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"The rifle's on a chair," she said. "The pistol's still on the table unless
you have it."
"I don't."
"I've got the shotgun," she said.
"Here's the rifle," Toby said.
I stumbled toward him. "Don't touch that!"
"I just have my hand on the butt," he said. "I won't pick it up, Dad."
I found the table and then the pistol and then Toby. I picked up the loaded
rifle.
"I'll find some candles," Connie said.
I said, "Maybe we should wait for them in the dark."
"I can't," she said. "I can't see anything, not anything at all-and I keep
thinking they're already in the house, already in this room. I have to have
light."
For an instant I expected to be touched by an inhuman hand-and then I realized
that if the aliens were here with us in the kitchen, we would see their yellow
eyes even in this pitch blackness. I said as much.
"I still have to have light," Connie said.
She fumbled through several drawers, found the matches, and struck up a flame.
She lit a candle.
Then two more.
We were alone.
For the moment.
20.
Outside:
With its mission accomplished, the lone alien walked away from the barn in
which the dead buck (symbol of something) lay in a bloody heap. The creature's
spindly but terribly strong legs poked deep into the snow and thrust forward,
unhindered by the drifts. The thing joined its five companions where they
stood just thirty yards from the back of the farmhouse.
Seemingly oblivious of the vicious wind and the blinding snow and the cutting
sub-zero cold, the six yellow-eyed creatures lined up in a row. They looked
quite like soldiers facing their enemy's position and readying their well
planned assault.
Which, in fact, is precisely what they were and what they were doing.
(Throughout our ordeal-from the earliest moment of it, from the very minute
that Toby found those strange tracks in the snow, from the instant I laid eyes
on them-I had understood the symbology -both natural and psychological-that
was operat ing in this affair. I had seen the parallels between these events
in northern Maine and certain things I had endured in Southeast Asia. Perhaps
I haven't commented in enough detail on this aspect of the matter; perhaps I
haven't made the war analogy as obvious to you as it was to me, the war
analogy and the Asian analogy. It is even possible that I played down my
observations because I thought that, by reading such complex and fundamentally
crazy meanings into these events, I was stretching a point, belaboring a
theory-or maybe even, well, maybe I thought that such observations, when
committed to type, might be construed as evidence of some re newed madness in
me. Whatever. But, first of all, I am quite sane. My mind is as clear as
glacial ice. And as dead as glacial ice-or about to be, as I write this. How
long until I die? Each word I type is one less minute of life left to me. But
what I want to say is that I did understand the frame of refer ence, did see
the symbology which a madhouse uni verse had thrust upon me, giggling as it
rushed past. Oh, I surely saw it all, yes. Oh, yes. I am not a stupid man, you
know, and in fact I was valedictorian of my graduating class at Penn State,
before the war, like everything else that I can think of in my life, be fore
the war, before the stinking war. . . And yet. . . Somehow I overlooked the
most obvious and impor tant link between these science fictional events and
the war in Vietnam. How could I have missed it? I've read all about Lieutenant
Calley. I've read about My Lai and the massacres. Culture shock. The lack of
social interaction. Man's inability to understand his fellow man, especially
when skin color, politics, religion, and history separate them. I knew all
about that: I was educated: I was a liberal. And yet I missed the point of all
I've thus far told to you. It was like the war! It was Vietnam. It was, there
in Maine, Vietnam all over again, the same pain, the same misunder standings,
the same mistakes, dammit!)
The yellow eyes glowed.
The aliens watched the house.
Were they frightened, so far away from home? Or were they, like arrogant
American soldiers, sure of their right to dominate and destroy?
When ten minutes had passed, the creatures moved ten yards closer to the sun
porch.
Then stopped.
And watched.
And waited.
And made ready.
21.
Inside:
In spite of the eighteen-inch-thick stone walls and the solid Revolutionary
War construction which had been augmented by Twentieth Century fiberglas
in sulation, the farmhouse cooled rapidly once the heat ing system was knocked
out of operation. There were six big fireplaces in the house, and the heat was
sucked up and out of all of them while winter air rushed down the flues. Cold
air rolled off all of the windows. Fifteen minutes after the lights went out,
the air was decidedly chilly. Five minutes after that, the house was downright
cold.
We dressed in woolen scarves, caps, gloves, and coats as soon as we realized
that we should capture our body heat and hold on to as much of it as
pos sible, before the house was like a refrigerator.
"Maybe we should build a fire," Connie said.
"Good idea."
"I'll help," Toby said.
"You stay with your mother." I shoved cordwood into the mammoth living room
fireplace and packed starter material-wood shavings, paper, and sawdust
-beneath the logs. I was about to light the paper when I had a sudden
revelation. "My God!"
Connie whirled away from the windows, raising the rifle that she held in both
hands. The barrel gleamed in the candlelight. "What's the matter?"
"I just realized why these bastards knocked out our electric power," I said.
"Why, Dad?"
"Our oil furnace. It's sparked by an electric wick."
Connie said, "So?"
I was still thinking furiously. "And I think I know why they had to use a bull
to destroy Ed's generator."
"Don, tell us."
I looked up and grinned. "They can't tolerate warmth."
"Warmth?"
"Fire, heat, warm air," I said excitedly. "These creatures must come from an
extremely cold planet. They can't live in a room that's warm enough to be
comfortable for humans. Maybe they like sub-zero weather like this. Maybe the
temperature has to be below-oh, say freezing, before they can even tolerate a
place. They had to send that bull in to wreck Ed's generator, because the tool
shed on the Johnson farm was heated."
"We shouldn't have turned the heaters off in the barn," she said. "We gave
them their chance."
"No," I said. "They'd have found some animal to use, just like the bull."
(Later, when I found the dead buck, I realized that they had used an animal
even though there had been no heat in the barn for many hours. However, when
they had stolen the horses from us, the barn had been heated. And when they'd
planned their attack on us, they could not have known I'd let the barn cool
off."
"And now when it gets cold enough in here," Connie said, "they'll come after
us."
We stared at each other for a long moment.
She said, "Better get that fire going."
I lit the paper, sawdust, and shavings.
"Can we keep them out with fire?" Toby asked.
"I don't know," I said "But we can darn sure try."
22.
Outside:
The six aliens split up into two groups of three each. One group moved off to
the east and dis appeared around the corner of the farmhouse. The others
stayed where they were for another five min utes. Then they moved quickly
toward the house.
The time had come.
23.
The crumpled paper flared up at once and ignited, in turn, the sawdust. In a
few seconds the wood shav ings began to catch, and then the dry bark of the
cord wood smouldered and sparked. Gently fanning the growing flames, I smiled
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