Three of the aliens walked across the yard to the house, small and fragile despite the damage they had done to the men lying in front of their goal.

They stopped at the bodies and studied the dead as if they could understand why the men had come out of the house and tried to attack, as if they could understand the futility of the gesture.

One reached down and picked up the gun lying next to the man on the grass and examined the rivulets of melted metal that had once formed the barrel of the gun. It turned the weapon like a child who was trying to understand a particularly puzzling toy.

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Another placed its hand in the blood that was flowing down the steps of the porch and looked at its long fingers.

The last turned to the woods and waited as a long floating sled wafted into the yard and made its way to the house.

They loaded the bodies onto the sled and gathered the remains of the gun on the porch.

With an odd sense of delicacy, they walked around the bloodstain and opened the door of the house.

They stood outlined by the light as if checking for a scent in the wind.