“Harold—please—" She was sick, crying. The irrevocable fact of murder was in her heart forever. "Get used to it," Harold said brutally. He flung the tent on the back of his cycle and began to tie it down. "It's over for them down there, and it's over for us, and it's over for everybody that died in the plague. God went off on a celestial fishing trip and He's going to be gone a long time. It's totally dark. The dark man's in the driver's seat now. Him. So get used to it." She made a squeaking, moaning noise in her throat. "Help me get this shit packed up. I want to do a hundred miles before sunup.”
Book:The Stand
