I hid around a corner, along the ceiling, trying to compose myself.

Perhaps I had overreacted.

We'd sent a distress signal, presumably one asking for rescuers well equipped to handle Ss'sik'chtokiwij, and here we had people matching that description.

They even had a ship. It stood in the distance, beyond the weirdly bending rock formations. If anyone could take Rebecca home with them, it would be these people.

Still, didn't exactly want to `roll out the red carpet'. Judging by the surly no-nonsense appearance of some of those ruffians, invited or not, they would soon barge right in.

I still trembled as I thought about that Ripley woman. So many nightmares about her, and now she just pops up on a video screen unannounced? I thought for sure she'd march through those gates and find me dead on the floor from a heart attack. If my dreams were in any way prophetic, this woman was going to shoot me.

What was God telling me? Run away and don't look back? Die fighting for Rebecca? Or merely...be careful?

Ellen Ripley...

I wondered, was this the same Ripley who gave Grandmother so much trouble? If so, these people better grab Rebecca and run home before things got really ugly.

Across the corridor, Rebecca crouched in a little compartment near the bathroom. Through the slat in the metal plating, she glanced at me, then the pressure doors, then at me again. She used her British accent. "Is it safe?"

I could only shrug.

The girl poked her head out, her hair an unkempt frizzy mess. For days, I had wanted to comb it, but she never let me get that close. I could only hope that someone could take her home and pretty her up. "I'm scared of the Bishop man."

I sighed. "I am too, but he's just a machine."

She frowned, retreating behind her cover.

A series of beeping sounds, then groaning grinding noises as a pair of soldiers forced the pressure doors open.

We hadn't gone outside that often. The doors had generally remained open for the last couple months, I suppose because they had been so stubborn.

Last week, though, we'd heard a loud clanking sound, but I hadn't made the connection until that very moment.

A little white man with a hat stepped across the threshold, apparently one of their leaders, by the way he carried himself. With the big round head, round nose, little ears and beady eyes, the man bore such a striking resemblance to Elmer Fudd that I had to cover the sounds of my laughter to avoid giving away my position.

The ruggedly handsome one followed him.

The short lady with the headband came in next. "Those hamsters upstairs are still alive. Someone must have been feeding them recently." It seemed they'd checked the place out elsewhere, before entering there.

That would be me. Rebecca visited that little room with the habitrail every day. I showed her how to put in the food and water, get rid of the droppings. Of course, children are inconsistent about such things, so I often shouldered responsibility for their care.

Ellen warily regarded her surroundings. "That doesn't mean anything. Hamsters eat their own dead."

Very cheerful, that woman.

The soldiers all had massive guns with little sonar scanners on them. I heard nothing but faint mechanical clicks from these devices the moment these people wandered into the corridor.

The Ripley woman was unarmed.

I stared, dumbfounded.

If she had no weapon with which to fire upon me, what did this dream portent mean? Should I take it as a metaphorical disaster? Would she wound me emotionally? If so, that really wouldn't be so bad...certainly not worth all the night terrors...

"What you got, Vasquez?" asked the cigar chewing man.

The small woman swung her impractically large weapon around. "Nada, sarge. This is going to be a cake walk."

Most impressive upper body strength. Even without the gun, her bulky body armor must have weighed a ton.

The soft featured man with the slick curly hair took pictures of the bombed out ceiling.

"Burke, what are you doing?" Ripley asked.

"You may not believe it," the man replied in a New England accent. "But certain types of damages can be claimed for insurance reimbursement." He frowned at the camera image. "Though if this is more damage from survey charges, we might be out of luck. Unless, of course, we can find the guys who did this and prosecute them."

Ellen glared. "You'd prosecute people for trying to save their own lives."

Burke shrugged.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You screwed me over on that Nostromo trial for the same thing."

"Now, you know as well as I that I was only your lawyer on that case. I had nothing to do with the prosecution."

"That's my point. You didn't help. And right now you're talking like you care more about the base than the people in it."

"It's private property, Ellen. These things cost money."

Ellen rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I let you talk me into going on this bullshit mission."

"You wanted to help."

The woman scowled, but didn't reply.

The cigar chewing man opened a panel, poking buttons on a computer. Nothing happened. "Hudson, I thought you said the system was up and running!"

The fat faced gentleman set about flipping switches and pushing buttons. "I thought I did, too. Beats the hell out of me."

