Ten: Provocation

 

 

Over Groom Sands, Nevada

Thursday

"How long will this take?"

Air Force (Reserve) Major James Blair glanced in his rearview mirror at the passenger in his F-4C Phantom fighter.

"Ten minutes, sir," he replied. His passenger nodded slightly. Blair carefully worked the stick and throttles of his fighter and scrutinized the refueling probe of the KC-130 tanker he had rendezvoused with a few moments earlier. He felt the probe slip into his airplane's refueling socket in one smooth sexual motion.

"Shake and bake," Blair called on his radio.

"Roger, Cactus 404, you’re getting fuel," the tanker chief replied. "How much do you want?"

"Top it off, please," Blair said. He focused his attention on keeping exact station below the tanker. A glance inside the cockpit showed his gauges were climbing steadily.

"Okay, Cactus 404, twenty-six thousand pounds," the tanker chief radioed seven minutes later. The probe popped free of his fighter. "You’re full up, sir. Have a good flight."

"Roger, Texaco, and thanks," Blair replied. He increased altitude and advanced his throttles. Smoke trailed the tailpipes of his fighter as it approached and then passed Mach One.

"Okay, Colonel, we’re back up to a thousand knots," Blair said over the radio. "We should only have to tank once more to reach Washington."

Blair saw his passenger nod again. Cold little bastard, he thought. Blair shrugged and occupied himself with driving his fighter to Andrews Air Force Base. Flying was always a euphoric experience and ferrying an Army bigwig from Johnston Atoll to Washington, D.C.—busting the sound barrier all the way—added unexpected variety to his annual deployment. Blair would be rid of Colonel Lang in another ninety minutes and he wasn’t going to let his passenger's unpleasant attitude spoil the flight for him.

 

The Carter Residence

Polk County, North Carolina

Ellie looked down at Steve.

"Steve, aren't you jumping to conclusions?" she asked.

"Well, part of my pilot training was to recognize aircraft configurations from a distance, and it sure looked like a Blackhawk," Steve replied. His expression was gloomy and worried, and Ellie dropped to her knees and touched his shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. Steve managed a half-grin.

"But maybe your right," he said. He looked over his shoulder at Hadad, who appeared lost in thought.

"What do you think, Brian?" he asked.

"It may very well have been a coincidence," Hadad said. "Military helicopters have overflown this area before." He did not say he had never observed any of them stopping to hover before. "It is prudent to step up the timetable on our plans, however."

Steve nodded and turned to the Burkes.

"Nancy, Mark, you got everything you need for the first leg of your tour? Good. The credit cards I gave you are yours to keep. They've got unlimited credit lines. Now, here's the contact name and number for the security company who brought you here." Steve pressed business cards into their hands. "They'll keep you safe. Was it the Sheraton, Brian? Raoul Borét will be expecting your call after you settle at the Sheraton in London. Good luck to you both." He paused and grinned, shaking Mark's, then Nancy's hands. "I'm sure Ellie and I will see you pretty soon. Nancy, Raoul knows how to get in touch with me if you want to talk to Ellie. You two had better get going."

Nancy nodded. Her husband looked grim. Nancy turned to face her thirty-foot tall younger sister. Ellie appeared composed but there were unshed tears in her eyes.

"Well, aren't you going to give your big sister a hug?" Nancy asked, raising her arms. Ellie half-smiled and lifted her older sister into the air. A tear escaped Ellie's eye to course down her cheek as she gently placed her sister on her chest. Nancy wrapped her arms around Ellie's neck, squeezing, and Ellie returned a slight pressure on Nancy's back.

"Don't have your wedding until we can join you," Nancy whispered. "Somebody's got to give you away and I'm the only family we've got left."

"I promise," Ellie murmured in reply. She felt two bumps against her knee and looked down to see Sally and Dennis grabbing handfuls of her pants. Sally looked up, her face twisted in distress.

"I don’t want to leave Aunt Ellie," she said, crying. Ellie returned Nancy to the floor to pick up her niece.

"We'll see one another again, real soon," Ellie said, cradling Sally to her cheek. Dennis also began to cry. Ellie transferred Sally from one hand to the other and scooped up her nephew as well.

"Now, you two are going to be good and listen to your Mommy and Daddy, right?" she said. "You do what they tell you to do, right? Don't worry, Steve and I will have you over for a visit real soon. You two are very lucky, you know. You're going on a big vacation and you're going to see a lot of wonderful things."

