WATCHERS by Dean R. Koontz

supposed to go.) Einstein was able to dispense letters from the tubes by

stepping on the pedals, then could use his nose to form the tiles into words on

the pantry floor. They had chosen to put the device in there, out of sight, so

they would not be required to explain it to neighbors who might drop in

unexpectedly.

As Einstein busily pumped pedals and clicked tiles against one another, Travis

carried his beer and the dog’s water dish out to the front porch, where they

would sit and wait for Nora. By the time he came back, Einstein had finished

forming a message.

COULD I HAVE SOME HAMBURGER? OR THREE WEENIES?

Travis said, “I’m going to have lunch with Nora when she gets home. Don’t YOU

want to wait and eat with us?”

The retriever licked his chops and thought for a moment. Then he studied the

letters he had already used, pushed some of them aside, and reused the rest

along with a K and a T and an apostrophe that he had to release from the Lucite

tubes.

OK. BUT I’M STARVED.

“You’ll survive,” Travis told him. He gathered up the lettered tiles and sorted

them into the open tops of the proper tubes.

He retrieved the pistol-grip shotgun that he’d stood by the back door and

carried it out to the front porch, where he put it beside his rocking chair. He

heard Einstein turn off the pantry light and follow him.

They sat in anxious silence, Travis in his chair, Einstein on the redwood floor.

Songbirds trilled in the mild October air.

Travis sipped at his beer, and Einstein lapped occasionally at his water, and

they stared down the dirt driveway, into the trees, toward the highway that they

could not see.

In the glove compartment of the Toyota, Nora had a .38 pistol loaded with

hollow-point cartridges. During the weeks since they had left Marin County, she

had learned to drive and, with Travis’s help, had become proficient with the

.38—also with a fully automatic Uzi pistol and a shotgun. She only had the .38

today, but she’d be safe going and coming from Carmel. Besides, even if The

Outsider had crept into the area without Einstein’s knowledge, it did not want

Nora; it wanted the dog. So she was perfectly safe.

But where was she?

Travis wished he had gone with her. But after thirty years of dependency and

fear, solo trips into Carmel were one of the means by which she asserted— and

tested—her new strength, independence, and self-confidence. She would not have

welcomed his company.

By one-thirty, when Nora was half an hour late, Travis began to get a sick,

twisting feeling in his gut.

Einstein began to pace.

Five minutes later, the retriever was the first to hear the car turning into the

foot of the driveway at the main road. He dashed down the porch steps, which

were at the side of the house, and stood at the edge of the dirt lane.

Travis did not want Nora to see that he had been overly worried because somehow

that would seem to indicate a lack of trust in her ability to take care of

herself, an ability that she did, indeed, possess and that she prized. He

remained in his rocking chair, his bottle of Corona in one hand.

When the blue Toyota appeared, he sighed with relief. As she went by the house,

she tooted the horn. Travis waved as if he had not been sitting there under a

leaden blanket of fear.

Einstein went to the garage to greet her, and a minute later they both

reappeared. She was wearing blue jeans and a yellow- and white-checkered shirt,

but Travis thought she looked good enough to waltz onto a dance floor among

begowned and bejeweled princesses.

She came to him, leaned down, kissed him. Her lips were warm.

She said, “Miss me terribly?”

“With you gone, there was no sun, no trilling from the birds, no joy.” He tried

to say it flippantly, but it came out with an underlying note of seriousness.

Einstein rubbed against her and whined to get her attention, then peered up at

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