Lieutenant VanGelder's SWAT team had been more than happy to let the National Guard secure the site. But, on the other hand, this was Lake County and the gate was a clear and present danger. So he'd had them stick around and had taken over one of the upstairs rooms of the Edderbrook residence as his headquarters. When the firing broke out most of the team had been in the room and they had immediately stepped to the window to watch the growing firefight.

Most of the team was armed with MP-5s, which was not going to do much good in this battle. But in the team vehicle were heavier weapons. Some of them so heavy that the SWAT team got a good bit of ribbing for having them.

"Jenson, Knapp," he snapped as the smaller beasts started pouring out of the gate and the SEAL team retreated. "Go get the Barretts."

Weaver had stuck his head back up over the side of the hole just in time to see one of the big monsters go pitching back with a hole in its breast. From the rear there was a loud BOOM that was audible even over the sound of the firing around him.

"Barrett," Command Master Chief Miller said, spitting out a line of tobacco juice. "Probably them SWAT boys. Doctor, I think it's time for us to get out of here."

"Agreed," Weaver said, just as one of the things turned and sent a stream of projectiles their way. He ducked down and looked behind them where some of them had embedded in a tree. They looked like thorns about two inches long, glittering black against the grayish-brown trunk. "How?"

"Low," the chief said. "Crawl out the back. Keep your butt down and your head down. There's enough of a parapet in the front that if you stay low and go you'll be covered by it. We'll be right behind you."

VanGelder tracked right until the rifle was lined on another, then squinted through the scope. At this range it would have been better to use iron sights but there hadn't been time to take the scopes off much less rezero the sights. So he used what he had. He lined up the next beast through the crosshairs, stroked the trigger and then worked the bolt.

"Got him," Knapp said. He was standing by with another magazine and spotting for the lieutenant. "Left, monster in the open."

VanGelder tried not to laugh in near hysteria as he tracked left and shot another of the things.

Unfortunately, it was like spitting in the ocean. The right flank of the National Guard company had beenrolled up and most of their medium machine guns had been taken out. And more of the little monsters were pouring through now.

He shot another, changed magazines and then looked at the overall situation. Most of the national guardsmen were trying to scurry out of their holes and run. He didn't think anything against them for it; the situation was clearly out of control.

On the other hand, be damned if they were going to invade through Lake County if he had anything to say about it.

"Get on the horn. Call dispatch. Tell them to send everything we've got. If we can hold them by the gate we can hold them. Hell, send out a general call, anybody with big guns. Even a hunting rifle. Get your ass down here. We've got to hold them, here."

"I'm on it," Jenson said. "There's a news crew down there, I'll tell them, too."

VanGelder nodded and looked back through the scope. Monster in the open.

Sanson squatted by a window, firing single shots in rapid fire. Miller had scooped up one of the abandoned MG-240s, its two-man crew dead, and was laying down fire from another window.

Dr. Weaver had settled on the couch in the front room and was contemplating gate activity. So far there had been one gate caused by man and one that appeared, apparently as the result of a hostile alien force.

The first one sort of made sense. The Higgs boson had caused some sort of wormhole effect, either to another planet in this universe or to another universe. The second one did not. And then there was the hypothetical gate through which Tuffy had appeared. Would there be more? And why were they occurring?

He dialed his phone again.

"Garcia."

"Have the detectors arrived?"

"About an hour ago, and you were right. There's a fairly continuous stream of subatomic particles coming out of it. I think it's degrading."

"Okay, good," Weaver said.

"Is that firing I hear?" Garcia asked.

"Yeah, we're being invaded," Weaver replied and yawned. "Monsters from the eighth dimension or something. I think we're about to get overrun."

"Jesus! Get out of there!"

"Well, we're sort of cut off," Weaver admitted. "Look, what sort of particles?"

"Muons and something else," Garcia said. "Do you really want to talk about this now?" "Yes."

"Okay, there's some muons, like I said, but we're getting readings on others. They're not anything I recognize, not mesons, not quarks, very high mass. I'd guess they might be bosons."

"That doesn't make sense," Weaver said, squinting his brow as the machine gun set up an almost continuous clatter. "Not the big particles, the muons. I'd have expected neutrinos."

"I don't happen to have a neutrino detector on me at the moment," Garcia said, sarcastically. Neutrino detection required very large tanks of chemicals, usually in the tens of thousands of gallons. When the neutrinos hit the chemicals they were accelerated to faster than light speed, creating Cherenkov radiation detectable as purplish-blue flashes of light.

"The Japanese have one down to, oh, the size of a container car or so," Weaver said, yawning again.

"Maybe we can borrow it. But the rest makes sense. If it's degrading into the universe it's probably going to increase the charge of each of the released particles. That means you get small gates at first and larger ones as it continues to degrade. Or maybe they'll go further and further away. And the first gates that would open would be nearby. Finally things are starting to make sense."