"I wanna stay here," Sally pouted.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Dennis agreed. Ellie kissed both children then put them down at their parent's feet. She watched as her sister grabbed up a sobbing Dennis while her husband attended to their daughter. Hadad stepped up to them.

"Listen to me now," he said. Even the children quieted at the authority in his tone. "The best thing for you to do is simply to drive like nothing at all has happened. Don't rush, don't look scared. Look like you are doing something you planned to do. Remember your route now: U.S. 74 to Interstate 85 to the Charlotte-Douglas International Airport—you do not want to be seen looking at a road map, you want to look natural." He repeated the roads they were to take again and again until both Mark and Nancy imitated him.

"Good," he said, smiling. "Now, don't worry. You will do fine. Your flight leaves in two and a half hours so you have just enough time. Mr. Carter and I will see to Miss Andersen's safety. Good luck and bon voyage."

Ellie led the way outside to the waiting Jeep. The last good-byes were hurried and Steve and Hadad bundled the Burkes into the car. Nancy rolled down the passenger side window so Ellie could reach in to touch her shoulder, then the Jeep's engine roared to life. They turned in the narrow driveway in front of the house and rolled towards the access road. Ellie waved at the faces in the windows of the car until it vanished around a curve. She closed her eyes and bent her head. The sky had changed to match her mood, cloudy and dark. Ellie sniffed and tried to shake the sorrow that filled her.

"Don't worry, Miss Andersen," Hadad said. "They'll be fine."

"Yes," Steve agreed. His tone was less certain and Ellie opened her eyes to look at him sharply. Steve was rubbing the back of his head in a gesture she recognized as being of either distraction or calculation.

"What is it, Steve?" she asked. Steve looked up at her, and offered her his lopsided grin.

"Nothing, I guess. Just my intuition yelling at me. I'm really glad they're away from here, sweetheart. They're good people."

"Thank you, Steve. For helping my family, and everything else."

"Aww," he grinned, blushing.

Ellie was about to grab up Steve when a soft-spoken chain of obscenities caught her attention. She turned on her heel to face the front of the house. She saw the woman who had slipped into her tent earlier standing in the front doorway. Beside her stood a paunchy, wide-eyed man in a brown leather jacket, a gray shirt and blue slacks. Ellie took one step closer to the front door and the other unexpected visitor she and Steve had gotten today.

"Hello," she said. The man walked out of the house, staring up at her. His shoes clattered on the concrete as he missed his footing on the steps leading to the driveway,.

"Ah—ah, hello, ah, hello, uh, ma'am," he called loudly, craning his neck and squinting, his hands waving nervously. "Uh, may I—we—I mean, can we talk to you—please?"

Ellie was torn between sadness at his obvious fear of her and amusement at his comical clumsiness. With an air of someone greatly daring the man reached the driveway without further mishap to stop thirty feet away from her. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Please, ma'am, I would really appreciate it if my colleague and I could talk to you," he shouted. Ellie shook her head.

"You don’t need to yell. I can hear you perfectly well," she said. Her amusement at the man's antics won over her other emotions and she smiled. The man started visibly and endeavored one more step towards her.

"Ellie, I don’t know if this is such a good idea," Steve said. Ellie looked under her right hand at Steve, then across at Hadad. Both had spun on their heels at the sound of her greeting to the station owner and neither looked happy at him seeing her. Obeying her previous impulse she neatly lifted Steve off his feet. She hesitated momentarily, then raised him up to her shoulder, keeping one hand across his waist and thighs to steady him, his booted feet bumping her breast. She turned her head so that both her eyes could focus on Steve and gave him a sad half-smile.

"I'm going to be seen by other people, Steve, whether I want to or not," she said softly. "I guess now is as good a time as any."

"But these two are reporters," Steve said, softly enough to prevent him being overheard. He waved at the dingy van topped by transmitting equipment parked on the grass verge near the door. "I don’t want to see them turn you into some sort of freak-of-the-week for the talk-show circuit."

"That's a risk I'm going to have to take, but thank you for trying to protect me anyway," she replied, slipping him up her shoulder to kiss him. She heard a high-pitched strangled noise and turned just in time to see the woman drop in a heap at the threshold of the house. The man stood stone-still, his hand over his mouth. Ellie heard Steve chuckle in her ear.

