Empty World by John Christopher

back.”
    He had worked out the requirements with some care. An adequate water supply and reasonable proximity to supplies of tinned food were the basic needs; beyond that it was a question of settling for the best that was offered, bearing in mind that he could not afford to spend too much time on the quest. The countryside just outside Rye offered the most promising scope, and he got on his bicycle and pedalled down the hill in that direction.
    He searched throughout the morning with no success. Once his hopes were raised by finding a farmhouse with a pump-handle in the kitchen, but closer inspection showed it had been kept for ornamental purposes only: the handle yielded to the pressure of his arm but nothing happened. Apart from mains supplies the nearest water was severalhundred yards away, in the form of a stagnant pool.
    That was around noon. He was hot and tired and hungry. He found a ham in the larder—the larder was north-facing, cool, and the ham smelt all right—and cut thick slices which he ate ravenously. He had not gone upstairs but took it for granted now that there would be no-one left alive. He had seen plenty of animals: sheep, stray dogs and cats, and a horse, saddled and bridled, that snorted at him before trotting away; but nothing human.
    Some sense of discouragement was inevitable, but he refused to give way to it. He washed down the ham with a bottle of cider, and set off again. This felt like the hottest day so far, and his bicycle wheels ploughed through patches of melting tar. He had stripped off his shirt and tied it around his waist, but after a time resumed wearing it. He could not risk sunburn, with all that had to be done.
    In mid-afternoon he found it, and could not believe his luck. It was a sprawling timbered farmhouse, parts of it probably Elizabethan, and a stream ran alongside. The stream was narrow but fiercely flowing, and sheltered by the house’s southern wall. It would run even in a deep frost.
    The sitting room had an open fireplace, and logs were stacked in the yard outside—a huge pile reaching up to the eaves. They were of a size a child could handle, and he could break down the pile to enable Tommy to get at them more easily. With matches and a supply of firelighters, they should be able to keep warm. Plus a stern lesson in fire precautions. There was a risk, but it was better than leaving them at the mercy of the winter.
    It was situated less than a mile from Rye: the sitting room window framed a view of red roofs and the church with its weathercock glinting in the sunlight. Tomorrow he could bring them over, and start moving in supplies. But to save precious time he could make a beginning of that part of the operation right away.
    In Rye the smell was worse than ever, and he had to force himself through a miasma that almost seemed to drag physically at his limbs. The heat was making things worse, but he took consolation from the fact that it was accelerating the inevitable process of decay. It would not be long before it was over: there would be only clean bones in the world Tommy and Susie went out to explore.
    The town was quite deserted. Neil wondered about small children: if Tommy and Susie had survived there ought to be many others in a place as big as this. But those big enough to do so would have fled, he guessed, from this charnel-house, and the rest would not have survived. He did stop to listen once or twice for crying, but was guiltily relieved when he heard nothing. He had a commitment already, and Tommy would have enough to do in caring for his sister.
    In an ironmonger’s shop he found a galvanized iron wheelbarrow with pneumatic tyres. He went into a chain grocers, broke into a store room at the rear, and was surrounded by aisles of plenty. He filled the wheelbarrow too full at first, and had to shed part of the load to make it manageable. It was an advantage that Rye, like Winchelsea, stood on a hill, making the descent to the farmhouse