Survivors Will Be Shot Again by Bill Crider

a surprise, but he didn’t want to do that. He saw an old GMC pickup sitting beside the house, so he figured someone, probably Joyce Hunt, was home. Eventually she’d come out to see what was happening and call off the dogs. Or Rhodes hoped she’d call off the dogs. If she didn’t, he could always use his handy cell phone to call her and ask her to do it. He was prepared to wait a while before trying that option, however.
    He didn’t have to wait long. Up at the house a screen door opened and a woman stepped out on the porch. It was Joyce Hunt. She wore a pair of jeans, low-heeled work boots, and a sweater. Her gray hair hung down almost to her shoulders. She stood for a second looking at the dogs and then called out to them.
    â€œGus-Gus! Jackie! You get back here right now!”
    Gus-Gus and Jackie didn’t pay her any mind. They kept jumping against the side of the Tahoe and biting at the window.
    â€œDid you two hear me?” Joyce yelled. “Get away from that car and come back here right this minute!”
    The two dogs dropped to the ground, and Rhodes leaned over to look out the window. They were still right beside the Tahoe, but they were looking back toward the house.
    â€œI mean it,” Joyce said. “Get up here right now.”
    The dogs hesitated for another couple of seconds, then trotted toward the house. When they got to the porch, Joyce bent over and patted them. Rhodes thought she was probably telling them what good dogs they were. She straightened up and called out to Rhodes. “You can get out now. They won’t bother you.”
    Rhodes hoped he could believe her. He considered taking the shotgun, but that would be cowardly. He opened the door. Gus-Gus and Jackie turned to look at him at the sound. Their looks weren’t friendly in the least, but Rhodes got out of the Tahoe. The dogs growled low in their throats.
    â€œYou can come on up, Sheriff,” Joyce said. “You don’t have to worry about the boys. I won’t let them hurt you.”
    Rhodes thought that was neighborly of her. She might have changed her mind if she knew what he was there for.
    â€œYou boys go lie down,” Joyce told the dogs.
    The dogs paid her no attention. They kept their eyes on Rhodes and continued to make low growling noises.
    â€œJust go on into the house,” Joyce said when Rhodes got almost to the porch. “I’ll stay out here with the boys until you get in and close the door. They’ll be fine.”
    Rhodes wasn’t worried about the condition of the dogs. He was more worried about his own. He stepped up on the porch, staying as far from the dogs as he could, which wasn’t far, considering how small the porch was. The dogs stayed still, but they both stared balefully at him as he went by them and into the house, pulling the screen door shut behind him. It was a flimsy door and wouldn’t last long if the dogs threw themselves against it, but they didn’t bother. As soon as he was inside, they jumped off the porch and disappeared as if they’d forgotten all about him.
    Rhodes looked around the room he found himself in and saw a sagging sofa, a battered coffee table, a cane-bottomed rocking chair, and a couple of end tables with lamps whose shades had accumulated a good bit of dust. The flat-screen TV facing the sofa was on but muted. Rhodes saw Alex Trebek mouthing a question that some gray-haired professorial type wearing a bow tie appeared to answer.
    The screen door opened, and Joyce Hunt came inside.
    â€œThe boys aren’t as mean as they sound,” she said. “They don’t like strangers, though, so they’re good watchdogs.”
    Rhodes nodded. “I’m sure they are.”
    â€œI guess this isn’t a social call,” Joyce said.
    â€œNo,” Rhodes said. “It’s not.”
    â€œI’m going to sit down,” Joyce said. “You have a seat, too.”
    She sat in the