"Well, I guess we made a good first impression," he said.

Romita followed the giantess around the corner of the mansion and into the first of the two tents erected next to the building. She looked like one of the Victoria's Secret lingerie models blown up to many times life-size—no, she was much, much bigger than that. Romita found his eyes noting every flex and motion of her huge body under the tight, clinging fabric of her clothes as they walked. He marveled that she could move so quietly—why didn't she thump the ground with each step? He was overwhelmed by the feeling he was an impossibly tiny child following in the wake of an adult, a feeling reinforced when the giantess held open the tent flap to admit him. Her feet were three-quarters as big as he was tall. Her bosom was so expansive it blocked his view of her head when he looked up at her. Romita peered around the tent and his embarrassment increased. It was obviously the giantess' bedroom, judging from the broad bedmat on the floor. Around the tent were set large boxes, a couple of which were open, revealing piles of what must more clothing for her. Romita turned in a circle, trying to see everything. He heard the giantess chuckle softly and turned. She was staring at him with huge—and startlingly pretty—blue-green eyes.

"Now, what would you like to talk about?" she said. Romita watched as she slipped her hand around the waist of that obnoxious landowner Steve on her shoulder. She bent over double and set him to the floor with what appeared to Romita to be breakneck speed, her incredible cleavage pressing firmly against the thin fabric of her shirt as she bent forward. Romita gulped again. She seated herself on the bedmat, wrapping her hands around her legs, the suit she wore revealing every curve and muscle. She reclaimed the man Steve, settling him on her knees.

Romita found himself at an utter loss. He had spent the last two days trying to hunt up clues to verify the existence of a gigantic woman he had only seen previously on a home videotape. He had watched that tape over and over again to acclimate himself with the idea of finding, of meeting such a woman. Now he stood ten feet away from his quarry and his shock at the reality of her existence combined with her heartstoppingly erotic appearance caused every avenue of investigative questioning he had mentally rehearsed for this moment to vanish from inside his head. All he could do is stare at her, mouth open and eyes wide.

Romita welcomed a distracting noise and forced himself to turn away from the awesome sight of this giantess to see Stiller appear at the opposite side of the tent with the gun-toting Arab butler. She was pale as the shirt she wore and looked weak on her feet. The Arab was holding her elbows to steady her. She looked up at the giantess sitting on the bedmat in the tent and held her hand to her head as if she were about to pass out again.

"Perhaps you two could introduce yourselves?" the giantess said politely, gesturing. Romita jumped at the motion of a hand that was as broad as his torso. His heel caught on a fold of the canvas covering the floor and he almost fell over again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Stiller give the same reaction. The corners of the giantess' mouth drooped and she lowered her eyes. The man Steve sitting casually on her knees snorted, his expression caustic.

Romita squared his shoulders. He swallowed to moisten his mouth and stepped closer to the giant woman until he was within her arm's reach.

"I'm Marty—ah—Martin Romita, of WKZZ-television in Asheville," he announced. "That is my assistant, Karen Stiller." He waved vaguely in Stiller's direction. "We—we first learned about you when two hikers came into our offices with a videotape of you rescuing some children. The children in the boat on the reservoir."

He saw the giantess nod and he rubbed the sweat from his forehead.

"You may want to take off your coat," Steve said as he quickly stripped off his own. The giantess loosed her hold on his legs and took the jacket from his hands to lay it on her bedmat. Steve smiled and thanked her and she reached out to hold him again.

"My name is Eleanor. Eleanor Andersen," the giantess said. Romita bobbed his head. For a moment no one spoke. Ellie looked down at Romita, her expression increasingly wry.

"Yes?" she said softly. Romita shook his head again and pulled his eyes from the giantess to the floor, rubbing his forehead.

"Please, pardon me," he replied, his voice quavering. "I'm afraid you—uh, I—I'm just so shocked at seeing you I don’t know what kind of questions to ask. I—Karen, get over here and help me, dammit."

"What? You're joking, right?" Stiller shook herself free of Hadad's grasp and tiptoed next to Romita. Romita was about to turn to Stiller when he saw Ellie start, then cock her head as though she were listening to something.

"Steve," she said, "I think the Jeep is coming back up the road."

Steve looked up at her.

"If you keep an eye on our guests Brian and I will go and see," he said. Ellie placed him on his feet and he and the Arab butler quickly slipped from the outside tent entrance. The giantess once more settled herself and turned towards the station owner and his assistant.

