Seen from the ground the spaceship was huge, of course it had to go a long way between stops, yet it was stunning all the same.

It was nothing like the smaller ship.

John stared up in amazement as iridescent hues of rainbow colors danced across its surface and rushing its length. A fine mist flowed from beneath the ship and hung close to the ground, dissipating before it reached his hiding spot.

Six vague humps, hidden by the mist, lay below the craft. John’s eyes widened when he saw a hand frozen in a claw of pain reaching upward. Those must have been the men fighting the aliens when he first entered the woods.

They had died, professionals had died, while he was still alive. He thought they might have known what they were doing when they attacked the but they had failed.

The important point was he was still alive. Hard upon that thought came an unbidden question; why was he still alive?

Was he that incredibly lucky, or was he unpredictable?

Looking up at the sloping side of the spaceship, he hoped he was simply unpredictable. Obviously, the aliens had practice at this type of attack; they had held the upper hand since their arrival, accustomed to certain human reactions. John guessed fear was one of the more predominant emotions they had seen. He wondered if the aliens had ever experienced anger or vengeance? Had the aliens ever been subject to a man hunting them, a man who did not react in fear or run away?

Probably not, and that was why he had survived while the professionals died in the first few minutes of the attack.

To remain effective, he was going to have to keep up the hit-and-run tactics.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Movement came from the other side of the craft. A ramp had lowered to the earth and something was moving on the ramp.

A soft whirring noise came from the west side of the gully. Soon, a floating platform came into view, holding several vague objects on its bed. It moved around the opposite side of the spacecraft, out of view. From the sound, John guessed it was heading towards the lowered ramp.

Even in the bright light of the spacecraft, he could not discern what was happening when the sled stopped, its noise dropping to a thin hum.

Something resembling thin legs took a few paces, then stopped as if examining the contents of the sled. Words sounded in a quicksilver rush of staccato notes. The alien was speaking.

A woman screamed.

Jesus. John pulled the rifle to position and hardly took sight when he fired.

One of the thin legs disintegrated with a mist of gray and blue, then the alien fell to the ground.

He fired again, then once more, working the action of the rifle as fast as he could, slamming the palm of his hand against the action in his rush.

There was no time to ponder the results of his attack. That scream could only have come from a woman who had been in the house. John broke cover in a leap from the ground and tried to run under the spacecraft, ducking as his feet slid on the muddy ground.

He hit his head on the underside of the craft and fell to the wet ground, and lay dazed for a moment. Through the thick mist, he could see one of the small aliens coming towards the ship, probably the one that had tried to kill him only minutes before.

Pulling his hand from the mud, he brought the rifle to bear on the alien, who had not started firing the tube in its upraised hand. The firing pin clicked on an empty chamber.

Oh shit. He desperately dug in his pocket for the loose ammunition he had placed in his clothes.

He found a bullet as the alien neared the side of the ship and stood motionless, watching him as John loaded the gun. Still, it had not fired its weapon. Maybe it was afraid of hitting the ship. He hoped that was the case, that the fear would give him enough time to load the gun and kill the little bastard.

Once again, he raised the rifle, only to feel a hand grasp the back of his neck and pull him off balance. John fell backwards, landing against a corpse as he reached up to rip away the hand with fingers curling around his throat.

An alien, holding its weight on the corpse, stared down at John with anger unmistakable in its eyes and the set of its mouth. This face was nothing like the small aliens that had been running around the woods; this alien was ugly.