After he'd banged the panel with his fists a few times, the machine lit up.

The device displayed a little map, which he stared at with a look of disgust. "There's your problem right there. Whole power grid is FUBAR. A wonder the lights even stay on."

The screen darkened a second later.

The group of strangers cautiously swept the area, mouths closed, eyes glued to their scanning equipment.

Rebecca retreated down a nearby tunnel before they could get closer. I followed her. Nobody mentioned any blips. I guess we were out of range.

Frost, a musclebound African American, and the cigar chewer remained standing guard in the other tunnel, so I decided Rebecca would be safe for at least ten minutes, long enough to spy on our visitors.

A basic `sweep.'

Devon's base of operations hadn't been the only location where humans made a heroic last stand against the Ss'sik'chtokiwij. Someone set up a barricade near the Butler home, and, according to the soldiers' estimation, it hadn't held under pressure. Burke again took pictures.

"Put that away!" the Elmer Fudd guy ordered. "You'll compromise our location!"

Ripley crossed her arms. "They have no eyes. But he has a point: At least turn off the sound."

One soldier, a bulky ox of a man with a `do-rag' tied around his head, had been watching his sonar device this whole time. I must have gotten too close, for all of a sudden he hissed, "Gorman, sir! I've got something!"

I made myself very still, waiting to see if my noiselessness would take me off the radar. I reasoned that even those fancy fish finders I saw on recordings would fail to detect a non-moving fish.

The Elmer Fudd guy frowned at the monitor. "Drake, that's just a heat pump."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but that doesn't look like the right shape for a heat pump."

Gorman tapped the screen. "Take the battery out and put it back in. If you still see it on the readout, we'll check the area again."

They wandered to the next unit, which just so happened to be the lab I used to stay in.

[0000]

I didn't dare get too close, but I could hear plenty just by climbing into a nearby duct and pressing my head to the sides of the compartment. Sound traveled remarkably well.

"The reports say they were doing intelligence studies in here." Flat monotone voice. Obviously Bishop. "That and some advanced cancer research..."

Creative writing.

"Gee, it looks like someone had a party with the ammonia!" Hudson said.

"More than likely, it was used to clean up the creature's waste."

I snorted in amusement.

"Creature?" Ellen shouted in alarm. "That's the intelligence they studied in here?"

Bishop didn't answer.

A minute later, Vasquez gasped in shock. "Holy shit!"

"They're dead," said Bishop. "It looks like the creatures starved to death."

They'd found the larvae that killed Abernathy. The ones I'd locked in a cell. Apparently one human carcass hadn't been enough to keep them alive.

I covered my mouth, whimpering a little.

I caused those deaths.

Me.

So many things in my past I could have done better.

"Hey, look!" Hudson rattled something. "Wonder who's the Dungeon Master?"

"Put that down. What are you, like, twelve?"

After a moment's pause, Ripley asked, "What was in this one?"

Bishop dug through papers. "It's probable this was Subject 073. I found some documents about him over here."

"It sowed and read the bible." Ripley's tone dripped with skepticism.

"I admit I do not have much information on this case, only that the subject was of tremendous scientific value due to its understanding of verbal commands and highly advanced mental capacity."

They continued down the hall to a second lab, one I hadn't set foot inside before. Rebecca had a phobia about labs, for obvious reasons.

As with the previous one, I stayed out of range of their sensors, hiding within the vents.

I had a pretty good view of the interior, and the people wandering between rows of blocky computer mainframes and power capacitors.

Beyond these devices stood a large antiquated computer terminal, and rows of socmavaj in glass jars. Bishop muttered something about one socmavaj being removed from that John Marachuk person I heard about.

Burke stuck his face too close to a jar, and the socmavaj tried to latch on to him. A soldier made a joke about it. I'm rather surprised the creature survived that long in a tank, but I guess the nutrients must have been correct.

Ripley clenched her teeth. "They all need to be destroyed."

"They're in a jar, what are they going to do? We need to concern ourselves with...whatever's running loose out there, and worry about these later."

Bishop took a half dissected socmavaj out of cold storage. Once he had it beneath an electric magnifier, he busied himself unfolding the layers of skin with a laser scalpel, forceps and clamps, picking apart the various organs.

Ripley's face clearly reflected an expression of distrust. "I think we've seen everything here."

Gorman nodded. "All right, Drake. Let's take a look at this heat pump."

