“So?” the other singleton said.
“That wasn’t it,” Guthrie said. “You have to wait for it.”
“We’re waiting.”
“Watch.”
The two forefingers folded and extruded, lengthening to become what appeared to be two blades.
“We’re still waiting,” the other singleton said.
“Okay,” Guthrie said. “Here goes.”
He stepped forward, drew his arms together and slashed outward as fast as lightning. The heads of the two separated from their shoulders and fell to the dirt, yards away. The two beheaded bodies stood for a moment, then tumbled backwards to the ground.
Guthrie stepped away from the blood pool.
“That wasn’t very nice,” one of the heads stated.
“No,” the other one said. “Not nice at all.”
“It’s nothing compared to this,” Guthrie said, and kicked one of the heads. It sailed a hundred yards through the air, hit the gate post and tumbled into the sparse grass at the edge of the road beyond.
“Wide,” the remaining head stated. “Wide and to the right.”
“I’ll do better next time,” Guthrie said. He kicked again, and this time the remaining head sailed the distance and struck the sign over the gate that declared “GOSTMAN” in broad, burned-in letters. The sign looped over the top horizontal pole and fell back into place with a rattle.
Guthrie gathered up the two bodies, dragged them to the horse trough and pitched them inside.
He wiped his hands on his trousers.
The horseless carriage, with Pat in the front passenger seat and Billy driving, pulled up by the front porch.
“Where’d they go?” Billy asked.
“They went their separate ways,” Guthrie replied.
Ekka came out of the house with two bags.
“Did you ever yearn to travel?” she asked Pat Garrett.
[ 9 ]
“I think I need to know exactly what is going on,” Pat said.
“Okay. It’s like this,” Billy said. He pointed. “You see those?”
The car passed two huge metal cones sitting on three legs. Atop of each was a round, drum-like contraption. Each was about as large as a horse stable.
“Yeah. What are they?”
“Lights. Bright lights. They’re only useful at night. I use them for signalling.”
“Signalling whom?” Pat asked. “And where?”
“Morse code messages. To an old friend we left on the Moon.”
“Koothrappally? You told me about him. You’re signalling him on the Moon?”