The compartment tilted, the blue dufflebag bumping around the children's legs, dropping out the hole.
It hit the floor below, a loaded shotgun blasting a hole in the side of the bag, startling the assembled Ss'sik'chtokiwij enough to inspire a slight retreat.
The compartment sagged further. Any more, and the children would come tumbling out like malted milk balls from a carton.
I hurried up the wall, but a moment too late. The girl came flying out feet first, with a scream.
The Ss'sik'chtokiwij beneath held their mouths open, like people trying to catch snowflakes on their tongue.
"Rebecca!"
I caught her, but then the compartment, boy and all, broke free from its supports and drop straight down with a loud bang.
"Timmy!" I rushed to the scene of the accident.
The boy was bruised, but otherwise okay. The height really hadn't been that great, probably half that of the average earth hay loft, and I've heard boys were quite the rough and tumble sort anyway.
The real problem: The Ss'sik'chtokiwij.
Rebecca clamped herself tightly to my shell, whimpering in fear.
Bang! Bang!
The boy apparently still had his father's pistol.
One of my young aunts shrieked, collapsing dead from several gunshot wounds to the head. It made me wonder if maybe Timmy's father had shown him a few things.
Another aunt dove in to take the dead one's place, but I shoved her away. Not Mother's size, it took a bit more effort than the mutant from the DAMBALLAH complex, but I did it.
A second later, the muzzle of a gun pointed in my face.
Timmy. Confused about which alien to kill. `We all look the same.' Small fingers squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Never had I been more relieved by a lack of ammunition. I trembled as I beckoned to him. "C'mon, Timmy. Let's go."
As I backed out with the boy in my arms, the other Ss'sik'chtokiwij closed in.
"Why do you not kill that thing?" one relative asked me. "It murdered Attabya with its accursed boom club!"
I sighed. "My dear aunts, you must understand that these creatures are stupid when they are young. They do not understand what they are doing."
I opened the dufflebag, handing one of them the human leg. "Here, you may have this. It comes from a larger human. They contain more meat when they're older. If you wish, I can get you more."
They grumbled a little, but ended up fighting over the leg anyway.
Although a lot to carry, I grabbed the guns, hurrying the children up the wall.
The weight soon got to me. As soon as I found a convenient pipe bracket sufficient to support the weight, I hung the dufflebag, leaving it there for later.
Taking my time (slow and steady wins the race), I slogged across the wall to a blast hole, setting the children down in an empty room on the opposite side.
I checked the place for safety. No apparent threats, just not very nice to look at.
Someone had lined a row of tied up men and women against a wall, and shot each one through the head.
Every one of them bore Kumar's scent. Knowing what I did about the man, I felt certain Ssorzechola had a claw in this tragedy.
I recognized more than a few of the faces, those who ran, dissenters Noah appeared to let escape his cult unharmed...Evidence that membership hadn't been voluntary after all.
I caught a few traces of Ss'sik'chtokiwij. Old scents.
Safe.
"I'll get the bag," I said to the children. "It looks scary here, but you'll be safe for the moment."
Timmy and Rebecca looked around uneasily, but nodded.
I handed Rebecca her doll and climbed out.
The bag had fallen to the floor in my absence. Still a lot easier to retrieve a dufflebag full of guns than a heavy child made of meat and bone.
Ss'sik'chtokiwij down there sniffed around for food, a stronger one chewing on the severed leg, the other two chewing on leftovers from the Ssorzechola incident.
I returned to the children.
A building badly in need of repair. The roof sagged in multiple places, rain pouring through numerous holes and cracks. The moist smells of precipitation masked many scents that could have been helpful.
Pink fungus resembling pig ears grew from the damp carpeting, creeping around a giant framed map of the London Underground. The children coughed as they inhaled the mildewy air.
A large color photograph of a beach at Blackpool had been destroyed by my blaster during the fight. A picture of Trafalgar Square remained intact, but dirty and permanently askew with a broken mounting bracket.
A moldy rug bore the British Underground logo. The owner also possessed a couch, an entertainment system, and several programs from A&E, including You've Got Service and Sapphire and Steel. The surface of a glass table held an open box of plant matter and soggy rolling papers, though I never understood the appeal of inhaling burning things.
The unstable ceiling looked ready to collapse at any moment.
Rebecca turned over the battered jewel case of a Syd Barrett CD, puzzled by the obscure song listings.
Not sure if the owner of this place had been one of the victims, or if they had fled during the conflict, but either way, they had abandoned the place in haste.
As interesting as the decor had been, minus the bodies and mold, the children understandably wished to vacate the premises at once.
Alas, the moment I stepped toward them, a young Ss'sik'chtokiwij leapt out from behind the kitchen counter, digging her claws into Timmy's shoulders. He yelped in pain.
Rebecca jumped back in fright.
I pulled out a shotgun, loading it with bullets. "That prey is mine. You're surrounded by adult bodies. Eat those instead."
To her credit, the Ss'sik'chtokiwij did not kill the boy right away. "They taste stale. They might be molding...What's that you got in your hand?"
"It's a Chinese thunder stick. It is used by something called `cowboys' in westerns. They would fire this device, to perform a variety of harmless tricks, such as the..."
I raised my voice, switching to English. "Timmy duck!"
I aimed at the ceiling above the stranger's head, pointing the muzzle at the weakest section.
