The Tiniest Invaders BOOK II Meandering Menace

By William Bebb

Earth is in trouble. Not just one intelligent alien race, but two, are working to deal with our planet's number one problem- Those Crazy Humans. The very few humans who have learned of their schemes have chosen to work with the aliens who are very tiny and far less inclined to disintegrate people who get in their way.
They operate a wide range of ingenious, highly sophisticated vehicles that appear quite ordinary. Some of them include insects, squirrels, birds, and a very special one that resembles a young teenage girl that operates under the name Betty White.

The other race is made up of a species who has been stranded on Earth for a very, very long time. The remnant of their civilization are trapped on a planet that very soon will be swallowed up by an expanding Red Giant Sun. Throughout the centuries they've tried to open a doorway or portal many times to allow them to come to Earth. Every attempt failed or only briefly partially worked. But with time running out they've decided a more drastic, and perhaps catastrophic for everyone, approach is called for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Bebb
• Release date: Jul 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781452463124

William Bebb

William Robert Bebb:Who is he?Born in southern California in the 1960’s, William Bebb is a man of many talents. In the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, he earned scholarships for Forensic Speaking at two universities. William was also Editor of a University of Alabama at Birmingham newspaper from 1989 to 1991. Also, he won numerous awards for extemporaneous and other speeches at intercollegiate competitions across the country.After graduating with a degree in Communication Arts & Broadcasting from The University of Alabama at Birmingham in 1993, he worked in the exciting world of Academia till 1996.Today, he has unleashed his fertile mind on an unsuspecting reading public.

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The Tiniest Invaders

Book Two: Meandering Menace

Written by William Bebb

Copy editor Monty 'Danger' Hyman

Cover graphic artist Hadden Smith IV

This story is dedicated to you, the readers. Thanks for filling your brains with my feeble yet heartfelt attempt to create great greasy gobs of fine science fiction literature.

This novel is a Hands on Productions & Publication copyright 2012. All rights reserved. Any distribution of this novel without the expressed written permission of the author is illegal and subject to U.S. and international laws. This novel is purely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents described are solely the result of the author's overactive imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to actual real companies, products, events or people; living or dead, is a coincidence. ISBN 978-1-4524-6312-4

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Author's note:

I'm writing this before really 'officially' starting on the novel. I got a lot of email asking whether this was going to be a long drawn out series of books or if I'd get this thing wrapped up with a nice shiny red bow and say, That's all.

It's a darn good question. IF I were a much younger man with theoretical decades left to live and write I'd probably try to milk it out and stretch the story into several novels, but I'm not a spring chicken. (An old goat maybe but not a young chicken for sure)

How many books will make up The Tiniest Invaders? The most honest answer is I really don't know. The characters sometimes hijack the story and steer me toward places and situations I hadn't considered or planned on. I'd say 'I'll try and keep the story on course' but the truth is I kind of like it when they take over- Partly because it makes it easier for me to write but more importantly I enjoy the challenge of trying to extricate myself out of their predicaments in a believable and fun way and I hope you will as well.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE Wee wee wee, all the way home

CHAPTER TWO Black Beauty

CHAPTER THREE Lost in Space

CHAPTER FOUR The Rockford Files

CHAPTER FIVE Mission Impossible

CHAPTER SIX Different Strokes

CHAPTER SEVEN Pigs in Space

CHAPTER EIGHT Saved by the Bell

CHAPTER NINE Facts of Life

CHAPTER TEN Cheers

Closing Thoughts

CHAPTER ONE: Wee wee wee, all the way home

A large white Persian cat was curled up on a king size bed sleeping peacefully. Its ears twitched slightly when there was a sound of a door closing somewhere downstairs but it didn't awaken. Even when the door to the bedroom opened and a man in his early fifties with unkempt gray hair, wearing a white robe, with disposable blue paper slippers covering his shoes, shuffled in it continued to sleep blissfully.

The man swayed unsteadily and didn't so much lie down as collapse on the bed. When the man started falling toward the feline, the bed creaked and the thoroughly relaxed feline opened its deep blue eyes and saw the master of the house was about to crush it. The Persian leapt to the floor with almost half a second to spare, barely avoiding a catastrophe of significant proportions. (An event perhaps not very significant in the grand scheme of the universe, yet still crucially important to the cat.)

