Alright, listen up everyone!

By now, I’m sure everyone has heard the rumors, and while I fervently wish I could deny them, I’m afraid that is not possible. Our subjects have indeed been mistakenly implanted with a pair of VENUS devices originally designed for military use.

…and we all know what that means.

< uproarious crowd noises >

Now, now! Hold on! Let’s not get too excited just yet. The situation is still salvageable. However, we’ll need to take some precautions while filming the rest of the series.

< outraged shouting >

Yes! You heard me! We are going to continue film—sit down you! Don’t think anyone is going to get away with jumping ship at this juncture. There isn’t a soul here who isn’t guilty of breaking about half a dozen intergalactic laws already, and I will not hesitate to take all of you down with me.

Don’t think you can plead ignorance either! We all know what sticklers the magistrate can be… unless someone just happens to have an appropriately large stash of bribe money laying around?

< grumbling noises >

I assumed as much.

But don’t lose hope just yet. If we do this correctly, no one will be the wiser and… there may just be a substantial bonus at the end of it for each of you.

< intrigued crowd murmuring >

I thought that might get your attention.

Right, then. First of all…

*

Mark rolled to his knees woozily and winced.

His head was swimming so badly, he had the brief notion of having been drugged. Which might not have been far off. He felt as if he had just been torn apart by a professional baseball team then reassembled by a bevy of French maids with feather dusters. Or more simply, he was sore, aroused, and more than a little confused about it.

Worse, he was feeling nauseous, and his skin had that paper-thin, itchy quality to it, letting him know he was getting pretty badly dehydrated. But that part was at least explainable. Whatever had just happened, he had been cruelly left to roll around on the beach for the duration. And with no shirt on to boot. It had only taken the one trip to Galveston to drill that lesson into his admittedly-thick skull. But then, he shifted his shoulders—with a mind-meltingly satisfying pop—and the memories came flooding back.

“Naomi?”

“I’m here,” she called quietly.

He followed the sound to find her huddled behind the corpse of the turtle—the sight of which elicited an extremely noticeable gurgle from his stomach, and his nausea vanished without a trace. It was not until that moment he realized how absolutely starving he was. More so than he could ever remember being… or even thought possible.

However, his unconscious surge forward was quickly interrupted.

“Don’t come any closer!”

He froze, swallowing back the swell of frustration. “What’s the matter?”

The top of Naomi’s head crept cautiously up and over the shell like a scout cresting a hill. Her eyes raked over him for a few moments before answering.

“Hand me my clothes.” She pointed over to where the mangled bundle had landed after their battle. “Please?”

He grumbled irritably. Why she should suddenly rediscover her modesty now was beyond him. If his own gut was any judge, she had to be on the verge of madness from hunger. But his mother had not raised him to deny a woman clothes when asked for. No matter how chewed through they might be.

Just as he was about to untie the pack, she called out again.

“The shirt, too.”

He glared at her. “It’s my shirt!”

“I need the shirt, Mike.”

“So do I,” he shot back, then pressed a hand to his reddened shoulder. It left a perfect imprint of white behind. “Just look at me!”

“Oh… trust me. I am,” she said carefully. “I don’t think that shirt is going to help you anymore.”

He just snorted. “Shows what you know. You can always get more sunburned. Trust me.”

With that, he flipped the contents of the bundle to the ground so as to inspect what remained of his once prized T. The blasted turtle had bitten off the neck and a goodly portion of the shoulder. Combined with the rest of the abuse it had taken, the entire front was now completely sliced through, but it should have still been usable as an open front button-down—despite the lack of buttons.

Except…

“The hell?”

Slowly, he pulled the once familiar garment forward to compare against his chest, but that did nothing to clear up his confusion. He even checked the tags. Triple XL. Just as before. It had not been replaced while his attention was elsewhere. Nevertheless, his shirt had somehow become comically small.

“Mike…” Naomi called again with hand outstretched, patient yet clearly annoyed. “Do you mind?”

He tossed it to her without looking, too wrapped up in his own head to do otherwise. “What… happened? I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, you do,” she returned and quickly began to don the shirt… which still looked small enough in her hands to be one of those baby T’s girls liked to wear. “You just don’t want to believe it.”

She gave an uncomfortable shrug, grimaced, then reached to adjust something unseen. Her bra came loose a moment later and was summarily tossed to one side.

Mark blinked uncertainly. There was nothing like an errant flash of underwear to jumpstart a man’s brain, and his recent brush with… whatever that had been was not helping things.

