Chuck

Of these, the latter was of prime significance.

The canned goods, he felt, could be rationed to last almost indefinitely.

They'd had quite a stock in the kitchen cabinets, but the oxygen, he toted up the number of fresh cylinders available.

Seems like that should be totaled, but whatever.

With continuous use, usually they turn the mechanism off to save on the precious stuff.

That's right.

Their supply would last at the most seven or eight days.

It was unthinkable that by then some explanation or solution to this whole business would not be found.

At the worst, in that time, an enemy would take possession, but they would at least be free from their present dilemma.

It was daylight when Fran woke up and the sun was a molten gold burning a hole through the hazy sky.

As on the previous evening, the trees stood silent, almost too tired to hold up their limbs.

The breath of the air stirred.

It was though the outside, all outside, was a vacuum.

They opened some cans and ate, and then Arthur went into the adjacent bedroom and slept till noon.

When he awoke and rejoined Fran in the study, her fright had surged upward again.

He found out why almost immediately.

She'd admitted she'd gone out.

There was some small thing she wanted to get.

The feeling art, it was so terrible.

I couldn't fight against it.