ing the sidewalk said: Restaurant. He went in under the
sign and tried the door. It was locked. There were no lights inside. He
turned away--grinning to reassure himself. Everything was all right.
Just some kind of a holiday. In a big city like Chicago the people go
away on hot summer holidays. They go to the beaches and the parks and
sometimes you can't see a living soul on the streets. And of course you
can't find any cars because the people use them to drive to the beaches
and the parks and out into the country. He breathed a little easier and
started walking again.

Sure--that was it. Now what the hell holiday was it? He tried to
remember. He couldn't think of what holiday it could be. Maybe they'd
dreamed up a new one. He grinned at that, but the grin was a little
tight and he had to force it. He forced it carefully until his teeth
showed white.

Pretty soon he would come to a section where everybody hadn't gone to
the beaches and the parks and a restaurant would be open and he'd get a
good meal.

A meal? He fumbled toward his pockets. He dug into them and found a
handkerchief and a button from his cuff. He remembered that the button
had hung loose so he'd pulled it off to keep from losing it. He hadn't
lost the button, but everything else was gone. He scowled. The least
they could have done was to leave a man eating money.

He turned another corner--into another street--and it was like the one
before. No cars--no people--not even any cats.

Panic welled up. He stopped and whirled around to look behind him. No
one was there. He walked in a tight circle, looking in all directions.
Windows stared back at him--eyes that didn't care where everybody had
gone or when they would come back. The windows could wait. The windows
were not hungry. Their heads didn't ache. They weren't scared.

He began walking and his path veered outward from the sidewalk until he
was in the exact center of the silent street. He walked down the worn
white line. When he got to the next corner he noticed that the traffic
signals were not working. Black, empty eyes.

His pace quickened. He walked faster--ever faster until he was trotting
on the brittle pavement, his sharp steps echoing against the buildings.
Faster. Another corner. And he was running, filled with panic, down the
empty street.

* * * * *

The girl opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was a
blur but it began to clear as her