I trailed Fudd and Do-Rag Guy as slowly and quietly as I could, watching as they searched the corridor again, sweeping their surroundings with the sonar devices.

Drake pointed ahead. "There! There it is again!"

"Steady everyone," Gorman warned. "On your toes. If you see anything, just point."

The sonar device thumped fairly rapidly now. Drake pointed down the corridor, and they hurried after...whatever it was.

I caught the flash of denim and the scraggly blonde hair just seconds before the man opened fire.

"Rebecca! No!" I shouted.

The handsome, square jawed soldier twisted Drake's weapon back, causing it to fire into the ceiling. I gasped as shrapnel tore holes in the aluminum right next to my head.

"Dammit, Hicks!"

At the same time, Vasquez spun around, spraying bullets in my direction.

"Cease fire!" Gorman shouted. "Civilian!"

"Sir!" Vasquez cocked her head in my direction, smacking gum. "I heard something back there. It could be another one."

"Take Drake with you and check it out. Don't take any unnecessary risks. If you smell an ambush, fall back and report to me immediately."

"Yes sir."

I darted into the ventilation system, slowing my movements.

I suspected the tactic hadn't exactly been effective, for soon a series of round dents appeared in the metal.

Regardless, I decided it wouldn't help to move around, so there I stayed, praying that the next bullet would not punch through.

Rebecca screamed somewhere nearby, but I couldn't move enough to investigate.

I waited, and waited.

At last, the noises stopped outside my compartment, and I could make cautious steps toward Rebecca's location.

The girl had returned to her hideout, among the boxes of foil wrapped packages and multicolored bead necklaces.

The Ripley woman sat with her, rocking her gently back and forth, stroking her hair, singing to her: "...So let the sun shine in, face it with a grin, frowners always lose, and smilers always win..."

She sang some more and kissed the girl on the head. I noticed the woman grimace a little, probably because Rebecca hadn't bathed in awhile. "Honey, let's get you out of here, okay? You're safe. There's some big strong marines watching out for you, we'll get you some warm food to eat and take you home."

"This is my home."

"I know, honey. But it's not safe. C'mon. We'll take you to your parents."

Unbeknownst to Ellen, this basically translated into "We're going to take you to the cemetery and bury you."

Rebecca flinched, trying to get away. "No!"

"C'mon. Don't you at least want to get some warm food and a shower?"

Rebecca relaxed a little.

Ellen picked up her second grade citizenship award, staring at it for a moment. "Rebecca..."

I hadn't noticed at the time, but within the vent in which I observed all this, there lay small pieces of a human skeleton, scented of my dear friend Sarah.

As I scooped parts of her into my purse, I accidentally let a few foot pieces slip. They clattered noisily against the big fan blades, dropping into the hideout.

Ellen picked one up, then threw it down immediately. "Oh my God! Please tell me those are animal bones." She glanced upwards, through the turbine.

I waved sheepishly at the woman. "Hello."

"Oh God! It's one of those things!"

Rebecca spoke in her British voice. "That's just Ernie. He is a very strange Dementor."

"He's going to be a very dead Dementor. I don't even want to know whose bones those are."

So we have an understanding, I thought.

Rebecca didn't reply to the threat, she just let the woman lead her outside.

Keeping my distance, I followed the two back to the lab with the jarred socmavaj specimens. I think they chose the room due to there being a bed, and the socmavaj being safely trapped within fluid filled containers.

Ellen sat the girl down on a desk, and Gorman started asking questions.

"Did we get the girl's name?"

Ellen showed him the award. "Rebecca Jorden."

The man leaned over the desk. "Rebecca. Where are your parents?"

The girl just stared at him sullenly.

Ellen tried a gentler approach. "Rebecca, honey, we're trying to help you."

Rebecca answered in a cold tone. "No one calls me Rebecca except my parents."

Gorman sighed in frustration, shifting his weight on the desk.

Ellen placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "What do you want to be called, sweetie?"

"Newt."

"What?"

"My name is Newt!"

"Okay," Gorman stammered. "Newt. Where are your parents?"

Rebecca only sighed.

"It's okay, Newt. You can trust us. We're only here to help."

Gorman paced the floor in front of her. "We're trying to extract survivors from this base, Newt. Anything you can tell us would help. Do you know where they went?"

The little girl looked depressed, saying nothing.