Sanson walked over and slapped a pistol into the scientist's empty hand.

"You know how to use one of those?" Sanson asked.

"Point and click?" Weaver said, looking puzzled.

"Yeah, more or less." The SEAL laughed. "Round up the spout, cocked, not on safe. Touch the trigger and it fires. Just remember to point it at the bad guys."

"Look, one of the SEALs just handed me a pistol," Weaver said, keeping his finger away from the trigger. "I think that's a bad sign. We'll talk about this later, okay?"

"Okay," Garcia said. "Decaying, releasing particles, particles open gates."

"Something like that. And increasing charge, larger gates or further away as time goes by." Tuffy was small. Small gate? But large enough to take Mimi? The front door burst open and one of the smaller monsters came into the room, howling its terrible cry. Sanson turned and fired a burst that bounced off the armor but as it turned towards the SEAL Weaver lined up the pistol on it and shot. The first round was high, kicking dust out of the wall, but he lowered the pistol slightly and was rewarded with a green blotch on the second round. Two more bullets into it, and one in the floor, and it was kicking and twitching on the ground, spilling green ichor into the blue rug.

"Well, gotta go," Weaver said.

"Doc . . ."

"See you later, Garcia."

Another of the beasts sprang into the room and Weaver shot at it, missing, then two more times and hit.

The second round hit it in the hindquarters and its back legs dropped, limp. But it continued to crawl forward on its front legs and his next two rounds missed, poking holes in the far wall and shattering a picture of a sailboat against the backdrop of a tropical island. That was his last round and the slide of theH&K locked back on the empty magazine.

"I think I'm out of bullets," he yelled, standing up and stepping back over the couch.

"Here!" Sanson yelled, tossing a magazine through the air.

Weaver caught it but had no idea what to do with it. However, he was an engineer; it should be easy enough to figure out. The thing had crawled up to him and he backed away, into the room, hoping to draw it away from the two SEALs as he attempted to determine how to reload. Let's see, two levers on the handle of the gun, one blocked by the slide. Lever near the trigger. He fiddled with the lever and was rewarded by having the empty magazine drop out onto the floor. Point bullets forward, insert magazine.

Eureka! But the slide didn't go forward and pulling the trigger didn't work. He grabbed the slide and pulled back and was again rewarded by having it slide forward. By this time the thing had nearly crawled up to him again and he jumped backwards then pointed the gun at it and shot several times.

"Watch it!" Miller snarled as one of the rounds hammered into his body armor. "Save your rounds!"

"Hey, I got it, didn't I?" Weaver asked as his phone rang.

"William Weaver," he said, holding the smoking barrel of the pistol upwards where he wouldn't tend to shoot one of the SEALs.

"This is the NSA, we're watching the news, where are you?"

"In the Edderbrook house," he replied. "I think we're sort of cut off."

"Jesus! Get out of there!"

"I don't think that's possible," he noted asanother of the damned things just strolled in the door. He aimed carefully this time and managed to hit it on the first shot. But the round only ticked it off and it turned and charged him.

"Hold please," he said, jumping to the back of the couch and over and then coming up with the pistol and shooting it in the back as it tried to make the turn. One of the bullets must have hit its spine because its back legs went out just like the other one. He aimed carefully and fired rounds into its neck until it stopped moving. He realized he'd gotten out of control when the slide locked back again. "I'm out of bullets again!" he yelled. "I'm sorry, I'm a little busy at the moment. Could we talk later?"

"Sure," the NSA said, bemusedly.

"I told Garcia what I think is going on, based on the evidence," he said, catching another magazine from Sanson and missing the toss from Miller. He reloaded and picked up the magazine he'd missed as he talked. Multi-tasking, that's the key.

"We'll talk later," the NSA said.

"Yeah, later," he replied as two more came through the door and one crashed through a window. "Guys!

I don't think I can hold them this time!"

Sanson turned and shot the one under the window as Miller fired and killed one of the ones by the door.

But that had emptied his belt and it was left for Weaver to finish off the last. "Up the stairs," Miller said, pushing the scientist ahead of him.

At the top of the stairs, though, was a large barricade constructed from a bed.

"Hey!" Miller yelled. "Let us through!"

"Catch," a voice said from the other side of the barricade and a knotted rope came flying through the air.

The command master chief started to hand it to the physicist and then stopped, taking the pistol and manipulating a lever. "Safety."

"Right," Weaver said. "Thanks for the tip." He dropped his cell phone in one pocket and tucked the pistol in the other then climbed up the rope, with a push from the chief, and tumbled to the floor on the top landing.

The two SEALs followed him up the barricade and then spread out through the top floors.

"VanGelder," a voice said behind him. "Lake County SWAT. Who are you?"

Weaver tilted his head backwards and looked up at a blond mountain of a man.

"Dr. William Weaver," he answered. "I'm a physicist studying the gates."

"Come to any conclusions?" VanGelder asked.

