John Wyndham - The Day of the Triffids

I looked across the valley, remembering the well-drained and tended meadows that had been there. Now it was far on its way back to the wild. The neglected fields were dotted with thickets, beds of reeds, and stagnant pools. The bigger trees were slowly drowning in the sodden soil.

I thought of Coker and his talk of the leader, the teacher, and the doctor—and of all the work that would be needed to support us on our few acres. Of how it would affect each of us if we had been imprisoned here. Of the three blind ones, still feeling useless and frustrated as they grew older. Of Susan, who should have the chance of a husband and babies. Of David, and Mary’s little girl, and any other children there might be who would have to become laborers as soon as they were strong enough. Of Josella and myself having to work still harder as we became older, because there would be more to feed and more work that must be done by hand…

Then there were the triffids patiently waiting. I could see hundreds of them in a dark green hedge beyond the fence. There must be research—some natural enemy, some poison, a debalancer of some kind, something must be found to deal with them; there must be relief from other work for that—and soon. Time was on the triffids’ side. They had only to go on waiting while we used up our resources. First no more fuel, then no more wire to mend the fences… And they, or their descendants, would still be waiting there when the wire rusted through……

And yet Shirning had become our home. I sighed.

There was a light step on the grass. Josella came and sat down beside me. I put an arm round her shoulders.

“What do they think about it?” I asked her.

“They ‘re badly upset, poor things. It must be hard for them to understand how the triffids wait like that when they can’t see them. And then they can find their way about here, you see. It must. be dreadful to have to contemplate going to an entirely strange place when you’re blind. They only know what we tell them. I don’t think they properly understand how impossible it will become here. If it weren’t for the children, I believe they’d say ‘No,’ flatly. It’s their place, you see, all they have left. They feel that very much.” She paused, then she added: “They think that—but, of course, it’s not really their place at all; it’s ours, isn’t it? We’ve worked hard for it” She put her hand on mine. “You’ve made it and kept it for us, Bill. What do you think? Shall we stay a year or two longer?”

“No,” I said. “I worked because everything seemed to depend on inc. Now it seems—rather futile.”

“Oh, darling, don’t! A knight-errant isn’t futile. You’ve fought for all of us, and kept the dragons away.”

“It’s mostly the children,” I said. “Yes—the children,” she agreed.

“And all the time, you know, I’ve been haunted by Coker

—the first generation, laborers; the next, savages I think we had better admit defeat before it comes, and go now.”

She pressed my hand.

“Not defeat, am dear, just a—what’s the phrase?—a strategic withdrawal. We withdraw to work and plan for the day when we can come back. One day we will. You’ll show us how to wipe out every one of these foul triffids and get our land back from them for us.”

“You’ve a lot of faith, darling.” “And why not?” ‘Well, at least I’ll be fighting them. But first, we go—when?’ “DO you think we could let them have the summer out here? It could be a sort of holiday for all of us—with no preparations to make for the winter. We deserve a holiday, too.”

“I should think we could do that,” I agreed. We sat, watching the valley dissolve in the dusk. Josella said:

“It’s queer, Bill. Now I can go, I don’t really want to. Sometimes it’s seemed like prison—but now it seems like treachery to leave it. You see, I—I’ve been happier here than ever in my life before, in spite of everything.”

“As for me, my sweet, I wasn’t even alive before. But we’ll have better times yet—I promise you.”

“It’s silly, but I shall cry when we do go. I shall cry buckets. You mustn’t mind,” she said.

But, as things fell out, we were all of us much too busy to cry…

There was, as Josella bad implied, no need for hurry. While we saw the summer out at Sliming, I could prospect a new borne for us on the island and make several journeys there to transport the most useful part of the stores and gear that we had collected. But, meanwhile, the woodpile had been destroyed. We needed no more fuel than would keep the kitchen going for a few weeks, but that we had to have, so the next morning Susan and I set off to fetch coal.

The half-tack wasn’t suitable for that job, so we took a four-wheel-drive tuck. Although the nearest rail coal depot was only ten miles away, the roundabout route, due to the blockage of some roads and the bad condition of others, meant that it took us nearly the whole day. There were no major mishaps, but it was drawing on to evening when we returned.

As we turned the last corner of the lane, with the triffids sla8hing at the truck as indefatigably as ever from the banks, we stared in astonishment. Beyond our gate, parked in our yard, stood a monstrous-looking vehicle. The sight so dumfounded us that we sat gaping at it for same moments before Susan put on her helmet and gloves and climbed down to open the gate.

After I had driven in we went over together to look at the vehicle. The chassis, we saw, was supported an metal tracks, which suggested a military origin. The general effect was somewhere ‘between a cabin cruiser and an amateur-built caravan. Susan and I looked at it, and then looked at one another, with raised eyebrows. We went indoors to learn more about it.

In the living room we found, in addition to the household, four men clad in gray-green ski suits. Two of them wore pistols holstered to the right hip; the other two had parked their submachine guns on the floor beside their chairs.

As we came in, Josella turned a completely expressionless face toward us.

“Here is my husband. Bill, this is Mr. Torrence. He tells us he is an official of some kind. He has proposals to make to us.” I had never heard her voice colder.

For a second I failed to respond. The man she indicated did not recognize me, but I recalled him, all right. Features that have faced you along sights get sort of set in your mind. Besides, there was that distinctive red hair. I remembered very well the way that efficient young man had turned hack my party in Hampstead. I nodded to him. Looking at me, he said:

“I understand you are in charge here, Mr. Masen?”

“The place belongs to Mr. Brent,” I replied.

“I mean that you are the organizer of this group?’

“In the circumstances, yes,” I said.

“Good.” He had a now-we-are-going-to-get-someplace air. “I am Commander, Southeast Region,” he added.

He spoke as if that should convey something important to me. It did not. I said so.

“It means,” he amplified, “that I am the chief executive officer of the Emergency Council for the Southeastern Region of Britain. As such, it happens to be one of my duties to supervise the distribution and allocation of personnel.”

“Indeed,” I said. “I have never heard of this—er——Council.”

“Possibly. We were equally ignorant of the existence of your group here until we saw your fire yesterday.”

I waited for him to go on.

“When such a group is discovered,” he said, “it is my job to investigate it, and assess it, and make the necessary adjustments. So you may take it that I am here officially.”

“On behalf of an official Council? Or does it happen to be a self-elected Council?”