The Long Night
“YOU’RE NOT THE only one,” Bobby’s father said as he drove their car very slowly and carefully through the empty streets. In spite of the fact that there were no other vehicles on the road, driving was still dangerous in this situation: his dad could hardly keep his eyes open. “There are at least a dozen other people in this part of the state who haven’t responded to the Hibernation Instinct.”
Bobby’s mother hugged him with one arm while resting her head atop his own. For a moment, he thought that she had slipped off to sleep, but then she said in a warm, drowsy voice, “We thought that you would be . . . affected like your brother and sister. But, well, you’ve always been your own little man, haven’t you?” She gave him a sloppy kiss on the temple.
Bobby glanced to the backseat of the car where Phil and Cathy, his younger brother and sister, dreamed happily. He knew that, in houses and apartments all over the city, people were snuggled in their beds with the sheets drawn up to their chins, sinking deeper into the warm slumber that, according to the best scientific guesses, would
