The Gili suit itched worse than he could ever remember. His skin crawled to the feel of phantom ants running errands across his body.

Yet he could not move.

He could see the feet still standing a short distance away. It seemed the clump of weeds growing in the gully fascinated the walker. Weeds that comprised the security man.

For several minutes, he had been slowly inching his hand to his side, to a holstered gun. If he had to die, he would go out with the walker.

He readjusted his thinking with difficulty, knowing he could not afford to be surprised when he looked up at the walker. He knew it was an alien, one of those gray little men you saw on the television. A little guy dressed in a silver suit that was made of coarse metal fabric. Big black almond-shaped eyes. No ears. The works.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Somehow Turner had contacted the aliens, and they were here killing the men on the security team. From there, his logic took a turn for the dark.

Why would the aliens want to negate the security team? Unless they wanted the people in the house.

In his gut, the man knew he was right, almost like he was receiving the knowledge directly out of the night air.

Almost like the aliens were sending him their thoughts.

Damn.

If that was the case, there was no possibility of his hiding under the suit. They had known the minute he had crawled into the gully. They were waiting for something, watching him, studying him.

In that brief instant, he understood what the aliens were doing and why they chose this method of attack.

In that second of intuitive knowledge, he tried to speak the facts into the microphone.

A sudden burning pain pierced his back and drove into his chest.

The smell of burning grass and pine needles assaulted his nostrils.