"Sweetie, we want to help your mommy and daddy, but we can't do anything until you tell us where they are."

"My parents are dead, okay! Can I go now?"

[0001]

Gorman sighed and looked away. "Sent in to do a rescue mission and you become a glorified babysitter."

"I'll take care of her." Ellen marched to a refrigerator, staring at its contents.

I'd forgotten about that fridge. Either that, or there hadn't been that much in the way of food inside. "How about some ice cream, Newt? Looks like they've got rainbow sherbet and mint chocolate chip."

Rebecca shook her head violently in disgust. "No!"

Ellen shrugged. "You're right. It's a little cold for ice cream."

Burke, who had been watching them the whole time, chose this moment to add his two cents. "I've actually heard that frozen confections are a big seller in northern states like Alaska. Ice cream companies do surprisingly well."

Rebecca only looked at him like he were stupid.

Ellen read the label on a silver package. "I know, I'll make you some nice hot chocolate."

While the water hummed in the microwave, the woman admired Rebecca's quilt. "That's really nice stitchwork. Who made that for you?"

"My mommy."

This depressed me, but I decided it worth it for the mental stability.

At least she could still identify me by name, if she thought about it.

"How long have you been alone, Newt?" the woman asked.

"Awhile."

Ellen chuckled. "And how long is that?"

"A few months, I think."

"So you just took care of yourself all this time?"

Newt nodded. "Me and my brother. Of course, mommy helped some. She rescued me and Timmy from some bad people that tried to hurt us."

"I thought your mother was dead."

"She is. Some other people helped too."

"And where are they, honey?"

"They're all dead."

Ellen mixed the chocolate and gave it to my friend, inadvertently spilling some on the child's face.

Upon cleaning the spot of chocolate away, she proceeded to cleanse Rebecca's whole face. Shameful how filthy she'd become. "You wouldn't know there was a little girl under all of that."

Rebecca smirked a little.

Deciding the girl was in good hands, and armed hands at that (Frost and Drake guarded the door), I tried to get some work done on my daughter's Christmas present.

Unfortunately, when I came by to retrieve my kit, I found Vasquez and the Sargent (now actually smoking his cigar) standing around the hideout.

Sarge poked at the communications system, staring at the monitor. "You think it ever stops raining out there?"

Vasquez leaned against a wall. "No clue."

"I love my cold showers, but damn." He marched across the hallway. "I'm going to bleed the weasel. Be back in a few."

"Don't fall in," Vasquez muttered.

Now, Rebecca and I had acquired several Catholic candles from various rooms. Our intent had been to use them like night lights along the corridors, but I worried it would start a fire. Near these, Rebecca had also discarded one of those utility cart legs.

I wrapped a towel around the leg of a utility cart leg, waving it around the corner like a peace flag.

Vazquez hadn't been looking my way, so I rolled a Virgin Mary candle to her with my best bowling move, waving the flag again.

The woman turned her gun on it, hands closing on the grip before she identified the object. "The fuck?"

She tapped the candle with her boot, looked up to see me waving the flag.

"No fuego! No lastimarte!"

The woman chuckled. "You speak Spanish!"

Vasquez took out a radio. "Hey. Apone. Check this out! I found one of Ripley's things. It talks! And get this, se habla espanol!"

"You're shitting me."

"No sir. He just gave me a Virgin Mary candle."

"Do not engage," Sarge said. "I'll be out in a minute."

"Is it true you don't wash your hands?"

"Mind your own business, Vasquez."

Sargent Apone came marching out with a small pistol drawn.

I held up my claws to show I was unarmed. "Hi. My name is Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik, or Ernie if you prefer. I mean you no harm. I just came by to get my sewing kit so I can make my daughter a sweater."

The two snickered at the absurdity.

I crept closer, arms still raised.

Apone raised the gun threateningly. "Don't move another step."

I nodded to the hideout. "I'm only looking for my sewing kit. As long as you don't shoot me, I'll leave you in peace and be on my way."

Vasquez smacked her chewing gum. "Tienes huevos mas grandes, cucharachón," Vasquez said. "How do we know you ain't gonna come climbing in there and pop out with a weapon?"

"There aren't any weapons in there. You have my word. If you don't believe me, you can ask that Ripley woman."

Apone clicked a button on his radio. "Gorman. Got a creature down here, and it's talking. Can we send our consultant down here to take a look?"

