Robert Silverberg

“ 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. ”

“ No one dared leave his home—not with the Invaders at large. No newspapers, no radio, no television—the channels of communication began to break down.
On the fourth day, armed forces from the rest of the country began to arrive. They combed the city, searching for the creatures. Bullets had no effect, though. They passed right through the bodies of the Invaders, splattered off buildings and lampposts as though there had been nothing in the way.
Damn Harwood, I thought, as I stood at my window and watched the fruitless attempts to drive away the Invaders. ”

“ I had to close the gateway and find some way of killing the Invaders—and get Laura out of her father's clutches.
It was nearly morning by the time I shook off the last effects of my stunning and was able to think clearly again. I pulled my generator out of the closet and looked at it, wondering what needed to be done.
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. ”

“ That was just the beginning, that night when the Invaders came storming out of Harwood's vortex. The next few days told of terror and panic, of retreat and the swift crumbling of civilization.
The Invaders, they were called. Thousands of them, wandering around New York and the metropolitan area, devouring electricity, attacking people, bringing a reign of terror to the city. ”

“ I said grimly. "We've got to close that gateway and drive off the things he's let through. But how?"
"The generator's in his basement," Laura said. "If we could get in there and smash it, somehow, and—"
"How would we kill the Invaders that have already come through? There must be thousands of them!"
"We'll find some way, Chuck. There must be a way." I looked out the window. The rain was letting up, and there were only occasional flashes of lightning in the dark tormented-looking sky. "The Invaders will be coming back soon," I said. ”

“ She nodded. "If we wait any longer, we won't be able to make it. But—"
She gasped and pointed to the rear window. I turned, saw what she was trying to show me. Abel Harwood, hovering twenty feet off the ground, riding on a cloud of Invaders.
"Come out of there, Laura!" His voice was somehow amplified and it seemed to shake my little room. Horror-stricken, we watched as the buzzing horrors bore Harwood closer and closer to my window. Laura shrank back against the wall and tried to flatten herself into invisibility. ”

“ I said. "For the sake of silly revenge on a world that rightfully regarded you as a crackpot, you—"
His eyes blazed and he came driving in at me again. In the background, I heard the continuing buzzing of the Invaders, who hovered out of reach of my force-field, unable to help their master. And overriding the dull droning of the aliens was a steady pattern of sobbing coming from the porch.
Laura. Watching her father and the man she loved fighting to the death in her front yard.
Harwood grasped me in a tight bear-hug, his thick fingers reaching for the power-pack on my back. ”

“ I can't talk very much."
"Tell me—what the devil has he done? You should have seen those things drinking up the lightning!"
"I did," she said. "I know what you mean."
"Is the gateway still open?"
"Yes. They're still coming through. Chuck, I—I don't know what's going to happen. I—no, Daddy!"
There was a sound of a little scuffle, and then the phone went dead. I stared at the silent receiver for a second, then let it thunk back on the cradle. I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared at my soggy socks for a long while.
Abel Harwood fit the classic description of a crackpot perfectly. ”

“ I kept stabbing until all six of them were torn and wounded, and then I snapped off the force-field. And they were gone. Instantly, without lapse, they popped out of existence like so many snuffed flames.
Six down, I thought grimly. Six down, and untold thousands to go. But now we have a weapon. ”