In the devastated Earth city of Allendale, California, a mechanized house performs its regular tasks at the scheduled time. The house, however, contains no people. Breakfast for four is prepared and served in the kitchen, and after some time, it is swept into a waiting disposal; garage doors open for a determined span and then close; daily announcements are made to empty rooms. It is the last house standing in a city “of rubble and ashes” (222), otherwise annihilated by atomic war.

On a fire-blasted wall outside, the house bears evidence of its former occupants, the McClellan family. The silhouettes of the people, who bore the brunt of the blast, depict their final moment of life. The father is mowing the lawn, the mother gardening, and the brother and sister tossing a ball to one another; each caught unaware by the nuclear explosion.

The house protects itself from outside intruders like foxes and cats, “in an old-maidenly preoccupation with self-protection which bordered on a mechanical paranoia” (222-23), while inside dozens of tiny robotic mice keep the house clean in a labor compared to “the ritual of religion” (223). When a former pet dog attempts to enter, the house permits it inside.