"About the children on that boat," she said to Romita, "have you had any further information about them? They're okay?"

"Ah, as far as we know," he replied, looking even more confused than before. "None of the parents would let us interview their kids. They're all talking about you, though, from what we've heard."

"Yeah, the emergency room staff said all the kids were saying how they were saved by a 'big lady'," Stiller added, her voice cracking. She swallowed. "They sure weren't exaggerating."

The giantess nodded.

"Just how—how tall are you?" Romita asked. The giantess reached across her bedmat to a wooden crate sitting beside it and retrieved what looked like a clock on a chain. Romita imitated her, looking at his watch. It was just after one-thirty p.m. The giantess seemed lost in thought for a few seconds, and her expression became profoundly sad.

"Right now I am thirty two feet seven inches tall," she replied. "Though at the time the boat caught fire I was only twenty three."

"You mean you grew bigger since then?" Stiller asked. The giantess nodded.

"I am growing all the time," Ellie replied. "I've been growing almost five feet taller every day."

"Ah, okay," Romita said, squaring his shoulders and trying to take command of the conversation. "Now, Mrs.—Andersen, did you say?"

"Miss Eleanor Andersen, but everybody calls me Ellie," she replied.

"Okay, Miz Andersen. Can—can you tell to us how you came to be—uh—so big?"

"Well, in short, Mr. Romita, I came in contact with an extraterrestrial object that did something to me," Ellie replied. She paused, a sad half-smile forming on her face. Romita abruptly realized the pun she had used in her reply and stifled a laugh. "Last Friday I was five feet tall and weighed ninety-seven pounds. Now I'm over thirty feet tall. I have no idea how much I weigh."

The sound of a car door slamming caught Ellie's attention and she focused her attention on the sounds outside the tent. She thought she heard the voices of her niece and nephew. An hysterical giggle brought back her attention to her interviewers and she looked down again. Romita had clapped his hand over his mouth to stop his strangled laughter. His face was drawn and tight.

"Sorry," he muttered. "You were a normal-sized person six days ago?"

"Very. I was driving home—"

A sudden commotion erupted in her shower tent. Ellie rose quickly, ignoring the frightened protests of the two reporters. She moved to the inside flap and pulled it open. A familiar little girl suddenly stumped into the entrance, waving and crying.

"Aunt Ellie!" Sally called out. Ellie stooped and looked under the flap. Nancy and her husband were there, little Dennis in Mark's arms. They were still dressed in their travel clothes and coats. Hadad stood immediately behind them. The servere look on his face frightened Ellie. Steve was nowhere to be seen.

"Aunt Ellie, we were stopped by some men," Sally said, grabbing at her aunt's ankle. "They were very mean."

Ellie dropped the double curtain to pick up the little girl, holding her gently. Sally was gasping and sobbing, wiping at her eyes with her little fists. Ellie used two fingers to stroke her niece's chest.

"It's okay, don't be afraid. I won't let anyone hurt you," she whispered to Sally. The others struggled through the tent flaps.

"Sis?" Ellie said. Nancy looked up. Ellie was startled to see such a look of sheer fright on her sister's face.

"The bottom of the road around the lake was blocked," she said. "The soldiers there wouldn't let us go."

 

Over the City of Charlotte

North Carolina

Lieutenant General Wayne Moskowicz sat on one of the bench seats of his Blackhawk. He gripped the aluminum tubing that formed the seat's frame tightly, squinting against the loud noises of the helicopter's engines and the chop-chop-chop of its rotor. One of the two pilots of the helicopter gestured into the cabin of the machine and waved a radio headset in Moskowicz' direction. Moskowicz accepted the headset and fumbled his helmet off his head to put it on.

"Moskowicz."

"Sir this is Advance Three," a scratchy voice replied. Moskowicz recognized the call sign as belonging to one of the scout platoons he had ordered airlifted near the Polk County reservoir.

"Go ahead."

"Sir, we intercepted a vehicle attempting to exit the containment area," the voice replied. "It was occupied by a family. We ordered them to return back inside the hot zone."

"Understood. Any problems?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Continue to maintain the containment area but do not—repeat, do not—make any attempt to penetrate it. Understood?"

"Yessir. Advance Three, out."