“Uhm… here’s your jeans?”

The offer was met with a withering glare. “And how exactly do you expect me to put those on? Look at them, Mike.”

Uncertainly, he shook out the wet bundle of denim… then searched the area to see if he had somehow grabbed the wrong pair by mistake—nonsensical as that was. No amount of shrinkage could account for the pants he was now holding in his hands. They looked sized for an 11-year-old.

It was then that Naomi decided to stand, and his eyes immediately snapped to her. His once voluminous shirt fitted tightly to her shoulders, and she had needed to pull the rest of the fabric taut so as to knot it between her breasts… leaving a pleasant expanse of belly exposed… to say nothing of the cleavage. Meanwhile, her boy shorts had clearly suffered some kind of mishap. Both of the outside seams had blown clean open to the waist, leaving what remained to hold on for dear life.

However, that was the least of it. Her once elfin frame had filled out in other ways, particularly in the legs. She looked… fit. Slim, yes. But also curvaceous. Healthy and virile. Maybe not to the standards of some Brazilian swimsuit model, but she would in no way be humbled at the beach.

All of which made him intensely aware of just how tight his pants were becoming.

She cocked her hip knowingly and folded her arms beneath her breasts. “You might want to take a look at yourself, Long John. You got it way worse than me.”

“Long John?”

He looked down at himself instantly—grateful for the distraction—but other than his gut having virtually disappeared, he could not tell much else different at a glance. Certainly not enough to account for the clothes. It was not until he stood that he began to understand.

It was as if the entire world had shrunk. Not by much… but still. From this vantage, it was noticeable. The trees. The beach. The turtle. All just that tiniest bit… less. Even Naomi—

His head whipped around to stare, the final pieces clicking into place. Before, his head might have over-topped her by a few inches, but now? There were multiple feet of difference between his height and her own. Plural. Perhaps by as much as a yard!

“What the—?!”

“Yeah…” she agreed slowly, her eyes roving over him in a perfect mirroring of his own on her not a moment prior. They came to rest somewhere around his midsection. “How’s the circulation down there, buddy?”

His gaze snapped downward again guiltily, fearing the worst, but everything looked… contained. Not happy but contained. His once voluminous basketball shorts now more closely resembled spandex, making him grateful, for the first time in his life, to have been so fat. Else they would never have survived… to say nothing of the embarrassment they were currently suppressing.

But then he noticed the unfortunate remains of his tighty-whities dangling from the bottoms of his pant leg and, if not for his horrific sunburn, he might have blushed crimson. Turning away slightly so as to discreetly remove them, and well aware of Naomi’s continued and unabashed stare, he held them aloft. They had ripped completely in half. Straight through the crotch.

He grimaced. “Well. That’s… Wow.”

“You have a gift for understatement.”

“What happened?” he asked again, mostly just to say something. “How?”

Naomi’s eyes finally dragged themselves away from his midsection. But all she said was, “The fruit happened.”

Mark turned to look at her, once again struck by how enormous they were compared to the now much-more-normal-seeming turtle at their feet. Or normal for a sea turtle, anyway. “The fruit turned us into giants?”

“You more than me, Stretch. But yeah.” She was eying something over his head. “I think we’ve been… mutated somehow? Experimented on? Not really sure how it works, but we seem to change whenever we eat too much of a thing. Looks like my computer keeps track of it.”

He almost missed that last part. His stomach had started twisting itself into knots again at the mention of eating.

“Only yours?” he wondered, trying not to look at the potential meal laid out between them. Or her. Or anything, really. There were a lot of conflicting signals swimming around in his brain pan.

With the bombshell she had just laid on the table, he would have thought some part of it might have helped curb his… everything. His appetite at the very least. But nothing could be farther from the truth. Even with a noose like that hanging around his neck, it was all he could do not to immediately kick away the stool. The urge to begin stuffing his face was that strong.

She shrugged. “Maybe. So far, the only thing yours seems to do is help us find stuff.”

“I’d rather that than it give us mutation prompts!” he said defensively. “Is that what you meant before when you were talking about your reward?”

She grinned knowingly. “Oh, spare me. I saw how excited you got while you were twisting away in the sand. You felt it, too.”

He started to protest before fully registering her words. “Too?”

Her grin faltered, and she quickly broke eye contact. “Anyway… I’m not one-hundred percent on the rules yet, but we do at least have some control over what happens to us. I had several options to pick from. This just happened to be the least offensive.”

