* * * *
After about a mile, however, he became aware that something was wrong. There were none of the familiar signs of danger—he seemed curiously untroubled about the Invaders now. No, this was something subtle, something which he should be able to pin-point but couldn’t.
He looked about him but could see no change. The bright July sun shone from a cloudless sky, an occasional breeze stirred the tops of the trees and all seemed normal.
He figured it was around ten in the morning and yet, somehow, somewhere, something was wrong.
A fat blue fly sailed past his face, he swatted at it absently, missed, and watched it settle on the door of the rusting automobile which was exposed to the sun. The creature spread its wings slightly as if warming itself and then, abruptly, fell off. Once it b
