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Chapter IV. A Diary Of The Dying
LordJohnissleepingalso,hislongbodydoubledupsidewaysinabasket-chair.Thefirstcoldlightofdawnisjuststealingintotheroom,andeverythingisgreyandmournful.
Ilookoutatthesunrise—thatfatefulsunrisewhichwillshineuponanunpeopledworld.Thehumanraceisgone,extinguishedinaday,buttheplanetsswingroundandthetidesriseorfall,andthewindwhispers,andallnaturegoesherway,down,asitwouldseem,totheveryamoeba,withneverasignthathewhostyledhimselfthelordofcreationhadeverblessedorcursedtheuniversewithhispresence.DownintheyardliesAustinwithsprawlinglimbs,hisfaceglimmeringwhiteinthedawn,andthehosenozzlestillprojectingfromhisdeadhand.Thewholeofhumankindistypifiedinthatonehalf-ludicrousandhalf-patheticfigure,lyingsohelplessbesidethemachinewhichitusedtocontrol.
HereendthenoteswhichImadeatthetime.Henceforwardeventsweretooswiftandtoopoignanttoallowmetowrite,buttheyaretooclearlyoutlinedinmymemorythatanydetailcouldescapeme.
Somechokinessinmythroatmademelookattheoxygencylinders,andIwasstartledatwhatIsaw.Thesandsofourliveswererunningverylow.AtsomeperiodinthenightChallengerhadswitchedthetubefromthethirdtothefourthcylinder.Nowitwasclearthatthisalsowasnearlyexhausted.Thathorriblefeelingofconstrictionwasclosinginuponme.Iranacrossand,unscrewingthenozzle,Ichangedittoourlastsupply.