He blinked once, incredulous. “Growing to the point of bursting out of our clothes was the least offensive?”

“Yeah?” She did not sound all that certain. “Look, the computer communicates in crayon, but most of the options had to do with… like fungus, I think. And armpit sweat.”

He scratched at the back of his head, considering what to do with that information. There was a degree of familiarity to it, after all. He had a distant recollection of having to deal with a set of options back in the pod, but it certainly had not communicating in crayon. It had not been any more comprehensible, but still… It made him wonder if there might not have been a change associated with the selection he had made. He had not noticed anything, but then, the option he had picked had been to do with something in his gut. If that were the case, it was possible a slew of more subtle changes had already happened to them without their noticing.

“Fungus, huh?” he mused aloud. “Do you think… since it was a plant we were eating… Maybe it was trying to convey some kind of resistance? Like to disease?”

“Could be,” she acknowledged slowly, peering up at him. “Plants do tend to build up resistances to that kind of thing. You’re thinking the choices we’re given might have to do with the type of thing we eat?”

His stomach tightened again at the word, and he had to grit his teeth to resist. Naomi noticed too, and evidently took that as an invitation to shelve the conversation for more pressing concerns.

“Ho? Seems the growing boy needs his protein,” she murmured, carefully sitting in front of their temporarily-abandoned-but-in-no-way-forgotten meal. He could almost hear her underwear creaking in protest at the move. That waistband did not look happy… to say nothing of certain other… places. He jerked his eyes away quickly.

“Come. Sit,” she prompted.

He held out as heroically as a grade-schooler in front of a birthday cake. “How can you be so relaxed about this?” His voice faltered as his knees collapsed to the sand beside her. “You have to know what this might do to us.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “But it’s not like we have a choice. What are we going to do? Starve ourselves?”

There was no arguing that point. Nor did he have the wherewithal to try. He had already begun twitching impatiently by the time she finally sliced into the remains of the turtle’s neck. There was surprisingly less of it than he remembered… or he was simply that much bigger in comparison. However, there was zero hesitation in slamming back that first piece of proffered meat. Or the second. Or any of the others. The only solace he had was in somehow retaining enough manners to allow Naomi her turn.

It was not until the entirety of the head was stripped bare, tongue, brains and all—the branch had been needed to crack open the skull—that he could even begin to think clearly enough to regret what he was doing. It was as if some sort of compulsion had been implanted within him such that the more of a thing he ate, the more he had to have it.

And then, as abruptly as flicking a light switch, the compulsion was gone. Replaced by the same deep and blissful contentment as when he had scarfed down that sand-covered bit of fruit.

“The bar just filled up, didn’t it?” he guessed, trying to ignore the chills racing up and down his spine.

Naomi had closed her eyes in order to enjoy her own food-gasm… or whatever it was. Her head had a euphoric tilt to it, and she was twitching in much the same way he was. But she did manage a nod.

Mark took a moment to settle himself. To try and make sense of this situation. Here he was, having stuffed his face with raw, alien turtle meat—complete with organs—after having just grown who even knew how much from eating a couple of fruit pods. And well aware of how completely unable he had been to stop himself.

The worst part was he was not even all that full! The legs and tail were still readily available, so he could have continued. But would that make the changes worse? Who was to say?

Naomi was certainly right about one thing. The transformation had been anything but unpleasant. That should have been enough to scare the shit out of anyone, but here he was, staring the impulse full in the face. It was like sin itself. Greed. Lust. Hiding in the dark corners of his mind… wanting more. Coaxing him on.

He was completely defenseless against it. And he doubted Naomi was even trying.

However, before he could begin to speak, to come to some agreement with the girl about how they might defend their sanity against this thing, he experienced an abrupt expanding of his world. It was as though a megaphone had been attached to his ear and, for a brief moment, he became aware of every little ripple of the ocean current. Every brush of the breeze upon Naomi’s dark locks. Every snap of twigs from the nearby underbrush.

Hair rising upon the back of his neck, he instantly grabbed Naomi by the arm and hauled her to her feet.

“Hey!” she began in protest. “Just what do you think you’re—”

“Shh!”

His eyes were scanning the line where forest met sand fitfully, but he could see nothing. Even so, his gut was telling him it would be in his best interest they be elsewhere. And quickly.

“Come on,” he whispered, beginning to move, but Naomi dug in her heels.

“What about the turtle?” she protested. “There’s so much meat left!”

“Leave it.” He had hoped the tone of his voice would convey some measure of his urgency, but she clearly had other things on her mind.

