"It's a different planet, Doug!"
"And the city—it is lit! There must be a sun but it's down—it's night, and they've found a way to illuminate an entire city as though daylight were perpetual!"
And that was when it caught their eye. It was a small store, and she could see neatly-tiered rows of groceries inside—fruits and vegetables were easily recognizable even the street's width from them. But it was the little rack outside the store—the one that held the newspapers.
Almost at a run they crossed the street, and Doug fought down the urge to reach out, grab one of the editions.
The front pages of the newspapers were easily readable. Because they were printed in excellent English.
The date beneath the masthead of one was April 17, 1958. The paper was the Washington Post.
CHAPTER III
It was light. Terry had been watching the darkness fade for about ten minutes, fascinated, because the diffused glow grew as though from nowhere, and he could not find the sun. At first he'd felt sort of scared, but nothing happened, so he'd kept watching, trying to find it.
He was still in bed. It was when he became aware that it wasn't his own bed that he sat up straight, wondering, trying to remember. He was in a long, narrow place, and there were a lot of beds—bunks, like his own, lining each side, end to end. Across from him somebody else was sitting up. All the others were still asleep.