The Cosmic Puppets by Philip K. Dick Page A

was already outside. “We're going to make a real attempt. Something big. Something important.”
    Christopher hurried after him. “You're right. The Spell Remover doesn't matter. It's doing it that's important. If you can do it your way
    ”
    “What'll we try?” Barton pushed his way impatiently along the dark street, still holding tightly onto the tire iron. “We have to know what it was before the Change.”
    “I've had time to figure most of this neighborhood out. I've been able to map this part of town. That over there,” Christopher indicated a tall house, “that was a garage and auto repair place. And down there, all those old deserted stores—”
    “What were they?” Barton increased his pace. “My God, they look awful. What was there? What's underneath them?”
    “Don't you remember?” Christopher said softly.
    It took a moment. Barton had to look up at the dark hills to get his bearings. “I'm not certain
    ” he began. And then it came.
    Eighteen years was a long time. But he had never forgotten the old park with its cannon. He had played there many times. Eaten lunch there with his mother and father. Hidden in the thick grass, played cowboys and Indians with the other kids of the town.
    In the faint light, he could make out a row of drooping, decayed old shacks. Ancient stores, no longer used. Missing boards. Windows broken. A few tattered rags fluttering in the night wind. Shabby, rotting shapes in which birds nested, rats and mice scampered.
    “They look old,” Christopher said softly. “Fifty or sixty years old. But they weren't here before the Change. That was the park.”
    Barton crossed the street toward it. “It began over this way. At this corner. What's it called, now?”
    “Dudley Street is the new name.” Christopher was excited. “The cannon was in the center. There was a stack of cannon balls! It was an old cannon from the War Between the States. Lee dragged that cannon around Richmond.”
    The two of them stood close together, remembering how it had been. The park and the cannon. The old town, the real town that had existed. For a while neither of them spoke. Each was wrapped up in his own thoughts.
    Then Barton moved away. “I'll go down to this end. It started at Milton and Jones.”
    “Now it's Dudley and Rutledge.” Christopher shook himself into activity. “I'll take this end.”
    Barton reached the corner and halted. In the gloom he could barely make out the figure of Will Christopher. The old man was waving. “Tell me when to begin!” Christopher shouted.
    “Begin now.” Impatience filled Barton. Enough time had been wasted—eighteen years. “Concentrate on that end. I'll work on this end.”
    “You think we can do it? A public park is an awful big thing.”
    “Damn big,” Barton said under his breath. He faced the ancient, ruined stores and summoned all his strength. At the other end, Will Christopher did the same.

Nine
    Mary was curled up on her bed, reading a magazine, when the Wanderer appeared.
    It came from the wall and slowly crossed the room, eyes shut tight, fists clenched, lips moving. Mary put down her magazine at once and got quickly to her feet. This was a Wanderer she had never seen before. An older woman, perhaps forty. Tall and heavy, with gray hair and thick breasts under her rough one-piece garment. Her stern face was twisted in a deadly serious expression; her lips continued to move as she crossed the room, passed through the big chair, and then disappeared through the far wall without a sound.
    Mary's heart thudded. The Wanderer was looking for her, but she had gone too far. It was hard to tell exactly; and she couldn't open her eyes. She was counting, trying to get the place exactly right.
    Mary hurried out of the room, down the hall and outside. She ran around the side of the house, to the place opposite her own room. As she waited for the Wanderer to emerge she couldn't help thinking of the one who had gone too far, but not far enough to