“How can you say that?! You know how much effort it took to catch. And how do you expect us to fish out another one? It’s not like we have any more bait!”

“For fuck’s sake,” he began, “would you—”

A faint rustle from the trees again jerked his attention to one side, and he quickly snatched up the branch. The thing had felt like a boat oar before. Now it was little more than a twig in his hands, barely more than the length of his arm. Still, it was better than nothing.

“Now, Naomi!” he insisted again, his eyes still fixed on the area ahead of them and pushing at her.

Perhaps it was the weapon held defensively in front of her, but she finally caught on that something was wrong. She favored him with a speculative glance before following his eyes to the apparent nothingness within the trees. However, she allowed herself to be pushed along anyway. Clearly, she thought he had lost it and was only humoring him.

However, that changed once they got some hundred paces away.

Somewhere midway up the spindly branches of the trees and even with the tops of the table-like Colocasias, a huge, reptilian head emerged, scenting at the air searchingly.

Naomi instantly started slapping at his sunburned arm eliciting a helpless wince from him despite his rising terror. “Mike!” she shout-whispered. “Mike, do you see that?! That’s… that’s a—!”

“I’m not blind.” He had seen Jurassic Park, just like everyone else. Who could possibly mistake the head of a T-Rex? He started shoving her toward the nearby trees. “Quick! Hide. Don’t let it see us.”

She did not have to be told twice, and the pair hastened toward cover. A moment later, that enormous maw of mostly teeth pushed through the trees and onto the beach, giving them a chance to see the rest of its body. The iconic head had given way to a comparatively slim torso mounted with a set of puny arms which widened toward a pair of powerful legs… and then another pair of equally powerful hind legs… before finally trailing off into a thick tail.

They stared silently at it for a handful of seconds, breathless… and not a little confused.

“It’s a T-Rex… centaur?” Naomi hazarded.

“Uh?” Mark agreed. “I… guess it would have to be. Everything else on this planet has six legs.”

Whatever it was, the huge beast was still scenting at the air, clearly aware they had been there if not necessarily certain they were still around. However, after a moment, it seemed satisfied and lowered its massive head to begin noisily crunching into the shell of their once prized kill.

Naomi elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Mike! It’s stealing our food!”

He looked down at her, incredulous and more than a little dumbstruck. “And just what in the unholy hell do you expect me to do about it?”

She began gesturing helplessly at the ongoing scene of stolen gluttony, clearly pissed, but she had to know how ridiculous she was being. “I don’t know! You’re like ten feet tall now. Can’t you… chase it off?”

“Yeah, maybe if I had a tank!”

He turned and quietly slipped into the forest, deciding it best they put some distance between themselves and the still way-too-close-for-comfort meat grinder back there.

Once upon a time, he had been a bit of a dinosaur nut, so naturally, he had read all about the Tyrannosaur. Apparently, its biomechanics limited its land speed quite a bit—to the point a man should have been able to outrun it. At least in theory. But this creature had four legs. That threw a rather large wrench into the mix.

Besides, only a spectacular kind of idiot would have volunteered to test out that theory.

“That thing is still taller than me at the shoulder,” he continued his rant softly. “Never mind the rest of it. And did you miss the teeth?! Cause I sure as hell didn’t.”

“No, but… damn it!” Naomi protested, sticking close despite her words. “That was our turtle!”

“Yeah, and now its his. To the giant fang monster, the spoils. And if we’re lucky, it won’t need to hunt for a while.”

Naomi crossed her arms and grumbled to herself quietly, but she had evidently given up the argument. Not that there had ever really been one. She was just upset and venting… he assumed. The girl was loony. Not dumb.

“Where are we going, anyway?”

“I dunno.” Other than away. “Are you still thirsty?”

“Of course. Aren’t you?”

He nodded, zeroing in on the expected ping from his installed sonar device, and pointed. “Then we’re going that way.”

“Oh.”

*

Look. See? The blueprint has it all laid out. Just cut these wires here, and close the panel. It shouldn’t take you more than an hour. In and out. You’ll be perfectly safe. Tell him, Timothy.

…?

We’ve already gone over this. We have to disable the atmospheric propulsion systems, or we run the risk of the subjects eventually escaping off-world. If that happens, you can kiss our collective arses goodbye!

…?!

Because you drew the short straw, of course.

…!

And what does that have to do with anything? You think just because you aren’t getting paid, that should make you exempt? Ha! Why, I should tell you some of the things I had to put up with back when I was a young apprentice. It would make your antennae curl!

