NO, IT’S MERELY A MECHANICAL CONTRIVANCE.
There was another flash.
“On a horse?” said Miss Flitworth.
A third sheet seared across the sky. And this time there was no doubt about it. There was a mounted figure on the nearest hilltop. Hooded. Holding a scythe as proudly as a lance.
POSING. Bill Door turned toward Miss Flitworth. POSING. I NEVER DID ANYTHING LIKE THAT. WHY DO ANYTHING LIKE THAT? WHAT PURPOSE DOES IT SERVE?
He opened his palm. The gold timer appeared.
“How much longer have you got?”
PERHAPS AN HOUR. PERHAPS MINUTES.
“Come on, then!”
Bill Door remained whe
re he was, looking at the timer.
“I said, come on!”
IT WON’T WORK. I WAS WRONG TO THINK THAT IT WOULD. BUT IT WON’T. THERE ARE SOME THINGS THAT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. YOU CANNOT LIVE FOREVER. “Why not?”
Bill Door looked shocked. WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
“Why can’t you live forever?”
I DON’T KNOW. COSMIC WISDOM?
“What does cosmic wisdom know about it? Now, will you come on?”
The figure on the hill hadn’t moved.
The rain had turned the dust into a fine mud. They slithered down the slope and hurried across the yard and into the house.
I SHOULD HAVE PREPARED MORE. I HAD PLANS—
“But there was the harvest.”
YES.
“Is there any way we can barricade the doors or something?”
DO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU’RE SAYING?
“Well, think of something! Didn’t anything ever work against you?”
NO, said Bill Door, with a tiny touch of pride.
Miss Flitworth peered out of the window, and then flung herself dramatically against the wall on one side of it.
“He’s gone!”
IT, said Bill Door. IT WON’T BE A HE YET.
“It’s gone. It could be anywhere.”