The gateway, first of all. It was a doorway to some alien dimension, Harwood had said. All right. I'd accept that at face value.
The Invaders—what were they? Pure radiation? Energy-eaters? They were intangible, immaterial, but yet very much present. Perhaps, I thought wildly, their corporeal bodies were still in whatever dimension of infraspace they came from, and merely their essences, their elans, had come through?
Could be, I thought. And if it were true, I might have the answer.
Ignoring the fierce pangs of hunger shooting through me, I got back to work and concentrated steadily. The thought of Laura was with me always—the image of her riding off in the sky with her father's arms locked tightly around her. Riding off as if kidnapped by a witch on a broomstick.
I don't know how long it took, but finally my generator was finished. Finished, and portable. I strapped it to my back and picked up my longest and sharpest kitchen knife. I didn't have a gun, but it didn't matter. If my theory was correct, a knife would be just as good—and if I were wrong, a gun wouldn't help anyway.
Then, without stopping to ponder, I ran downstairs and out into the street for the test.
Fresh air smelled good after days of being cooped up in my little apartment. I stood in the middle of the street and surveyed the wreckage.
Bodies lay everywhere, charred and lifeless. Overturned automobiles lay piled here and there, stalled trucks, artillery batteries and tanks. The defensive maneuver had failed, and what few people remained were in hiding. I stood alone in the middle of the street, the heavy generator on my back, and waved my kitchen knife as triumphantly as if it were Excalibur.
"Come and get me," I yelled. "Come on Invaders. Let's see what you can do!"
I looked up. There were a few clusters of them, browsing idly around some television antennas atop a neighboring building. They ignored me for a few minutes; maybe they were so surprised to see a living human in the streets that they were unable to move. I shook my fists at them.