Now. Off with you. Chop chop! I don’t want to see you back here before those pods have been disabled!

… … …

Do you think he bought it?

…?

Of course, I cheated! It’s not like I’m going down there. What kind of fool do you take me for?

…!

Don’t be absurd. I obviously exempted the entire senior staff. We can’t afford to lose anyone with actual experience. Besides, what do you think interns are for?

Although… best not mention it to anyone, what? The last thing we need is for someone to come down with a last minute case of the scruples.

*

Naomi stared thoughtfully at Mike’s back as she trailed behind. She had always been fond of taller men. Maybe not that tall, but still. Her girly bits had certainly taken notice.

And it was not simply the height. He was much more well-proportioned than before. Nice, wide shoulders. Slim waist. And those shorts? They had not been doing anything for him before, but now?

She fanned her face appreciatively.

There were none of the tell-tale signs of gigantism that so often plagued the truly large, either. He did not slouch. Nor did he seem to be suffering from joint point. Nothing seemed out of proportion at all. He was just a really big dude.

“…could have used a little extra muscle tone, though,” she muttered.

Of course, some of that had been aimed at herself. She had wanted to become stronger, not larger. Just how tall was she now anyway? There was no way of knowing without a tape measure, but from the way she was filling out Mike’s old shirt, she had to assume she was at least six-feet. Maybe even as much as seven!

That was… concerning. Though, she had certainly noticed the way his eyes had raked over her. No part of that had spelled out freakshow, so she assumed she had remained as proportionate as he had. If that were the case, there was the very-real possibility her strength had also grown to match. What that would translate to, she had no idea. She would have to test it out.

In the meantime, Mike had that new button over his head, enticing her with its potential. If his theory proved correct, the options she would be given would relate to the turtle that had spawned it, and their possibilities were making her heart palpitate with anticipation.

Maybe if they spawned a turtle shell, they could go back and—but no…

That… thing had not struggled to crunch straight through the tough outer bone layer of their former prize and into the meat beneath. She could just imagine the bite strength on a creature like that. What it might be like to just… go up and take whatever she hungered for…

She shook her head sharply, not liking the direction her imagination was carrying her. She did not want to become some grotesque monster! Or at least… not like that. She wanted to remain human. Just… more.

And maybe a little sexier while she was about it.

After all, Mike would not want to—she shook her head again.

Since when had she started caring about what he thought?

…probably about the time he started prancing around like a Greek God, she answered herself.

She swiped a hand in front of herself dismissively. That was neither here nor there. The point was, that reptilian centaur represented strength. Power! It did not even occur to her how absolutely terrified she should have been to consider taking it down. She had been shown the path, and she meant to follow it.

Of course, she was not so delusional as to believe that in some way achievable in the short term. Even with the turtle’s help. But it would not hurt to check. Just in case there was something… interesting.

However, right as she was lifting her hand to tap at the button, Mike spoke up. “Could you not?”

“What?” She jerked guiltily. “I didn’t press it!”

He sent a glare over his shoulder. “You were going to.”

She grimaced. Was his hearing that good? He had somehow known that monster was coming, so it was possible. “How did you know?”

“You just told me,” he explained glibly, drawing a rueful swear from under her breath. “Besides, you’ve been staring at it since we came to. There was no way you weren’t thinking about it.”

She crossed her arms in a sulk. “Yeah, alright, Mr. High and Mighty. Don’t think you can act sanctimonious with me. You’re not the one staring it in the face. I know you’re just as curious as me.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. Which was decidedly not a ‘no,’ to her immense satisfaction. “But could you at least wait until nightfall? By the looks of things, it won’t be much longer yet. Once the pods find us again, we can hole up, hopefully discuss our options, and… and deal with whatever happens in relative safety. Assuming we choose anything at all.”

She scowled, instantly hating that idea—the last part anyway. But she doubted he was being serious. Or at least, not enough to follow through with it. “You’re assuming the pods will follow us. We don’t know that yet for sure. And you’re assuming we’ll even be safe in them. You saw what that T-Rex did to the turtle.”

“I did. And you may be right. But no animal is going to try biting through solid steel when it isn’t even hungry.”

She was not sure she agreed. If a creature like that found them sometime during the night, trapped and sleeping, it might just kill them out of simple boredom. Cats were known for that kind of thing. Bears, too. Obviously, they were not dealing with either, but who could say at this point? She had come to accept the alienness of their environs.

