The High Ones and Other Stories

by Poul Anderson

  He came to the end of the street, where it turned into a graveled road winding up toward a high hill and followed that. Dusk was creeping over the fields, the sea was a metal streak very far away and a few early stars blinked forth. A wind was springing up, a soft murmurous wind that talked in the trees. But how quiet things were!

  On top of the hill stood the chapel, a small steepled building of ancient stone. He let himself in the gate and walked around to the graveyard behind. There were many of the demure white tombstones—thousands of years of Solis Township men and women who had lived and worked and begotten, laughed and wept and died. Someone had put a wreath on one grave only this morning; it brushed against his leg as he went by. Tomorrow it would be withered, and weeds would start to grow. He'd have to tend the chapel yard, too. Only fitting.

  He found his family plot and stood with feet spread apart, fists on hips, smoking and looking down at the markers Gerlaug Kormt's son, Tarna Huwan's daughter, these hundred years had they lain in the earth. Hello, Dad, hello, Mother. His fingers reached out and stroked the headstone of his wife. And so many of his children were here, too; sometimes he found it hard to believe that tall Gerlaug and laughing Stamm and shy, gentle Huwan were gone. He'd outlived too many people.

  I had to stay, he thought. This is my land, I am of it and I couldn't go. Someone had to stay and keep the land, if only for a little while. I can give it ten more years before the forest comes and takes it.

  Darkness grew around him. The woods beyond the hill loomed like a wall. Once he started violently, he thought he heard a child crying. No, only a bird. He cursed himself for the senseless pounding of his heart.

  Gloomy place here, he thought. Better get back to the house.

  He groped slowly out of the yard, toward the road. The stars were out now. Kormt looked up and thought he had never seen them so bright. Too bright; he didn't like it.

  Go away, stars, he thought. You took my people, but I'm staying here. This is my land. He reached down to touch it, but the grass was cold and wet under his palm.

  The gravel scrunched loudly as he walked, and the wind mumbled in the hedges, but there was no other sound. Not a voice called; not an engine turned; not a dog barked. No, he hadn't thought it would be so quiet.

  And dark. No lights. Have to tend the street lamps himself—it was no fun, not being able to see the town from here, not being able to see anything except the stars. Should have remembered to bring a flashlight, but he was old and absent-minded, and there was no one to remind him. When he died, there would be no one to hold his hands; no one to close his eyes and lay him in the earth—and the forests would grow in over the land and wild beasts would nuzzle his bones.

  But I knew that. What of it? I'm tough enough to take it.

  The stars flashed and flashed above him. Looking up, against his own will, Kormt saw how bright they were, how bright and quiet. And how very far away! He was seeing light that had left its home before he was born.

  He stopped, sucking in his breath between his teeth. "No," he whispered.

  This was his land. This was Earth, the home of man; it was his and he was its. This was the land, and not a single dust mote, crazily reeling and spinning through an endlessness of dark and silence, cold and immensity. Earth could not be so alone!

  The last man alive. The last man in all the world!

  He screamed, then, and began to run. His feet clattered loud on the road; the small sound was quickly swallowed by silence, and he covered his face against the relentless blaze of the stars. But there was no place to run to, no place at all.

  THE END

  * * * *

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  FEATURING THE FOLLOWING GREAT SF AUTHORS:

  Poul Anderson

  Isaac Asimov

  James Blish

  Robert Bloch

  Leigh Brackett

  Ray Bradbury

  Algis Budrys

  Hal Clement

  Lester del Rey

  Samuel R. Delany

  Philip K. Dick

  Gordon R. Dickson

  Philip José Farmer

  H.B. Fyfe

  James Gunn

  Harry Harrison

  Frank Herbert

  Evan Hunter

  Damon Knight

  C. M. Kornbluth

  Keith Laumer

  Fritz Leiber

  Robert W. Lowndes

  Ward Moore

  Andre Norton

  Frederic Pohl

  Robert Sheckley

  Clifford D. Simak

  James H. Schmitz

  Cordwainer Smith

  Evelyn E. Smith

  Theodore Sturgeon

  Jack Vance

  Jack Williamson