Moskowicz squirreled his helmet away in his kit bag and looked around the chopper's cabin at his staff, all of whom bore evidence of a hasty assembly. His eyes settled on his aide with the map case.

"Let's have that map again," he ordered. The aide quickly unfolded several maps in the heavy canvas duffel until he found the correct one. It was a topographical map purchased at the last minute from a sports store in Fayetteville, covered with scribbles and lines in different colored crayons. Moskowicz frowned. Such makeshift mission planning worried him. After the phone call he received from the Pentagon his senior staff attempted to prepare an operations plan but were frustrated by a lack of materials—they had detailed maps of Europe right to the Russian border and of the Persian Gulf area but little of their own backyard. He looked at the acreage surrounding that reservoir. Throwing up a fence around it meant he needed many more people, and the idea of using US military forces for a domestic situation, however bizarre, worried him. The scout platoons he ordered in to block the roads around the reservoir had probably just rousted some poor bastard and his family going to—what's the city called?—Columbus. Haste and improvisation distinguished the operation so far and Moskowicz didn’t like any of it.

Moskowicz recalled his short, strained briefing just prior to departure from Fort Bragg with McAllister and the befuddled brigadier who accompanied him. He tied to conjure up relevant scenarios for what he was thrusting his people into. It didn’t work—there simple was no prior experience or training for him to rely on. All he could do was obey his orders to keep everything and everybody within five miles of the reservoir contained and make sure his people kept themselves in check. Advance Three's action was the first but there would undoubtedly be others in short order.

"Pilot, move this fucking machine," he yelled into the cockpit.

"We're flat out now, sir," the young lieutenant in the left-hand seat of the helicopter replied. "We should arrive at the CP in twenty minutes."

 

Andrews Air Force Base

Washington, D.C.

The tower controllers were doing their best to make sense of chaos when the USAF(Reserve) F-4C Phantom II arrived with a priority clearance and a hurried passenger. Senior controller Captain Sarah Billings handed off the flight to one of her subordinates and returned to her efforts to keep the phalanx of aircraft that suddenly crowded the massive airfield for the last hour and a half from banging into one another.

"Roger, Cactus 404, proceed via taxiway Lima for the main terminus," she heard the controller call over the radio. She nodded in satisfaction and turned back to the tower windows. Through the first major snowfall of the winter she could see a dozen Chinook helicopters spaced haphazardly across the tarmac, their twin rotors spinning. Other helicopters were hovering, carry cables and straps dangling, over Humvees half hidden in snowstorms blown up by the helicopter blades. After over ninety minutes of frantic activity the deployment was nearly finished. It was going well, Billings thought, peering from one place to another.

After another fifteen minutes all but one of the choppers had lifted and were flying south when one of her two telephones buzzed. She snatched it up.

"Tower control, Billings," she said.

"Billings, hold one of the helicopters out there on the ground." Billings recognized the voice of the base operations officers, Colonel Gary Peek. "We're just had a new passenger arrive and he's going out with the choppers to Pope."

"Roger," Billings said. She returned her phone to its cradle and looked out through the snow.

"Contact Bravo 210," she called out to her controllers. "Inform them they are to hold until a passenger arrives."

"Yessir," the senior controller responded, turning to his panel and speaking softly into the microphone. Billings took up her binoculars and looked out through the snow. A figure suddenly appeared at the bottom of her vision, jogging towards the waiting Chinook and its waving crew members. From a half-mile away he looked small and thin, even in a flight suit. He was quickly grabbed by the aircrew of the Chinook and taken aboard, along with two pieces of luggage. Billings looked closely at the large oblong case he carried and wondered. The uniform bag was obvious enough, but a rifle case, too? Her curiosity about the helicopter's sudden mystery mission peaked momentarily, then she shrugged and went back to her work. Getting every helicopter capable of carrying troops safely off to Pope Air Force Base in North Carolina had been enough of a challenge without distracting herself about such irrelevancies.

 

The Carter Residence

Polk County, North Carolina

Ellie lowered her head at her sister's words. Closing her eyes she bit her lower lip as she struggled against the roil of fear that filled her belly. She shivered, rubbing her arms.

"Ellie?" she heard her sister's voice say. Ellie opened her eyes to see Nancy touch her shin.

"Are you okay?" she asked. Ellie shook her head.

"This is all my fault," Ellie replied. "God, how I wish I hadn't touched that damned thing. How I wish I wasn't a giant. I wish—"

Ellie slumped to the floor of the tent. She held out her hands. They were shaking. She rubbed her hands over her face and moistened her mouth.