"Yes, I wish Ray Chen had never been born," Weaver said.

VanGelder chuckled and pointed at the pistol. "You know how to use that?"

"I killed four or five of them downstairs," Weaver answered. "But the honest answer is no. And I'm pretty much out of bullets."

"Knapp carries an H&K," VanGelder said. "I'll get you some magazines. You want a shotgun?"

"I'd love a shotgun," Weaver admitted.

"Okay, you stay by the barricade and make sure none of them come up," VanGelder said, walking away. "And I'll get you a shotgun."

Weaver peered out through a gap in the barricade but none of the things seemed to be coming up the stairs. There was a crashing from downstairs and their weird ululation but they didn't seem to be interested in the upper stories. There was firing from all around the house, now and he heard the sound of some of the thorn projectiles hitting the sides along with a curse from someone in one of the rooms.

VanGelder stopped by and dropped four magazines on the floor, then handed him a shotgun.

"Four rounds in the tube and one up the spout," VanGelder said. "You know how to use it?"

"You pull the handle back," Weaver said, guessing. Sure enough when he did a shotgun round flew out the side. "I've watched television." "You reload here," VanGelder said, dryly, pointing to the slot on the underside and handing him the ejected round. "I'll let you figure out the sights." He dropped a box of ammunition on the floor and then walked back into one of the rooms.

Weaver slid the round back into the shotgun and poked the barrel through the hole just in time to see one of the doglike creatures creeping up the stairs. It seemed to have trouble with the concept, raising its feet too high and missing the steps. He gave it a blast from the shotgun which knocked it off its feet. As it tumbled to the ground, howling, he shot it in the side. The load of double-ought buck put a hole in its side he could put two fists through. It twitched and then was still but by that time another was ascending the stairs. He shot it and this time it didn't fall but just kept climbing, belly down on the stairs. He shot twice more and the last round apparently found something vital because it stopped and rolled into a ball, biting at its belly. He shot it again and then the shotgun clicked on an empty chamber.

He loaded more rounds feverishly but no more were on the stairs when he looked. He leaned his head on the barricade and, just for a second, contemplated that this was a really stupid place for a physicist to die. When he opened his eyes again there were three of the things on the stairs, nosing at the dead monsters.

He shot one that was broadside, dropping it, then the other two clumsily charged upwards. He got one, somehow, but the third was scrabbling at the barricade and he was out of rounds. He dropped the shotgun and picked up the pistol, emptying it at point blank range into the belly of the monster. That stopped it, but its claws pulled the barricade partially down. More were on the steps now and he dropped out the magazine and started firing at them as fast as he could.

He was pretty sure he was done for when there came a burst of firing from outside the house. Shotguns, rifles, a heavy "BLAM-BLAM-BLAM" that sounded sort of like the big machine gun that had been on the truck and another louder boom that he couldn't place. The monsters were clawing at the barricade, though, so he kept reloading and firing. Then, suddenly, Sanson was at his side. He had a different rifle and he picked his shots, dropping the monsters one by one.

"What's happening outside?" Weaver shouted. All the firing had made him half deaf he realized.

"I think the cavalry got here," Sanson said.

Jim Holley had never had what most people called "a real job" in his life. After getting out of the Army he'd moved back to his hometown of Eustis and drifted from one job to another. He'd sold magazines, headed up a couple of charities, played at politics and spent a good bit of time working in retail. But what he mostly did was play with guns.

All of his limited free money went to his gun collection and it had, over the years, become quite extensive. He was well known to all the gun stores in the Eustis area and could be found every weekend that there wasn't a local gun show on one range or another firing a wide variety of weapons.

He'd been hanging out in Big Bob's Bait, Tackle and Armaments, wrangling amiably about the difference in quality between the British .303 and the .30-06, when they both heard the call from the SWAT team for any available unit to respond. If the National Guard couldn't handle it and the SWAT team couldn't handle it it had to be bad.

Big Bob had rolled his cigar from one side of his mouth to another and shook his head. "I think it's time to break out the big guns, Jimbo, what say you?"

Jim had just nodded and they both walked into the back room of the store.

Now, Jim had quite a collection but Bob Taylor was in the business of supplying whatever a customer might desire. And his idea of what customers might desire was pretty eclectic. The back room of his store, which was only open to the right sort of individual, was the gun collector's dream. He had two Barretts, M-82A1 and M-95, semi-automatic and bolt respectively. There were Armalites, MP-5s, Garands, Thompsons, Sten, Steyn AUGs and hanging in pride of place a .577 T. Rex. On the floor was a huge gun with a stock and a bipod that was a Finnish Lahti m/39 20mm "man portable" engine of destruction.

By the time they had the back door open and were loading ammunition the shop had started to fill up.

Some of them were "help me" customers who, hearing what was happening had decided that this was the day to come in and purchase a weapon. But the vast majority were the usual crowd of hangers on. The latter filed into the back room and set to work unloading the room and loading the weapons.