Through My Glasses Darkly: Stories by Frank M. Robinson

Author:Frank M. Robinson [Robinson, Frank M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780935128024
Google: G7j7jgEACAAJ
Amazon: 0935128026
Goodreads: 1338383
Published: 2022-12-28T11:16:46+00:00

THE HUNTING SEASON • 57

Or maybe couples had sprawled out on blankets in the back yards, snatching the oxygen from the dry clumps of faded green grass, waiting for a cooling breeze to work its solitary way down the thin canyons that separated the buildings.

It wasn’t long before he sensed that the huntsmen had found him again.

A huntsman’s car, prowling through tlze dimly lit streets, smelling him out from a hundred thousand others. A gradual sense of activity in the neighborhood, foreign to the sleeping people in the buildings. Somebody he could hear walking a few blocks away, the slamming of a car door to let somebody out just around the comer.

The baying of five hundred hounds.

He quit using the open street and clung close to the shadowy buildings, silently feeling his way through the alleys and the back yards. Near one of the buildings, a foot away from where he was walking, a small spot on the sidewalk hissed and grew red, then crumbled into powder.

A burn from a Williams, from somebody hiding across the street-still playing with him, still toying. He caught his breath and ran, leaping a wire fence and padding silently through the yards. The moon helped him for a minute and then it disappeared behind a cloud and he was in pitch blackness.

Something felt soft beneath his foot, and he stumbled to the ground. There was a flash of light as somebody lit a match a few feet a way and he found himself staring into a startled face, whose expression quickly smoothed out to one of dangerous blankness.

The face said: “You don’t belong here. You better move.” There was a click from a piece of plastic the man held in his hand and the plastic sprouted a six-inch length of steel blade. “Now.”

Black felt like the blood was going to ooze out his shoes and then he was up and away, running.

Running.

What’ll you have?”

“Something to drink.”

“We don’t serve drinks here-only coffee.”

Black had the feeling that the counterman would be just as happy if he got up and left.

“Coffee, then. That’s what I meant.”

“Anything else?”

Black stared at the menu through blood-shot eyes and picked something to go with the dark, bitter-tasting brew that

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