"I wish none of this had ever happened," she sighed. Steve suddenly appeared within her vision and she turned to him. Ellie held out her hands towards him. Steve walked into her grasp. Ellie found that her hands had now grown so long she could cup his middle in one hand. Clasping him along his sides she lifted him up so they were face to face. Steve reached out and rubbed her forearm in a gesture of reassurance.

"We're not done yet, Ellie," he said with typical matter-of-fact determination. "I just made a few phone calls which will help us. Please don't worry, sweetheart. Remember my promise."

Ellie managed to smile despite the tightness in her throat.

"I do remember, Steve," she replied. "But, maybe I should just give myself up—"

"Don’t even think that, Ellie."

"I don’t want any of you to get hurt," she said, nodding towards Nancy and her husband, Hadad and the two reporters. "If that guy Lang is in charge, I'm—I love you too much to put you in danger—"

"Forget about it, pretty lady," Steve said softly, his lopsided grin appearing. "You promised to marry me, remember? We're not getting hitched in some half-assed government lab. We've still got each other—between you and me we'll figure something out."

Ellie shook her head in resigned exasperation and brought Steve up to her lips. Steve grabbed at her, rubbing his hands along the sides of her jaw.

"Thank you, lover," she whispered. "Thank you for not letting me get rid of you, even for your own good."

"Didn’t I tell you I was bad to the bone? Now, let's think of a way out of this mess." He looked down and raised his voice. "Brian, what's your feeling?"

Hadad stepped around the Burke family, rubbing is chin.

"Based upon Mr. Burke's description of the soldiers, they are part of a scouting force that has been sent into the area," he said after a moment's thought. "Their sudden appearance bespeaks of a hurried deployment—they've not been skulking in the woods around the house prior to this or the perimeter sensors would have detected them. They were probably sent out in advance of any real military arrival."

"Do you think they know Ellie's here?" Steve asked.

"Possibly," Hadad replied. "If so they've been ordered to keep their distance. I do not think so, however. You only saw the one helicopter, Mr. Carter. It probably was one of three they used to carry the scouting force into the area—one for the vehicle and two for the troops. If they were creating a cordon around the property we should be seeing helicopters all around us, especially up the mountainside, which would offer a superb view of the property. We haven't. I suspect that they only have a rough idea of Miss Andersen whereabouts."

"Okay," Steve said. He looked up at Ellie. "That makes no sense. Ellie's only been here, at the house. If they spotted her, why aren't they knocking on our door—"

He stopped abruptly and turned in Ellie's hands to face the two reporters, who had remained frozen to the spot they occupied before.

"You said you had a videotape of Ellie rescuing the children," Steve said, his voice more resigned than angry. "Did you broadcast it?"

"Yes," Romita replied. "A friend of mine is the producer of First Access Today. I sent him a copy by special courier two days ago."

Steve sighed, and offered Ellie a sad smile.

"When we get out of this the first thing I'm going to do is buy a television set and watch every program broadcast on it for a month," he growled. "Well, that's what I get for not keeping up with the popular culture. Okay, so they know Ellie was around the lake because of the video—that's in our favor. Let's do things a different way. Brian, why don't you take the Burkes inside the house and feed them. Take the two reporters, too."

Hadad gestured for the Burkes to precede him out of the tent, then waggled one finger at Romita and Stiller. Romita moved first, walking slowly to the tent flap. Stiller shook her head and darted behind Romita, keeping his body between her and Ellie. Romita stopped just before Ellie's feet and looked up at her.

"May I ask a favor?" he said, his eyes darting between Ellie and Steve. "Could—could I touch you? Touch your hand? I—"

"Marty, are you nuts?" Stiller hissed in his ear. Romita shook Stiller's hands from his shoulders and took another step closer to Ellie.

"I want to know what it's like," he said. Steve crossed his arms, an unreadable expression on his face. Romita looked up at Ellie. She bent forward to see him, grabbing at her braid with her free hand as it threatened to slip from her back. She put Steve down then reached out to Romita. Her hand clasped Romita's waist and she slowly lifted him into the air. He froze like a statue in her hand, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Please don’t be afraid," she said softly. "I won't hurt you."

