampires7 went thrashing down onto their sides. Four men grabbed them by the arms and jerked them up while two other men drove the glittering lance points of their pikes into the vampires' chests. Neville's face twitched9 as screams filled the night. He felt his chest shuddering10 with labored12 breath as he watched from his house.
The dark-suited men knew exactly what they were doing. There were about seven vampires visible, six men and a woman. The men surrounded the seven, held their flailing13 arms, and drove razor-tipped pikes deep into their bodies. Blood spouted14 out on the dark pavement and the vampires perished one by one. Neville felt himself shivering more and more. Is this the new society? The words flashed across his mind. He tried to believe that the men were forced into what they were doing, but shock brought terrible doubt. Did they have to do it like this, with such a black and brutal15 slaughtering16? Why did they slay17 with alarum by night, when by day the vampires could be dispatched in peace?
Robert Neville felt tight fists shaking at his sides. He didn't like the looks of them, he didn't like the methodical butchery. They were more like gangsters18 than men forced into a situation. There were looks of vicious triumph on their faces, white and stark19 in the spotlights. Their faces were cruel and emotionless.
Suddenly Neville felt himself shudder11 violently, remembering. Where was Ben Cortman?
His eyes fled over the street but he couldn't see Cortman. He pressed against the peephole and looked up and down the street. He didn't want them to get Cortman, he realized, didn't want them to destroy Cortman like that. With a sense of inward shock he could not analyze20 in the rush of the moment, he realized that he felt more deeply toward the vampires than he did toward their executioners.
Now the seven vampires lay crumpled21 and still in their pools of stolen blood. The spotlights were moving around the street, flaying22 open the night. Neville turned his head away as the brilliant glare blazed across the front of his house. Then the spotlight2 had turned about and he looked again.
A shout. Neville's eyes jumped toward the focus of the spotlights.
Cortman was on the roof of the house across the street. He was pulling himself up toward the chimney, body flattened24 on the shingles25.
Abruptly26 it came to Neville that it was in that chimney that Ben Cortman had hidden most of the time, and he felt a wrench27 of despair at the knowledge. His lips pressed together tightly. Why hadn't he looked more carefully? He couldn't fight the sick apprehension28 he felt at the thought of Cortman's being killed by these brutal strangers. Objectively, it was pointless, but he could not repress the feeling. Cortman was not theirs to put to rest.
But there was nothing he could do.
With bleak29, tortured eyes he watched the spotlights cluster on Cortman's wriggling30 body. He watched the white hands reaching out slowly for handholds on the roof. Slowly, slowly, as if Cortman had all the time in the world. Hurry up! Neville felt himself twitch8 with the unspoken words as he watched. He felt himself straining with Cortman's agonizingly slow movements.
The men did not shout, they did not command. They raised their rifles now and the night was torn open again with their exploding fire.
Neville almost felt the bullets in his own flesh. His body jerked with convulsive shudders31 as he watched Cortman's body jerk under the impact of the bullets.
Still Cortman kept crawling, and Neville saw his white face, his teeth gritted32 together. The end of Oliver Hardy33, he thought, the death of all comedy and all laughter. He didn't hear the continuous fusillade of shots. He didn't even feel the tears running down his cheeks. His eyes were riveted34 on the ungainly form of his old friend inching up the brightly lit roof.
Now Cortman rose up on his knees and clutched at the chimney edge with spasmodic fingers. His body lurched as more bullets struck. His dark eyes glared into the blinding spotlights, his lips were drawn35 back in a soundless snarl36.
Then he was standing37 up beside the chimney and Neville's face was white and taut38 as he watched Cortman start to raise his right leg.
And then the hammering machine gun splattered Cortman's flesh with lead. For a moment Cortman stood erect39 in the hot blast, palsied hands raised high over his head, a look of berserk defiance40 twisting his white features.
"Ben," Neville muttered in a croaking41 whisper.
Ben Cortman's body folded, slumped42 forward, fell. It slid and rolled slowly down the shingled43 incline, then dropped into space. In the sudden silence Neville heard the thump44 of it from across the street. Sick-eyed, he watched the men rush at the writhing45 body with their pikes.
Then Neville closed his eyes and his nails dug furrows46 in the flesh of his palms.
A clumping47 of boots. Neville jerked back into the darkness. He stood in the middle of the room, waiting for them to call to him and tell him to come out. He held himself rigidly49. I'm not going to fight, he told himself strongly. Even though he wanted to fight, even though he already hated the dark men with their guns and their bloodstained pikes.
But he wasn't going to fight. He had worked out his decision very carefully. They were doing what they had to do, albeit50 with unnecessary violence and seeming relish51. He had killed their people and they had to capture him and save themselves. He would not fight. He'd throw himself upon the justice of their new society. When they called to him he would go out and surrender, it was his decision.
But they didn't call. Neville lurched back with a gasp as the ax blade bit deeply into the front door. He stood trembling in the dark living room. What were they doing? Why didn't they call on him to surrender? He wasn't a vampire, he was a man like them. What were they doing?
He whirled and stared at the kitchen. They were chopping at the boarded-up back door too. He took a nervous step toward the hallway. His frightened eyes rushed from the back to the front door. He felt his heart pumping. He didn't understand, he didn't understand!
With a grunt52 of shocked surprise he jumped into the hail as the enclosed house rang with the gun explosion. The men were shooting away the lock on the front door. Another reverberating53 shot made his ears ring.