Dr. Andrew Everson PhD, head of the university's theoretical physics department, landed firmly on the bed and its expensive, famed, contouring material, foam mattress seemed to embrace him like a long lost lover. He'd been mostly asleep since being dropped off at his house by a military police officer, which is understandable since he'd had less than two hours sleep in the last forty-eight hours.

The cat jumped back up on the bed and announced its hunger by commencing a prolonged series of loud irritated yowls.

The man opened one bloodshot eye and glared at it. Newton, He whispered slowly in a hoarse voice and coughed weakly before continuing I will feed you when I am able. But at this moment I am not, so kindly piss off.

The cat ignored the request and licked the man’s sweaty forehead after Everson's eyes slammed shut once more.

The man sighed as he struggled to sit up on the edge of the bed. The cat excitedly pranced toward the hallway with its tail stiffly pointing up at the ceiling. It stopped in the doorway and looked over its shoulder, before yowling again, as if to say, Hurry up.

The well renowned physicist groaned and farted as he struggled to his feet before staggering toward the doorway. Seizing the edge of the wooden door he applied an impressive amount of force to slam it shut. Turning back to the bed, he heard the cat from the hallway express its displeasure at not being fed and rudely evicted from the bedroom by yowling even louder.

Everson undeniably proved the law of gravity was still in effect by collapsing on the bed once more. His eyes slammed shut for a few moments until he heard the phone on the bedside table ring. Ignoring it, he rolled onto his side and glanced at the bedside clock thinking, A day ago, just a day ago, the world seemed to make sense. But now that I've seen something straight out of one of those episodes of The Twilight Zone everything seems somehow unreal. I half expect Rod Serling to step out of my closet and do one of those clever introductory speeches.

"Meet Dr. Andrew Everson, a mild mannered middle aged professor of physics, who has always prided himself on logic and reason above all else. But he's about to learn that sometimes the square root of improbability and science can only be found in the shadowy region of time and space called the... Twilight Zone."

He kept his eyes shut but sleep would not come in spite of his exhaustion. The surrealistic images from just a few hours earlier of the research trailer folding in upon itself in the parking lot of the Pig's Pride Supermarket just kept repeating. If he hadn't witnessed it firsthand he would never have believed it. It was crushing down as the mysterious cube inside apparently acted as a miniature black hole, drawing in everything including an immensely unfortunate lab technician named Sam Drucker.

Everson only learned the man's name when he was driven home by a corporal who served in the military police. Before the implosion he'd spent several hours fruitlessly studying the small milky white cube of supposed extra terrestrial origins with Sam and not learned his name in all that time. And now he's dead? Everson wondered and rolled over again.

The head of the military police had asked if it was possible Drucker could be transported, somehow, somewhere as he'd seen before in several movies and on TV shows. At the time, he'd said it would probably be more merciful to hope he was simply snuffed out of existence. He still felt that way, rather than Sam finding himself flung into deep space where he'd have a few moments of agonizing terror as he felt his body freezing into a block of ice. Or perhaps even worse things would await him. Maybe an immensely high gravity planet could squish him into his shoes.

Everson shuddered briefly and felt the hairs on his arms and neck stand up at attention as he tried to stop thinking about it. Who could know? Maybe he's nothing but a memory or...or? I just don't know. If God exists, hopefully Sam just died.

Sitting in the hallway, the angry and immensely ravenous cat heard Everson start to snore and trotted away in disgust hoping the trashcan in the kitchen might have something it could snack on.

The almost sauna-like breeze was the first thing he was conscious of. It reminded him of a vacation he'd taken to Vegas. In the land of all you could eat buffets costing five bucks, and cocktail waitresses dressed in very distracting short skirts, there had been almost no humidity and now laying in the hot dust and sand he half expected to open his eyes and see one of the famous casinos built upon the shattered dreams of millions of gamblers. He tried to open them. They felt stuck or just maybe he was too tired.

The second thing he was aware of were the slowly diminishing vibrations that shook his entire body. He smelled something uniquely different than anything he was familiar with and finally managed to slowly open one of his eyes.

An office chair was lying on its back a few feet away and dozens of sheets paper were scattered across the expanse of light brown sand and dirt around it. Lifting his aching head up and out of the dirt, he pawed the clinging gunk from his face and out of one of his ears before attempting to sit up. An upside down examination table was a few yards away, near various pieces of scientific equipment, and while looking at it he felt a memory try to reassert itself before dissipating similar to when he sometimes tried to recall a confusing dream at breakfast.

