“What do we do now?” Lia’s hands shook in an unconscious release of the energy the race to the house had produced.

That was a good question. Casey now stood before six dripping wet zombies. The water had done nothing more than make a mess on the dining room floor. Discomfort had no effect on the alien coma.

The memory of the pain he had felt after the first brush with the alien weapon was the only inspiration Casey could muster. He drew his knife and touched the point against the skin of Turner’s hand.

A small bead of blood trickled down the hand to fall from a fingertip to the floor.

“So much for that idea,” Casey muttered and noticed he could hear the words.

Noise of the attack had stopped as abruptly as it had started. The battle was over and he did not know who won. Their need to wake the actors was now paramount; the aliens could come through the front door at any moment.

“Check the windows,” Casey said to John with a jerk of his head towards the front windows.

Maybe the cut had not been enough pain.

John moved slowly to the windows as Casey reversed his grip on the knife and brought his hand up over Turner’s head.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

Men, not aliens, stood in the front yard of the house; all of them bent by the fatigue of battle as they watched the alien ship.

Ponderously, the UFO lifted a few inches from the ground, wobbled as it gained balance, then soared skyward.

The sound of a heavy blow came from behind as John tried to find his voice. The fight was over. They had won against the superior technology of the aliens.

A knock came from the front door, almost polite in the chaste rhythm of the summons.

“Its them,” Lia raised her gun to aim at the door, a touch of panic in her voice, her eyes wide.

“I doubt the aliens knock,” Casey observed dryly as he kneeled next to the fallen form of Turner and lifted the now closed eyelids. Turner’s pupils were no longer fixed. Now the man was simply unconscious. “Get me some more water.”

“The aliens are leaving,” John blurted.

“Good,” Casey replied without looking at John. “Maybe you could open the door.”

His sarcasm lost on John as he hurried to the door and opened it with a solid pull. The shadow of a man stood on the porch, backlit by lights falling to the ground in the front yard, a visible mist descending from the UFO in a light rain.

Men in the yard were still looking up at the alien ship as it hovered over them.

Lia returned from the kitchen with another pitcher of water and handed it to Casey.

With no ceremony, he dumped the contents of the pitcher on the unconscious Turner. Immediately, the man began to sputter and cough, his eyes opening of their own accord.

“Can I come in?” the man on the porch asked in a deep voice.

Behind the man, a lance of bright light shot to earth and burst into the group of men standing in a cluster as they watched the UFO. In the painfully bright light, John saw them loose form and melt to the ground.

Reaching out, he grasped the man on the porch and pulled him into the house, then slammed the door shut.