Марсианские хроники

           Nowthey’regone,what?Hewasabsolutelyemptyandnumb.

           Hepulledthepistolfromhispocket,checkeditsload.

           "Whatyougoin’todo,Sam?"someoneasked.

           "Killthatsonofabitch."

           Grandpasaid,"Don’tgetyourselfheated."

           ButSamuelTeecewasgonearoundbehindthestore.Amomentlaterhedroveoutthedriveinhisopen-topcar."Anyonecomin’withme?"

           "I’dlikeadrive,"saidGrandpa,andgotup.

           "Anyoneelse?"

           Nobodyreplied.

           Grandpagotinandslammedthedoor.SamuelTeeceguttedthecaroutinagreatwhorlofdust.Theydidn’tspeakastheyrusheddowntheroadunderthebrightsky.Theheatfromthedrymeadowswasshimmering.

           Theystoppedatacrossroad."Whichway’dtheygo,Grandpa?"

           Grandpasquinted."Straightonahead,Ifigure."

           Theywenton.Underthesummertreestheircarmadealonelysound.Theroadwasempty,andastheydrovealongtheybegantonoticesomething.Teeceslowedthecarandbentout,hisyelloweyesfierce.

           "Goddamnit,Grandpa,youseewhatthembastardsdid?"

           "What?"askedGrandpa,andlooked.