What's wrong with the sky? He wondered managing to shakily get to his feet and stare above the large expanse of sand and dirt that seemed to go on without interruption toward the horizon as the wind whipped over his face. Whirling in a slow circle he saw behind him a cloud or fog bank that stretched all the way to the sky, seemingly without end.

Looking up at the slowly swirling deep dark red and orange clouds above he tried to focus. Where am I? How did I get here?

A large bird caught his attention as it broke out of a low hanging dark orange cloud. It glided in a low lazy pattern and the man tilted his head in confusion, watching it. A few moments later another and then more of them emerged from the clouds and he felt uneasy as they seemed to be flying toward him. He backed slowly away from the examination table but couldn't look away when the birds grew in size as they drifted lower.

The first bird made a loud high pitched squealing squawk which was then repeated by the other half dozen following it.

Watching as they opened their bat-like shaped wings, he estimated their wingspan of being at least ten feet wide. The long beaks and the rising fin-like protrusion atop of their heads made him think back to when he'd been a little boy. His eyes opened wider as he finally recognized what the 'birds' really were or at least what they appeared to be. Pterodactyls Giant dinosaurs? But...but, how?

The closest of them landed near the examination table and glared at him briefly before pecking at the table legs. He backed up several more steps wondering what kind of nightmare he was having.

A very faint sound of children laughing somewhere behind him, assured him he wasn't alone and gave him a direction to move toward. He spared a last look as the other 'birds' began landing near the first one. They squawked again and busied themselves investigating the papers, chair, and other items scattered around in the sand and dirt.

He took several shaky steps back while keeping a wary eye on the apparent winged dinosaurs. Gradually the sand and dirt grew moister and his shoes began sinking deeper with each step he made away from the winged monstrosities. A misty fog enveloped him and grew denser as he struggled to lift his feet up and keep moving. After several more steps he could no longer see the 'birds' clearly and sincerely hoped that meant they couldn't see him either. He wasn't certain that Pterodactyls, if that's what he'd seen, were carnivorous but was afraid they probably were.

The air felt heavier and thicker in the fog and a strong scent of burning metal made breathing not only unpleasant but also increasingly difficult. His lungs felt like they were on fire and he wondered how long they'd manage to keep working before he died or woke up from his bad dream.

He fell repeatedly while following the sound of children laughing and eventually found it easier to just crawl through the now nearly mud-like material on the ground. Plus his lungs seemed to be getting more air the lower he was. It soon became almost impossible to see more than a few inches in any direction. But the sounds of children playing and laughing grew louder and drove him doggedly forward.

He didn't see the dark metallic wall until he whacked his head against it. It was hard to make out exactly what kind of metal it was but at that moment he was just happy to find a sign that people really did exist as he leaned against the wall and managed to shakily stand up. Running his fingers along the smooth slightly vibrating surface, he reached up and found the top just a few inches over his head. He grabbed the top and scrabbled up, swinging a leg over until he found himself straddling the top. He was panting and feared for a moment he might pass out but gradually felt better and realized he could breathe much easier.

The wall seemed to stretch toward the horizons behind and in front of him. The sky was much brighter and everything around him was oddly red tinted. He felt a hot gust of wind and it wasn't until then that he realized how chilly and damp it had been under the fog bank on the other side of the wall. Below him there was a field of sandy dirt that ran along the wall and stretched a few hundred yards toward some oddly shaped industrial looking buildings, none of which were more than two stories in height.

Das ist verboten! a little bald headed boy shouted from about fifty feet away.

He couldn't help thinking the boy was ugly upon looking at him. His piggish looking nose was almost nauseating and his accent was odd too, yet he couldn't understand why.

The boy trotted closer and yelled again Verstehen Sie?

Yeah, I understand German, but I'm lost. Can you tell me where I am?

I speak English also. You are on the border wall with the Agians. You must be brave or stupid to be doing that. Come down before the enforcer patrols catch you.

Agians? He wondered, swinging over the wall and lowering himself down.

I am impressed. Did you have that surgically done or is it some form of transformation? Your disguise looks quite realistic, except for the mud. The boy said trotting the last few feet over and looking up at him.

What city is this? The man asked as he scraped the mud off the bottom of his shoes against the wall.

City? Are you alright? This is zone twelve. Are you going to be a Canadian, American or what? I got Austrian. What a disappointment. All the good films come from the United States.