The radio crackled. "She's showering the kid right now. Can you keep it where it is for a minute?"

I nodded. I would stay.

"That's an affirmative. You think you can ask her a question? All I want to know is if there are guns back in that little cubbyhole, and if there's any harm in giving the creature a sewing kit."

Burke's voice suddenly cut in the transmission.

"Do not fire at that specimen. I repeat, do not fire. The thing you are looking at is a very rare and valuable scientific property. I don't want it damaged."

Gorman returned to the radio. "That's a negative on the guns. Let granny knit her mufflers. Just guard the exits, and put a few holes in it if it does anything unsafe with those needles."

"Non-vital organs only," Burke agreed. "But I'd prefer if you use positive reinforcement. More carrot, less stick. Maybe bait it with some beef jerky."

I grinned. "Do you have some? I'm starving."

Apone frowned, then tossed me a package. The little bit of meat was gone in a second.

"That's a ten four on the carrot. Tell the consultant to come down at her leisure. We're going to have a little knitting demonstration."

They pointed their guns at me, but I slowly entered the hideout, brought out my kit, the sixteenth of Shauqauzjarruba's sweater I'd started on.

I also picked up Sarah's bones, hoping to bury them all sometime.

I sat on the floor outside, getting to work. "It's kind of a Navajo motif. I wanted to do a reindeer, but it's too complicated."

Vasquez was smiling.

Apone just smoked, eyelids drooping out of boredom. "What's in the purse?"

I could tell things would look bad for me, so I proceeded with caution. "American Indians carried the remains of their loved ones in special bundles. I am carrying my friend's. If you allow me, I will bury them with the rest of her."

Apone clicked back the hammer of his pistol. "Hand it over."

I hesitated.

"Carrot, stick. It's all the same to me. Want me to shoot your foot first? Or the tail?"

"Be nice. I don't think he needs to be threatened." Vasquez stared up at my face plate. "Lo siento, cucarachón. ¿Damela bolsito, por favor?"

I gave her the purse, cringing as she looked inside.

"These look like little kid bones."

I bowed my head. "And she was my best friend."

The woman took out a handful of bullets, showing them to me. "I thought you said there were no guns in there."

I waved my knitting needles. "There aren't."

I suddenly heard someone using God's name in vain. I looked up and saw the Ripley woman approaching, Newt trailing shyly behind.

My little friend looked a lot nicer now. Her hair flat on the sides of her head, and her complexion fairly glowing with cleanliness.

"What the hell are you doing!" the woman shouted to my new acquaintances. "Blow its fucking head open!"

[0002]

As an afterthought, she glanced down at Newt, a bit embarrassed at using foul language in her presence.

I flinched, covering my head.

Newt muttered that my name was Ernie, but Ripley didn't acknowledge the comment.

Apone puffed his cigar, shaking his head. "Burke wants this one. Says it's valuable."

Ellen scowled at me. "These things killed my entire crew! I don't care if it can fart the Battle Hymn of the Republic, I want it dead!"

"Broken record," Vasquez muttered.

"Please don't kill me, Ellen," I whimpered. "I know you are a tough, mighty woman..."

Apone suppressed a laugh.

Vasquez popped a stick of gum into her mouth. "Look, Snow White. I wanna kick some ass as much as you do, but this guy just wants to knit a damn sweater for his kid. I don't see what all the fuss is about."

Apone shifted uneasily, refusing to holster his weapon. "Of course, it does have some rather sketchy things in its purse."

"What...Is in the purse."

I tried to explain, but she took it all wrong. "I don't care what it says! It killed a (God condemned) child! Unless you want another death on your hands, I suggest you get rid of it!"

"Ellen..." Burke had now joined us. "Look, Ripley, I know these things put you through a lot. Lord knows we don't want them running loose all over the base, but the chances are very good that we are looking at the missing Subject 73. Once we get this guy into a nice holding cell, he'll no longer be a concern."

Ellen narrowed her eyes. "And how do you propose to do that?"

Apone crossed his arms, staring at my face.

"The choice is yours, Mr. Bug. You want the carrot, or the stick?"

I shook my head in frustration. "I'm a girl."

He scoffed. "Follow me, miss."

Once again, I found myself imprisoned, albeit willingly this time. After all, I had my knitting supplies.

In exchange, I got more beef jerky, but finished it the moment they closed me in the cell.