And, suddenly, he knew. They weren't going to take him to their courts, to their justice. They were going to exterminate54 him.
With a frightened murmur55 he ran into the bedroom. His hands fumbled56 in the bureau drawer.
He straightened up on trembling legs, the guns in his hands. But what if they were going to take him prisoner? He'd only judged by the fact that they hadn't called on him to come out. There were no lights in the house; maybe they thought he was already gone.
He stood shivering in the darkness of the bedroom, not knowing what to do, mutters of terror filling his throat Why hadn't he left! Why hadn't he listened to her and left? Fool!
One of his guns fell from nerveless fingers as the front door was crushed in. Heavy feet thudded into the living room and Robert Neville shuffled57 back across the floor, his remaining pistol held out with rigid48, blood-drained fingers. They weren't going to kill him without a fight!
He gasped58 as he collided with the bench. He stood there tautly59. In the front room a man said something he couldn't understand, then flashlight beams shone into the hall. Neville caught his breath. He felt the room spinning around him. So this is the end. It was the only thing he could think. So this is the end.
Heavy shoes thumped60 in the hail. Neville's fingers tightened61 still more on the pistol and his eyes stared with wild fright at the doorway62.
Two men came in.
Their white beams played around the room, struck his face. The two men recoiled63 abruptly.
"He's got a gun!" one of them cried, and fired his pistol.
Neville heard the bullet smash into the wall over his head. Then the pistol was jolting64 in his hand, splashing his face with bursts of light. He didn't fire at any one of them; he just kept pulling the trigger automatically. One of the men cried out in pain.
Then Neville felt a violent club blow across his chest. He staggered back, and jagged, burning pain exploded in his body. He fired once more, then crashed to his knees, the pistol slipping from his fingers.
"You got him!" he heard someone cry as he fell on his face. He tried to reach out for the pistol but a dark boot stamped on his hand and broke it. Neville drew in his hand with a rattling65 gasp and stared through pain-glazed eyes at the floor.
Rough hands slid under his armpits and pulled him up. He kept wondering when they would shoot him again. Virge, he thought, Virge, I'm coming with you now. The pain in his chest was like molten lead poured over him from a great height. He felt and heard his boot tips scraping over the floor and waited for death. I want to die in my own house, he thought. He struggled feebly but they didn't stop. Hot pain raked saw-toothed nails through his chest as they dragged him through the front room.
Then pain surged up from his chest and drove a barbed club into his brain. Everything began spinning away into blackness.
"Virge," he muttered in a hoarse67 whisper.
And the dark men dragged his lifeless body from the house. Into the night. Into the world that was theirs and no longer his.
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spotlights
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| n.聚光灯（的光）( spotlight的名词复数 )；公众注意的中心v.聚光照明( spotlight的第三人称单数 )；使公众注意，使突出醒目 | |
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spotlight
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| n.公众注意的中心，聚光灯，探照灯，视听，注意，醒目 | |
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vampire
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| n.吸血鬼 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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vampires
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| n.吸血鬼( vampire的名词复数 )；吸血蝠；高利贷者；（舞台上的）活板门 | |
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twitch
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| v.急拉，抽动，痉挛，抽搐；n.扯，阵痛，痉挛 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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shuddering
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| v.战栗( shudder的现在分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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flailing
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| v.鞭打( flail的现在分词 )；用连枷脱粒；（臂或腿）无法控制地乱动；扫雷坦克 | |
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spouted
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| adj.装有嘴的v.（指液体）喷出( spout的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地讲；喋喋不休地说；喷水 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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slaughtering
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的现在分词 ) | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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gangsters
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| 匪徒，歹徒( gangster的名词复数 ) | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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flaying
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| v.痛打( flay的现在分词 )；把…打得皮开肉绽；剥（通常指动物）的皮；严厉批评 | |
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stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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wrench
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| v.猛拧；挣脱；使扭伤；n.扳手；痛苦，难受 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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shudders
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| n.颤动，打颤，战栗( shudder的名词复数 )v.战栗( shudder的第三人称单数 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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gritted
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| v.以沙砾覆盖（某物），撒沙砾于( grit的过去式和过去分词 )；咬紧牙关 | |
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hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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riveted
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| 铆接( rivet的过去式和过去分词 )； 把…固定住； 吸引； 引起某人的注意 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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croaking
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| v.呱呱地叫( croak的现在分词 )；用粗的声音说 | |
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42
slumped
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| 大幅度下降，暴跌( slump的过去式和过去分词 )； 沉重或突然地落下[倒下] | |
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shingled
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| adj.盖木瓦的；贴有墙面板的v.用木瓦盖(shingle的过去式和过去分词形式) | |
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44
thump
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| v.重击，砰然地响；n.重击，重击声 | |
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writhing
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| （因极度痛苦而）扭动或翻滚( writhe的现在分词 ) | |
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furrows
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| n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 )；（脸上的）皱纹v.犁田，开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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clumping
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| v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的现在分词 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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52
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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exterminate
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| v.扑灭，消灭，根绝 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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tautly
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| adv.绷紧地；紧张地； 结构严谨地；紧凑地 | |
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thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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recoiled
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| v.畏缩( recoil的过去式和过去分词 )；退缩；报应；返回 | |
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jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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66
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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