scrabbling, scratching noise in the hall? It sounded like—

He knew what it was. The Lanthaii were coming. They were wiping out the stragglers now, the few like Haverford who had remained alive. They were wiping the Earth clean of life, leaving it bare and ready for them.

The scraping at the door grew louder. The bolt strained; the hinges started to give. Haverford watched coldly, knowing that he hadn't done the job well enough. They were going to be able to get through.

A dark line appeared down the center of his door. It began to crack. It yielded.

Haverford turned frantically to his radio set, desperately sending out a call for help. But of course nobody heard him, nobody answered. He was alone and he knew it. Except for them.

He wheeled to face them, to go down fighting. He looked in horror at them—insects—huge, ugly, and alien. They came on. He backed to the wall. And in the last moment as time seemed to stand still he became aware of an insignificant detail, laughable, yet tragically ironic. A fly buzzed around his head. An earth fly. A pitiful creature, a nothing—an insect.

The fly lighted on the floor a few feet ahead of him, crawling slowly toward the alien horde pouring through the door. And the aliens broke their ranks, passing around the fly, almost respectfully, he thought. Or was it paternally?...

Then they reached him.

 Prev. P 5/5