The Last Man on Earth Page #4

Come back!

Hey, boy, where are you?

Where are you, pal? Come here.

They're dead.

They've been staked.

These are made of iron. Not wood, like mine.

Someone else is alive in this world.

But where are they? Where are they hiding?

How many are there?

Where did they come from?

Why haven't I seen them?

This is Robert Morgan.

If somebody can hear me, answer me.

For God's sake, answer me!

This is K-O-K-W calling.

Answer me.

So you finally decided to come back.

Good boy.

Oh, no.

Don't worry, boy.

You're going to be all right. Yes, you are.

There now, we've got you all cleaned up.

You're gonna feel better.

Gonna put you down here now

and you can rest.

Got you all cleaned up.

You know they're out there, don't you?

You poor driven thing.

Everything's going to be all right.

Nobody's going to hurt you.

Everything's going to be all right.

All right.

You're going to get better.

We're going to have

lots of happy times together.

You'll see. Everything's going to be fine.

What's the use?

I'm not going to hurt you.

Can't you understand? Wait!

Wait.

I'm not going to hurt you. Wait.

I couldn't be out here in the daylight

if I was one of them.

You know that

they can't come out until sundown.

Do you want to come with me,

or do you want to face them?

- You feeling better?

- Yes.

- Would you like a cup of coffee?

- Thank you.

- You seem very well organised here.

- Yeah.

My name is Ruth Collins.

I was married.

I lost my husband.

You are alone?

- You were married?

- Yes.

Children?

A daughter.

What are you doing?

Please, stop! Stop it, please!

You're making me sick.

Why do you turn away?

- You are infected.

- No.

Infected systems are allergic to garlic.

- You think I'm one of them.

- You will be.

You've made up your mind just because I...

You can't change the facts by talking.

Facts? What facts?

That I got sick?

I've had a sensitive stomach all my life.

I saw my husband killed.

Torn to pieces, right in front of our house.

I've been wandering ever since.

Hiding at night.

Not eating more than scraps.

Sick with mourning, sick with fear,

unable to sleep.

Then you shout at me.

You chase me across the field, hit me...

drag me to this house, and to top it all...

when I get sick because you shove

a piece of reeking garlic in my face...

you tell me I'm infected.

- Where are you going?

- Let me go.

You can't go out there. It's almost sunset.

Let me go, I said.

In a few minutes

the streets will be full of them.

- I don't care.

- At least let me give you a blood test.

Don't touch me.

You must be hungry.

I'll fix you some dinner.

- You know, you should eat.

- I can't.

- You seem used to them.

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