Another bullet resistant glass prison. Burke admired me from the cell door.

"I'm still hungry. Can you find me some more?"

"I'll...see if I can scrape something up."

"Do us a favor, Burke," Gorman muttered to him in a low voice. "Don't use the phrase `Shake and Bake colony' around that thing. It might get hungry...Hungrier."

Newt pointed an accusing finger at me. "He ate my brother."

"My sister did that! I refused to eat him, and someone took the body when I wasn't looking! Why do you think I'm starving right now!"

Ellen narrowed her eyes at me. "You have a really big stomach. And you ate a child. He was probably like an appetizer to you. The fact that you're still hungry doesn't surprise me in the least."

Burke leaned on the glass. "Don't mind her. She's had some...emotional stress. In between watching her crewmates dying around her, and finding out that her daughter died of old age while she was in space, she's very..." He paused to search for a safe descriptive word. "...upset."

Ellen's tone became icy. "That's putting it mildly."

"How old was she?" Newt asked.

Ellen sighed and rubbed the child's head. "Amanda was sixty six, I believe."

"Wow. You're old."

I thought Ellen would get offended, but she only chuckled. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Ernie," Burke said. "Can you tell me something? How many eggs are hidden around this facility? Give me a ballpark figure if you need to. Are we talking hundreds? Thousands?"

"I don't know. A lot. Do you have any bottles of ammonia? I'm thirsty."

Surprisingly, he got one for me.

For an hour or so, I just worked on Shauqauzjarruba's sweater. As I paused to sip my beverage, Ellen took the girl into a nearby room, more than likely tucking her into the bed I'd seen when I'd came in.

Burke stood at the computer, pushing buttons and activating various things, but I didn't know much about such things, so it gave me no cause for concern.

More than halfway done with the sweater. I smiled at my handiwork.

The door slid open. Burke had an unusually happy expression on his face, like he were meeting with a wealthy shareholder.

For reasons unclear to me, he tossed me a card key on a lanyard.

I looked around, but didn't see another soul. The other soldiers probably hung out in an adjoining room, drinking coffee and staring at security monitors.

"I don't understand."

"You're a good guy. You mind your own business, you sew. I trust you with this."

I stared at him in puzzlement. "Uh...thank you?"

A second later, he ripped my baby's sweater apart and beat me with a rod from a utility shelf.

I blocked the blow. "Hey! I thought you said you preferred the carrot to the stick! Ow!"

He kept clubbing me.

"Brother, I forgive you, but you must stop this abuse."

I lashed out with a little too much force, cutting him across the forearm.

"Ow!" Burke shouted a little too dramatically, clutching the wound. "What did you do!"

"What did I do?" I cried in an indignant tone, but it didn't matter.

The man bandaged his wounds, shouting strange things like, "Let go of my badge!"

He hit himself with the pole several times, throwing it into the cell with me as well.

That's when the fire alarm went off.

Behind the lab's glass window, where Rebecca and Ellen had retired for the evening, emergency lights flashed, fire sprinklers spraying water, and below, a lust crazed socmavaj scurried about on the floor, chasing down my friend and her new guardian.

They screamed and hollered, but you couldn't hear a single thing though those soundproofed windows.

Burke had done something to the security system while I had been busy knitting. The closed circuit televisions did not display the interior of Newt's sleeping quarters. Something was rotten in Denmark.

Burke lay down on the floor, pretending to be brutally attacked.

In seconds, soldiers stormed in, looking all around for a fire, Hicks, Drake, Frost, Vasquez at the head of the group.

Gorman, noticing Burke moaning on the floor, rushed to his side right away. "What happened?"

Burke of course pointed to my cell. "The thing attacked me and took my badge."

Sweat glistened on Hicks' angular forehead. "Ripley!" firing his machine gun at the window.

The man rushed into the lab. More gunfire.

Frustrated by the rescue, Burke muttered a string of obscenity under his breath, then covered it by saying he was in pain.

I watched anxiously as Hicks carried the little girl out the window, into the main room, Ellen climbing out after him, both looking visibly shaken by the experience.

"What the hell is going on!" Ellen shouted. "You had cameras with audio! Didn't anyone hear us scream?"

"It was this thing." Burke groaned and feigned an arm injury. "It attacked me and stole my card. I think it must have turned off the cameras."

Ten guns pointed in my face.