Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [81]
The problem with having it in his hands was that it also made the device hostage to involuntary physical reactions. When the hounds showed up, Shel shrieked and flipped the device into the air.
He almost dived after it, but reflexes took over, and he froze. The dogs growled and snarled and dripped saliva and showed their teeth, but they didn’t attack. The farmer, though, had seen Dave vanish, and he now stood watching Shel with a shotgun pointed at him but held in trembling hands.
“Don’t shoot,” said Shel, trying to look friendly.
He was in his twenties. A kid. Yellow hair, the beginnings of a beard, sallow skin, thin lips. He just stared, with his mouth hanging open.
“Sorry,” Shel said. “I guess we—”
“What are you?” the kid asked.
“I’m just—”
“Where’d the other one go?”
Then Dave reappeared. First the aura, a silver glow—it was silver by daylight, gold in the dark—then a human form taking shape, growing solid. The kid swung the gun toward it while he stumbled backward. The radiance went away, and Dave stood there, Dave in all his glory, gawking at the weapon, carrying two pork chops from Shel’s refrigerator.
The dogs went after him. Dave tossed them the meat, but they paid no attention. One sank its teeth into Dave’s leg. He yelled and went down. And vanished again.
If the kid had been scared a moment before, his mental state now went to pieces. He screamed and fired a blast at a tree. “Look,” said Shel. “I know this looks strange—”
“Keep your hands up.” It was part screech. The weapon was a single-shot, and the kid was making no effort to reload, but the dogs were still there.
“Okay.” Shel raised them as high as he could.
The kid kept raising the barrel of the shotgun, signaling higher, higher. At the same time, he begged Shel not to hurt him.
“I won’t. I wouldn’t hurt anyone. Look, my name’s Shel—”
“Don’t tell me your name.” He was still backing away, eyes terrified. My God, at best, he was going to leave Shel with the hounds.
The converter was lying at the base of a tree. Too far away. He couldn’t get to it before the dogs got to him.
The kid switched the weapon to his left hand and began crossing himself. He seemed unaware that the chamber was empty. The hounds kept making false lunges at Shel and licking their lips. The kid stumbled into a hole and juggled the weapon and finally went down.
Then he was on his knees, the weapon still aimed at Shel. “Hey,” said Shel. “The dogs. Take the dogs with you.”
“Yeah,” said the kid. “Okay.” Absolutely. Anything you want. “But you go away, right?”
“Yes. Sure. Absolutely. Won’t come back.”
“Oscar,” he said. “Roamer. Come over here.”
The dogs turned to look at him. Then turned their attention back to Shel.
“Over here,” the kid said, as sternly as he could manage. Then somebody else came running. Out of the farmhouse. “Jake, what’s going on?” He was a big guy, probably would have been as tall as Dave had he stood straight, but he hunched over. His face was full of wrinkles and whiskers.
“Dad, we got some kind of devil.”
Dad was coming as fast as he could. “Just relax, Jake. Don’t shoot him.”
One of the hounds was sniffing at the converter.
Shel started to drop his arms, but the father told him to keep them in the air. “What’s he doin’ here?”
“Dad, there were two of them.”
“Two? Where’s the other one?”
“Don’t know. He just went away. Disappeared.”
The father surveyed the area. It was wide-open, except for a few scattered trees. “What are you talking about?”
“They come and go,” Jake said. “The other one came back.” His weapon was still trembling.
“You better give me that,” said the father. He checked the weapon, reloaded it, but pointed it at Shel’s feet. One of the hounds went over and began rubbing Dad’s leg. “Who are you, mister? And what are