Simon Hughes & Aaron Baetsky 'The ATF,' Simon noted to himself, 'Would probably want to speak to Aaron after this.' Aaron Baetsky was the kind of guy that sometimes popped up in upper middle-class neighborhoods from time to time in spite of the best efforts of the local homeowners association. Hidden among well maintained houses of regulation colour in quiet cul-de-sacs with rows of uniform, neatly trimmed hedges and white picket fences. The one exception to the picture perfect lawns exactingly cut to regulation height, well manicured and freshly watered with fertile flowerbeds bursting with azaleas in the mandated flower growth zones. Any HOA representative would gaze over it all with pride. And then. And Then. AND THEN... See a sign, BEWARE LANDMINE He was that kind of guy. Actually Aaron was a pretty friendly and easy-going guy so long as the Liberals weren't mentioned, or taxes, Middle Eastern Oil and what he could do with the twenty barrels of fertilizer out in his back yard... He was that kind of guy. But he never hurt anyone, not even with words as he was unfailingly polite. He didn't take out his guns for any reason other than cleaning them or going hunting. When pressed by neighbors, visiting family members admitted that there probably wasn't even a landmine in his front lawn, somewhere. Probably... The tank was a lot roomier than Simon thought it would be, with just a gunner and a driver. It still wasn't a comfortable ride though. The whole thing vibrated as it trundled along at a modest twelve miles an hour, going... CreakCreakCreakCreak- -ChattaChattaChattaChatta- It made Simon's teeth hurt, the seat was narrow and uncomfortable and the headphones that he'd been handed fit badly. To top things off... "It smells funny!" He complained over the roar of the engine. In the driver compartment, Aaron rolled his eyes and focused on not throwing a track as he maneuvered the ungainly vehicle around cars abandoned on the freeway and when he couldn't go around, over or through. His neighbor was only complaining about the smell because of how comforting it was to be ensconced in over twenty tons of armor. Then he sniffed a little. He flicked a look at the remains of the no-longer-fuzzy mutant dice that had attacked him and wrinkled his nose. So that's what that smell was... He couldn't find it in himself to mention how vulnerable they were to landmines or a well placed RPG round. He had an uncomfortable vision of a man-sized G.I. Joe placing an IED in their path and banished it with a shiver. The tank was an antique but still a tank. For his own part, Simon was pondering what they were doing, driving a combat tank down the freeway on the way to the Town Hall. It was the kind of thing you only saw on TV, like those cop shows where some guy goes berserk because his wife left him for his sister or something. Simon shook himself and focused on looking through the rangefinder. Extraordinary times, right? Location: Uffton TX Godzilla strolled down Main Street, took a whizz on the hydrangeas near the park and sunned himself on the roof of the bank. The owner was just trying to prevail upon the sheriff to do something for his place of business… and the poor employees when the three storey tall mutant iguana had a bowel movement. On the up side, the Town Hall’s plans for a rooftop garden got a massive dump…jumpstart. Aaron and Simon hit the city limits just as Godzilla started feeling a bit peckish. Frederick & William Alderdyce They'd been unconscious for well over twenty-four hours. They hadn't woken up, not even as the house burned down. Fortunately the cellar that had been built to last by Bubba's Many-Times-Great Grandpappy and namesake. William Buxley Bernard Alderdyce, first of his name, had taken what was a natural depression next to the original homestead and dug into then expanded it in the hopes of creating a place to pursue the brewing of a decent lager. That storage space had served several generations of Alderdyces throughout the years as a tornado shelter, winter storage and a hoard throughout the prohibition. It had survived three wars, a cold war, six tornadoes and a stampede. And now the cellar, a result of Gandpappy Bubba's bout with alcohol withdrawal, had weathered a near miss meteorite strike and a fire, ensuring that his legacy continued. That is, provided that the brothers awoke in the next ten seconds... William Buxley Bernard Alderdyce the Fifth, Bubba to his friends, was pretty damn lucky. Of course this didn't occur to him to be the case initially, seeing as he was currently struggling for his life with a mysteriously animated scarecrow. The thing was insanely strong, Bubba's only saving grace was that it had been savaged by falling rocks. It's knees terminated in green, bloody, twisted snarls with splinters of what might have been bone or straw protruding and its jaw was unhinged and partially smashed by another rock. Really, if it wasn't currently trying to strangle him he'd salute the thing for even surviving such horribly crippling wounds. "Grrrraaaarrr Arrrrr!!!" It roard through broken teeth. "Nyaaahh!" Bubba replied. It wasn't quite a girlish squeal but Bubba was understandably perturbed, having woken up to a mangled scarecrow creeping slowly over his prone body, leaking a pale green ichor that slowly evaporated around it. It was a 'Tales from the Crypt' type scary. Bubba didn't do scary, Bubba didn't do anything crawling over his body as he slept, unless it was Missus Bubba. Whenever he got around to having one. "Jo-Bob! G'Dammit! Jo-Bob wake up and help me! JO-BOB!" Jo-Bob groaned. "Graaaaarrrr!!" Jo-Bob moaned. "GigigigiGrrraaa!!" Jo-Bob finally woke up. "JO-BOB!" Frederick Wilson Bartholomew Alderdyce blinked groggily and grumbled, "S'm up Bubba pipe down." Then he blinked again, taking in the sight of his brother vainly bucking under a mist-shrouded form. "Hey Bubba, what'cha doin' with that there scarecrow?" -Urk- "Help" -Urk- "Me!" Finally coming to his senses, the older twin instinctively answered his brother's plea. He was a bit wobbly getting to his feet but without hesitation Jo-Bob gave the mother of all kicks that his steel toed, size fourteen long workboots could muster. Bearing all of his two hundred thirteen pounds behind it, his foot crashed into the scarecrow's ribs. It expelled a rush of greenish fog in a great exhalation as its hands came loose. Without hesitation Bubba rolled it the rest of the way off of himself and quickly scrambled to his feet with the help of his brother. "What the hell is that?" -Wheeze- "I" -Gasp- "Dunno!" "It looks like the scarecrow from out back!" -Cough- "You're" -Wheeze- "Right" "That's messed up!" "I know." "That's really messed up!" "I know!" Jo-Bob nudged it with his foot... and the little ankle-biter grabbed it in a vise-grip! "Argh!" "Hold on Jo-Bob!" Bubba yelled as his brother struggled to stay upright. There was a sound like bones creaking from Jo-Bob's leg. Then Bubba found an axe and brought it down on the scarecrow's arm, just above the wrist. Hand and fingers loosened their grip as Jo-Bob limped backward from the insanely antagonistic scarecrow. The two brothers watched as the severed limb shriveled as it leaked green blood. Jo-Bob snatched another axe from a rack and looked his twin in the eye. The two brothers, grim, stepped forward as the scarecrow's beady eyes glinted, looking from one to the other. Then... -Chop- -Chop- -Chop- -Chop- Later, standing amidst the smouldering ruins of their home Bubba squinted at a coloumn of smoke rising in the distance. "Hey Jo-Bob, I think that thing landed near Pastor Walters' Church." "By the cemetery? Let's check it out Bubba!"