Um...American, he said looking at the boy's face for the first time since he'd come closer. The boy didn't have a nose that looked like a pig's- it really was a pig's snout. His eyes were pink, small and narrow. His small triangular ears sticking out near the top of his head flapped in the steady breeze.

Can I practice speaking English with you? I'm supposed to be learning German but it's boring, The pig boy said.

Uh...sure, The man answered looking up at the light reddish gray sky with its enormous disk of bright red light overhead that he suspected was the sun. It was so large that it filled most of the sky. He pulled out his cell phone from his lab coat pocket and wiped the quickly drying mud off the screen. The clock function showed it was eight in the morning. And he noted without much surprise that there was no coverage. Either I'm dreaming or...something...something definitely weird is going on, he thought looking up at the sun, watching it flash intensely for a few seconds.

Cool, is that a real human phone? My uncle has one. He's with the Migration Authority. Are you afraid regarding the exodus? I sometimes have bad dreams about going. Actually they're more like nightmares- Stuff like being turned into bacon or barbecue. You know what I mean?

Uh, yeah. What's your name?

Hans Johansson or did you mean my real one?

Hans is pretty good, the man said placing a hand on his forehead as a series of disjointed images ran through his mind. He saw the research trailer and the cube flashing on the table and suddenly had total recall. The cube had been recovered from a dead extraterrestrial and he'd been running tests on it when it- what?...imploded? He swayed for a few seconds before falling on his butt and hyperventilating.

You okay? Should I get someone? You don't look alright, the boy said and then saw three vehicles and a squad of several enforcers hurrying toward them. Wow, I told you they don't like anyone messing with the Agians.

Present your identification tags, a large figure with the face and head of a warthog said, pointing a lightly glowing blue crystal stick at the boy and man.

Hey, you better do it. They look mad, Hans said to the man sitting on the ground that was looking up in equal parts disbelief and astonishment.

If I had one, I would.

The enforcer warthog sent the boy away as he stood over the dirt covered human with his crystal stick aimed at his head. You're human. That's no disguise is it?

Guilty.

Check him for weapons and get him loaded up, the warthog said before turning and walking away.

That's just a cell phone, he explained as they examined it then tossed it back at him and began waving another crystal stick around his body- this one glowing purple. There was a brief bright flash when it was pointed at his head. But when they waved it over the same spot again it didn't react the same way.

Okay, load it up and don't hurt it too much. the enforcer wearing a shiny black helmet said. Two other pig headed figures grabbed him roughly under his arms, one on either side, and hurriedly carried him to the back of a black vehicle that looked sort of like a cargo van only it had no visible wheels.

They threw him in the back and he landed on a dirty metallic floor. There were no seats and he scooted back against one of the walls before saying, Wake up, wake up, wake up.

*****

Outside the gift shop a chubby middle aged woman leaning on a cane, was serving as a tour guide to a small group of children and their youth pastor on a specially arranged after church outing. The kids were dressed in their best Sunday outfits and Trevor thought for a pack of ankle biters, they were behaving better than most children he'd had seen before. He paused to listen as the guide told them about Vulcan's origins.

While built in 1906 Vulcan wasn't installed on top of Red Mountain, here in Birmingham, until 1936.

How come he got no pants? I can see his big butt, a little boy wearing a dark blue suit and bright red tie asked as the other children giggled.

The woman blushed and cleared her throat before continuing. I'll answer questions later. It is constructed of cast iron and is the largest such statue in the world. It weighs over sixty tons.

Why aren't his ears pointy? A little girl in a frilly laced pink dress asked and Trevor turned away smiling as the woman tried to explain the difference between Roman gods and Gene Roddenberry's famous aliens.

Trevor stepped outside and wished briefly that he'd thought to grab a sweater before wandering around Vulcan Park. There was a chilly breeze that the nearly noonday sun was only partially able to provide warmth against. He tilted his head up and looked at the immense iron statue standing atop his hundred foot tall perch. There was a type of mesh work viewing platform that encircled the top of the pedestal and through it he spotted his boss and friend Professor Anniston and Alice looking out over the city of Birmingham. Even at that distance he noted how closely they stood together and shook his head before strolling toward the parking lot. I admire his ability to have a woman who's probably at least half his age, one he only met a little more than a day ago, be infatuated with him. But I truly hope he doesn't get hurt by their fledgling relationship. He's been through a lot- Discovers a nearly microscopic race of aliens that have not only apparently colonized Earth but also threatened to exterminate all of humanity. And why? Because most of our fellow Earthlings are dangerously insane.