Timmy dropped to his knees.
"Timmyduck?" the Ss'sik'chtokiwij repeated, seeming to be genuinely confused.
I fired.
The roof collapsed on the Ss'sik'chtokiwij, knocking her out cold.
Timmy escaped the collapse unscathed, for the stranger bore the brunt of the ceiling piece. He crawled out from under the debris, following me and Rebecca out the door.
Our return journey proved to be vastly less complicated. Once we'd entered the ventilation tunnels we'd used to get upstairs, our travels continued, for the most part, uninterrupted. We only stopped twice, to hide from humans passing by. We soon resumed our place in the fort.
I will not cheapen The Diary of Anne Frank by making too many comparisons to our situation. I'll only say her story becomes more vivid and personal when you're forced to hide in a tiny room, jumping at the slightest noise, attempting to be normal while at the same time trying to maintain the silence of church mice, seldom raising one's voice above a whisper.
"Can you guys read minds?" Timmy asked me after another seemingly interminable silence.
"In a way. But I need to use a special organ that goes into your brain. I actually used it on your sister, to stop her convulsions."
I showed him the Wooby Worms.
He frowned, staring at me with fear and discomfort. He clearly didn't like the idea of me tinkering with his sister's mind. "You made her into a pod person, didn't you?"
I shook my head violently. "Your sister is still herself. I was only fixing damage done by someone else."
"Who did it!" Timmy growled.
Afraid of a relapse, I just said, "They're dead now. Them and their robots. It is dangerous for me to explain further. She may have another attack."
He sighed, falling silent again for awhile. "Can you...fly or shoot laser beams or anything?"
"If I could, do you think we would have gone through all the ordeals we have?"
He shook his head. "Why don't you just take those guns and mow down all the aliens on this base? It would save a lot of trouble...and people!" I opened my mouth to speak, but he added, "When that air duct thing fell down, you had guns. You could have just gone Rambo on them. Pow pow pow! Why didn't you?"
"Would you go Rambo on your own family members?"
He frowned and looked away.
[0000]
I had no sewing supplies, and I'd just ruined our only reading material. I filled my stomach with parts from the carcass, tried to clean myself up, only to find that leather makes a lousy napkin. I returned to the fort, as-is.
Since I had a dark body and sat in the dark, I think the blood didn't show as much. The children didn't comment.
"We should get on a spaceship and leave this place," Timmy said.
"Yes," I said. "But how?"
He stared at me, then Rebecca. Neither of us had an answer.
Timmy slumped his shoulders in resignation. "...Do your people have a government? A king or queen?"
"Our only queen is the eldest mother. She rules the clan. It's not a government, it's a family."
"So you're in a clan? Do you burn crosses and stuff?"
"No. We do not have the clan of Klu Klux. I sincerely hope my people never develop anything similar." I sighed. "My people don't even know what a cross is."
"So it's more like the Godfather."
"How would I have a Godfather? I just said my people don't know what a cross is."
"What time is it?" Rebecca asked.
"I'm not sure that matters anymore. And I don't have a watch."
"Fine, but I'm hungry. Can we have lunch?"
I smiled. "Excellent idea. The man we encountered this morning in Food Storage was most agreeable."
Timmy's mouth dropped open in shock. "You ate him too?"
I groaned, shaking my head. "I meant he was a nice gentleman."
We set off through the tunnels, paused for a moment to avoid a couple gun wielding humans.
"So you don't have a spaceship at all?" Timmy asked.
"I'm sorry. Even if the ship wasn't demolished and being used as a power system, and I knew how to pilot it, someone would eventually try to eat you."
"Damn that sucks."
We climbed out the Food Storage vent, searching the shelves, cabinets and refrigerator for lunch food.
I had only turned my back a minute, to open a few cans of pork and beans, when a group of colonists with guns surrounded me.
Ahead of this group stood the mustached black man who had allowed us to breakfast earlier.
Raising my claws in surrender, I smiled and awkwardly waved. "Hello. Thank you again for breakfast. I trust we did an adequate job of cleanup?"
The man just twisted his lip and stared at me. It could mean anything.
I recognized one of the men. Big, bearded, and clad in overalls.
I pointed a claw at him. "You were in that Ssorzechola cult!"
The man chambered a round in his shotgun, aiming at my head. "I learned my lesson."
The other men likewise readied their guns.
I put my claws back up in the air.
"If I were you, Mr. Space Man," our bald, previously gracious host said in low, threatening tones. "I would think very carefully before I'd even begin to move a muscle."
"That's him!" a lispy voice shouted.
`Mama Bear.'
The man lurked behind the others, somewhat using them as a shield, yet I could see his every feature, the fuzz growing on his lip and chin, the piercings, one in each ear, bearing red and purple gems.
His shoulder had been heavily bandaged from where I shot him. His round, womanly features wrinkled with intense hatred as his gray eyes focused on me.
He leaned over a gunman's shoulders, jabbing an accusing finger in my direction. "That's the one that killed my husband and stole our kids!"
Before I could say a word in my defense, the dark skinned man snatched up my dufflebag full of weaponry, offering it to my accuser. "Hey. Is this that bag you were talking about?"
Jeff eagerly grabbed the item, the gleeful leer he gave when he reviewed the contents like that of a pirate peering into a treasure chest. "Yes. This is definitely mine."