It would not take much, either. All that thing had to do was tip the pods over and start futzing with them until something gave way. From what she had seen, they were not particularly stable, and the glass had not exactly looked teeth resistant.

“How much farther is the water anyway?” she asked, changing the subject. Though, it was mostly to take her mind off of that infernal button. She was pretty sure there was one of those fuse-like timers around it. It was scarcely moving to her eyes, so it could have been simple decoration. But if it was not…

Either the computer would eventually make a choice for them, or they would miss their chance. Neither of which sounded appealing.

Mike adjusted his course slightly at her question and pointed with his stick. “No clue. Other than that way.”

She sighed. “It would be nice if that radar of yours could ping for distance. Normal ones can do that, you know.”

“Yeah, and those have readouts. All I have is my ears.”

She grimaced. “I still don’t understand why there should be such a difference between our—”

Her gripe was cut short, however, when they pushed through a cluster of ferns to reveal a clearing around a little waterfall—really no more than a fountain—which was burbling up from the surface only to disappear into a nearby hole in the ground. The hole was no more than four feet wide and slanted at a sharp angle into the darkness beyond. There was no telling where it went or what might be hiding down there. Nor was she inclined to find out.

“Looks like we’ve arrived,” Mike announced unnecessarily.

She did not bother to reply. It had been a long time since her last drink and that mineral spring was calling to her.

“Are we sure it’s safe?” Mike called after her.

“That hole sure isn’t,” she returned, keeping well away from it just in case she slipped. “I don’t think that thing in your head would have lead us here if it wasn’t safe to drink, though. I said I was thirsty, not ‘take us to the first rat-infested watering hole you can find.’”

So saying, she knelt and scooped a handful toward her face, only pausing long enough to give it a considering sniff. Nothing untoward met her nostrils, so she put actions to words and drank it down.

“Well?” Mike prompted.

“Cool and refreshing,” she returned, smiling up at him. “As advertised. Well done, Mike’s radar.”

He almost began to smile but, on registered her words, his expression turned to a wry grin. She smiled back at him. He was learning.

For some minutes, they took turns at the spout, first drinking their fill, then taking the time to wash their recent adventures from their bodies. Blood and salt water did not make for a pleasant combination, and she relished to opportunity to finally scrub herself clean.

And to watch Mike while he did the same.

Of course, his sunburn was doing neither of them any favors. Watching a man hesitantly scrubbing at himself and wincing in pain every few seconds was doing absolutely nothing for her—save to elicit a few brief flutters of pity. Those Florence Nightingale types were nuts to think that kind of thing was sexy. It was just… sad.

It did give her an idea, though.

“You know… turtles don’t get sunburns,” she began conversationally.

He froze, his eyes flicking upward to glare at her.

She lifted her hands quickly in defense. “I’m just saying… what if?”

He let out a very slow, very patient breath. “Fine. It’s obviously killing you. But only look. You hear me?”

It was all she could do to suppress the triumphant smile from stretching across her face. Her elation was almost enough to overcome the wave of irritation that came with this guy thinking he could give her orders.

“Yes, sir!” She saluted him smartly.

He did not miss the overt mockery.

However, just as she was about to reach for the object of her most recent fixation, the faint echoes of engines roaring came to their ears, and she paused. She had not realized it was getting quite so late, but it seemed at least one of their theories was panning out. The pods did follow them around.

Or… one of them was, anyway.

By the time twilight was fully upon them, it was only the single jet engine that swept overhead. As before, it hovered above them for a few seconds before descending. Then, some five feet above the ground, its engine gave a pop, and it fell with a thud. Evidently, the jostling had been too much, because this time, some sort of panel fell off, exposing a host of miscellaneous wires, pipes, and other technological paraphernalia.

“Huh.” Mike’s automatic sound of perplexed astonishment closely mirrored her own, though he was quick to climb to his feet and pace forward, evidently seeking to investigate.

“What happened?” she called after him as he peered curiously into the snarl of wires, in that moment, reminding her of her father studying the engine of their car. It was a look she could appreciate. “Where’d the other one go?”

His shoulders bunched together, every bit as mystified as she was. “I dunno. But it looks like something’s been—”

Abruptly, his hand shot forward, and he pulled some… thing out from the wires. Whatever it was, it was green, had lots of legs, and was screaming. It kind of reminded her of a grasshopper, actually.

But then, for no apparent reason, Mike shoved it into his mouth, there was a loud crunch, and the screaming stopped.

*

< horrified silence >

Oh… shit.