The growing sound of a siren interrupted his thoughts. Looking toward the road that went past the park, he saw an old yellow Cadillac swerving around a line of slower moving cars. It weaved through and around them doing at least eighty. A moment later two police cars appeared from the direction the car had come and continued their pursuit. Several seconds went by before there was the jarring sound of something, presumably the Cadillac, crashing into something out of view.

Perhaps the diminutive creatures are right. Maybe mankind's seeming heedless rush to oblivion is all too readily apparent. It's certainly difficult to deny at times, he thought as there were more sirens heading toward the wreck.

Continuing down the sidewalk toward the parking lot, he spotted the loathsome Colonel Wilcox standing at the rear of the RV which Professor Anniston and he called their home. Part of his sour feelings about the man were due to his threatening to have him, Anniston, and Alice shot just yesterday.

He spotted the other young man whose name he'd managed to forget watching the parking lot anxiously. They'd only spoken for a few minutes but he seemed significantly more trustworthy than Wilcox even if he did work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He'd met some members of the CIA back when he'd, long ago, served in British Intelligence and found them to be entirely too much by the book for his taste. If the FBI were anything like them he feared how they would react or more likely overreact to the unique situation.

It's almost as if we're all walking on a razors edge. I don't doubt the tiny creatures would exterminate us if they felt threatened. What would stop them? Except perhaps for the little girl in the RV, that only looks human yet in reality is some sort of robotic monstrosity. I wouldn't have the slightest idea how to find let alone fight them or even if I should.

Trevor waited for a van to roll past before crossing back to the RV unable to stop wondering how far his friend and employer, Professor Anniston, was going to attempt to take his relationship with Alice. He smiled at the agent as he finally recalled his name. Everything alright, Agent Hicks?

Hicks nodded and continued to watch the parking lot, vainly trying to appear inconspicuous while not even realizing he was standing at attention in front of the RV.

A helicopter flew by and the old man and woman on the observation deck of Vulcan watched as it banked to the left. It quickly descended toward one of the nearby television stations that made the peak of Red Mountain their base of operations. It had been so loud they couldn't hear each other speak and they stopped trying. They watched the helicopter swing around the tall transmission towers, carefully staying clear of the intricate web of support cables, before landing.

The old man stared at the nearby television stations and looked contemplative.

James, just how long are we going to stay up here? All day? Alice asked while leaning back against the pedestal's sandstone walls, in a partially successful attempt to stay out of the chilly breeze.

I'm sorry, my sweet Alice. I'm having a difficult time going back to Black Beauty, the old man said shaking his head sadly before continuing. Did you know I purchased that RV back when that horny chap Clinton was in the White House? Not since I lived in London had I felt more comfortable anywhere. Trevor and I even drove it up to Alaska, a few years back. It's never given us a whit of difficulty. Even after putting almost three quarters of a million miles on it we've never had a smidgeon of trouble. But now my mobile retirement home is infested with not one but two different races of aliens and for the first time since I christened it Black Beauty I find myself growing to loathe it.

He sighed and then corrected himself. No, that's not true. It's just so much has happened in such a short time span that it doesn't feel like my home any longer.

"It may sound corny but I believe home is where the heart is. When I was married my home was my office at MIT. Home was never where my bed was- that felt more like a prison I had to share with Jeff. But at work surrounded by my friends and colleagues that was where my heart was."

The old man crossed over the metal mesh work platform and took her smooth delicate hands in his old wrinkly ones. She looked up and they kissed softly for a period of time that neither was quite sure of. It could have been mere seconds or hours until the ding of the arriving elevator heralded the arrival of someone. Alice was blushing as a group of well dressed children burst forth from the elevator and began their excited exploration of the platform that encircled the top of Vulcan's tower.

Shrill voices filled the nippy air and reluctantly Anniston walked Alice back toward the elevator. It had already descended and he pressed the button to summon it back, looking down at the RV, in the distant parking lot, covered in its collection of recently installed collegiate decals. He smiled slightly and squeezed her hand gently.

