The duck was conspicuous. For one thing, Hubert’s snorkel was clearly
visible in the water beside it. That it
was construction-zone orange was just frosting.
“You know what?” I said, as Hubert sat in the shallows,
dripping beneath his orange duck hat. “I
don’t even want to know.”
“It’s a camera,” he said.
“To watch when they come.”
“If they do, they’ll just catch you. That thing is an eyesore.”
“It’s hunting season,” Hubert sniffed. “Besides, aliens are colorblind.”
“Come home, Hubert.”
I tugged on his shoulder, and he rose reluctantly.
Behind us, the ducks watched with dark, silent eyes.
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