Sherman, regarding the creature closely, made an instant decision based on analysis of alien behavior in comic books and movies. “Shoot it, Pa!” he yelled. “It’s already mutated into human form! Shoot it!”
Although nervous and unsteady, Pa raised the weapon to his shoulder and took aim.
Marty, his vision blocked by the hood’s limited field, walked toward the three people directly ahead of him, oblivious to Pa Peabody. As he moved forward, he reached up to take off the hood.
“Look out, Pa!” Sherman shouted. “He’s going for something!”
“Take this, you mutated son of a bitch!” Pa yelled, squeezing the trigger of the shotgun.
A spray of buckshot whizzed past Marty’s ear, cracking into the barn wall behind him.
Undeterred but still quite nervous, Pa squeezed off a second shot. It kicked up dirt in front of the creature, missing clearly, but caused it to turn and race back into the barn.
Comforted by the fact that the alien experienced fear, Pa broke the shotgun and started reloading. Moving cautiously forward, he looked into the barn.
“Careful, Pa,” Sherman warned. “Don’t get too close or he’ll take over your brain.”
“What the hell are you talking about, boy?”
Sherman still had the comic book in his hand, opened to the story about space zombies from Pluto. “It’s all in here, Pa,” he said. “Read it.”
“Who’s got time for reading now?” his father asked, not without logic.
Meanwhile, Marty had raced back to the DeLorean and hurled himself inside.
“Damn crazy farmer!” he gasped, reaching for the starter. The engine roared to life and he kicked the car backward, not bothering to see if anyone was behind him. Straw flew everywhere, but he could see well enough to spin around and head out through the barn door. As he did so, the four people scattered before him like bowling pins. He had too much speed, however, and was unable to swerve and avoid hitting the white picket fence surrounding two newly planted pine trees. The DeLorean tore through one of the pines before Marty guided it onto the dirt access road.
“You space bastard!” Pa Peabody yelled after him. “You killed one of my pines!”
Jerking the shotgun to his shoulder, he squeezed off both barrels at the departing vehicle. The shots went wide, striking the Peabody mailbox and blowing it to shreds.
“Whew!” Marty breathed, looking back at the tiny figures, one of whom was still waving an angry fist.
He had survived but still had no idea where he was. At least the people spoke English…but there was something about their clothes that seemed different. Replaying the scene in his mind, Marty concentrated on their outfits. The women’s dresses looked old-fashioned. Perhaps they were very old hand-me-downs. Then there were the hair styles. Something seemed different about them, too, but Marty couldn’t say exactly what it was. He had seen these people before—or types just like them. They seemed to be out of an old black-and-white movie.
“It’s probably my imagination,” he mused, realizing that he was frightened and disoriented. His brush with the Libyans had upset him more than he cared to admit.
Cruising along the dirt road, he made a conscious effort to regain his composure. “O.K., Marty, get ahold of yourself,” he said aloud. “There’s gotta be an explanation for this. It’s probably all a dream, one very intense dream. It’s all gonna resolve itself…”
As he rounded a corner, his headlights fell on an object that caused his jaw to drop.
“Holy shit!” he whispered.
Bringing the DeLorean to a sharp, almost spinning, halt, he backed up so that the headlights would fall on the house again. Blinking, he studied it, trying to find one aspect that was different, one minor detail that would restore his sanity.
But the house was the same. It was his house…the home presently occupied by the McFly family. It was sitting out in the middle of nowhere and it looked newer than Marty had ever seen it, but it was definitely the identical structure.
The pieces of the puzzle slowly formed themselves into a cohesive picture. In front of his house was a sign that read MODEL HOME…pennants flapped limply in the soft night breeze…and next to the building was a large sign with an artist’s rendering of an idyllic home nestled between magnificent oak trees with a typical American family of four standing next to a Cadillac…A very old shiny Cadillac…Below the picture, in huge block letters, was the promise of a dream fulfilled: LIVE IN THE HOME OF TOMORROW…TODAY! LYON ESTATES. SCHEDULED COMPLETION, THIS WINTER.
“It’s my house, only brand new,” Marty whispered.
Sitting in the middle of the dark countryside, he slowly glanced down at the dashboard of the DeLorean.
The DESTINATION TIME read 11-5-1955.
The PRESENT TIME read 11-5-1955.
“Nineteen fifty-five!” he shouted. “I can’t believe it!”