Alice looked down as well and saw Trevor had grown tired of their flirtatious behavior and wandered back and was talking with one of the federal agents standing near the front of the vehicle. She felt relieved that someone in authority had finally taken control of the situation. It's not as bad as you make it out to be, you know. You're not in this alone. Trevor and I both care about you and where there's life and love there's always hope. Besides, you heard that girl...uh machine-...robot? Alice said before getting confused trying to describe the thing the tiny aliens were using as a vehicle of some sort. The thing that calls herself Betty White promised to not release that horrible virus they developed.

He nodded but didn't answer until the elevator arrived. I've been thinking that perhaps I did somewhat overreact when I first learned what they were planning. It's just not every day one learns the fate of humanity lies in the 'hands' of tiny creatures that look like a cross between belly button lint and a feather. However it turns out with them, I'm perhaps even more concerned with these Ziffel fellows.

Why? She asked as they entered the elevator.

There are several things I don't like about them. The disguise it wore and how it was heading for Black Beauty made me feel as if it were coming for, and I know this may seem unjustifiably paranoid, me.

They held hands as they headed back toward the parking lot. She tried to speak a few times but wasn't sure what she wanted to say exactly each time.

Why me? Why would the Ziffels want me? He asked then continued. That's what you're trying to find a way to politely ask, isn't it.

Uh, well yes. Why you? Don't misunderstand me, James. You're the sweetest and most intelligent man I've met for quite some time but why would those ugly pig things be after you?

I don't know. I intend to find out as soon as we get back to Black Beauty and get some information.

You're going to talk with it? What if the FBI people won't let you?

It's locked up in my bedroom inside my RV. If I don't have a right to get some answers then no one does. And frankly I think it's high time I get some, the old man said in a determined and serious tone of voice that half scared half excited Alice.

Listen to me and listen carefully. Time's running out for both of us. You unlock one of these handcuffs and I swear I'll just leave without hurting anyone. But if your boss starts questioning me guess who I'm going to name first as working with us? The short, pig faced, 'man' sitting on the edge of Anniston's bed whispered urgently.

Marcus was scared but not from the apparent alien sitting a couple of feet away with his hands cuffed securely behind its back. He leaned back toward the partially open door that separated the bedroom from the rest of the RV. The agents voices drifted down from the living room and he felt time rushing forward faster with every passing second. Part of him suspected it was too late to do anything except shoot the Ziffel, but he was just a researcher who worked for the FBI not an agent and the idea of murdering anyone, even a pig headed alien, just wasn't in him. The idea of letting the Ziffel loose wasn't an option either. He may have unknowingly provided intelligence to them in the past but working actively with them, against his superiors, was equally unacceptable. The only option left was to just wait for the agents to come and confess what he'd done. He sighed, looking worriedly at the alien again before shaking his head. Marcus leaned back against the wall while still pointing the gun in the general direction of the Ziffel and his shoulders slumped visibly.

The Ziffel wasn't psychic but thought it could tell by the young man's posture that he was resigned to have the truth come out regardless of the consequences. Okay, I understand how you're feeling. Everything will be okay, Marcus. Just don't do anything stupid like shooting me.

Marcus looked at Trevor's machine gun in his hands and felt a sick swirling sickness in the pit of his stomach. His neck felt like it was tightening up and he was afraid he might be ill. Looking at his feet, he hoarsely managed to whisper, I won't shoot you. I'm a researcher not an agent. Heck, I don't even know how this damn thing works anyway.

The Ziffel gave no warning before almost instantly springing forward and used its long wickedly razor sharp tusks to easily and almost instantly slice through the young man's shirt and several inches of skin beneath. Marcus had barely a second to react before watching his intestines spill out on the floor of the small bedroom.

In instantaneous shock he fell to his knees, dropped the gun from his badly shaking fingers and reached out to gather up his blood covered snake-like bowels while making disbelieving choking noises.

The Ziffel strained hard with his arms and felt the tempered steel handcuffs chain stretching. It tried not to laugh too loudly as the human desperately worked for a few more seconds to gather up his slippery intestines before collapsing to the floor. There was a quiet screeching sound as the Ziffel flexed its muscles, pulling harder and then a moderately loud metallic clink sound as a link in the chain snapped. The Ziffel swiftly picked up the compact somewhat blood splattered machine gun and smiled grimly. He paused and stealthily peeked through the blinds covering the RV's bedroom window.

Staring at the alert colonel Wilcox standing near Marcus's car, the Ziffel clamped his teeth down hard until there was a cracking sound. After spitting out a bloody molar on the bed he bent down to see the tiny flashing