Romita blinked. He hesitantly reached out and touched her thumb and forefinger with his outstretched hands, feeling their warm softness. Ellie gave him a sad half-smile and returned him to the ground, a little too fast. Romita stumbled and nearly fell from the vertigo caused by his rapid descent but recovered. Steve looked him up and down.

"You may want to clean up a little before you join the others," he said. "Brian will be able to help you out."

Ellie looked down at Steve, then at Romita. Her eyebrows rose as she saw the sudden appearance of damp in his pants. Romita nodded dumbly, a bewildered expression on his face. Steve turned to Stiller, who had been a horrified spectator of Romita's ride.

"Take him in through the public bath entrance and have Brian help him out," Steve said. Stiller blinked. She noticed the spreading stain in Romita's crotch. Taking him by the arm she pulled him through the flap held obligingly open by Ellie and disappeared.

Ellie looked at her hands. Steve saw the motion and his lopsided grin broadened. Her eyes fixed on Steve as she folded her hands in her lap and dropped to her knees. Steve returned her gaze equably for a moment, then flushed.

"What is it?" he asked softly. Ellie gently, almost hesitantly lifted him up again and brought him close to her face, staring at him intently. Steve felt her grip tighten around him.

"Sometimes, Steve, I just wish every man I meet was just like you," she said, her sad smile returning. Steve crossed his arms again and shook his head.

"I don’t. You're so pretty there'd be too much competition for me," Steve replied. He seemed to consider for a moment, then his grin broadened. "You'd probably meet a handsomer guy than me and I'd lose you. Ellie, please don't be hurt because some chickenshit like that reporter is scared of you. Remember Doc Canfield and the others you've met here."

Ellie's brightened in surprise at Steve's unexpected obscenity and the vehemence of his response to her.

"Thank you, lover," she replied. "I needed to hear that. As far as my meeting a better-looking man than you, forget it. Not every Hollywood hunk walking through the door right now with flowers and champagne in hand could hold a candle to you."

Steve suddenly relaxed in her hands and sighed gustily.

"Whew," he said. "That's a relief."

His reply reminded Ellie of his reaction the first time he thought she might have another lover, six days ago. He had looked so comical in his distress she had laughed aloud. That was also the time she had confessed to him what was happening to her, and he had promised himself to her regardless of what size she happened to become. Ellie focused on his face, seeing his curious expression, his lopsided grin. She placed him on her chest and wrapped her arm around him in a hug, squeezing him against her. She heard him hum in pleasure and she stroked his back and head.

"Oh, my husband, my wonderful husband," she murmured. She felt Steve's head rise under her hand.

"Should you be calling me that? After all, we're not married yet."

"I don't care," she replied. "It sounds so good to me."

"It does? Good. I love you, wife."

Ellie felt her heart swell at his words and she squeezed him again.

"Now, handsome guy," she said after a moment, cupping Steve in her hand, "what's the plan?"

Steve paused for a moment, his face blank, one hand rubbing the back of his head in calculation. He settled himself in her hand like it was a comfortable chair. After a moment he shrugged.

"The plan's very simple, really," he replied. "You change into something you can wear for the next couple of days." His gesture pointed out to Ellie the tautness of the fabric covering her body. She nodded.

"Then you grab up what you will need for those two days, stuff it into a bag or sack, throw it and me over your shoulder, and we bail up the mountain," he continued. "There are places up there where somebody ten times your size could hide. Then, after dark, we make for Asheville, slip into the airport, get you in Special One and we fly out of here. I get on the internet when we arrive in Australia and broadcast the all-clear. Voilà."

"You make it sound easy," she said, her tone disbelieving. Steve shrugged again.

"I phoned Jeff Beddington and told him to put Special One at the furthest corner of the airport he can contrive, with full fuel tanks," he replied. "The airport is on the outskirts of the town so we should be undetected, especially at two in the morning. Once we're aboard we fly out, direct to Australia. So long as we don't walk into anybody we'll make it."

Ellie smiled and reluctantly put Steve down. Her soft, warm hands continued caressing him after his feet found the floor. Steve wriggled under her gentle touches. He took her hand in both of his and brought it to his face. The touch of his lips on her palm sent a strong, pleasurable spark up her arm and along her spine.

"Let me leave you to change and get together what you want to bring along," he said softly. "Then we'll make out good-byes again and book it."

Ellie nodded but did not let him go. She slipped onto all fours against the canvas floor of the tent, angling herself forward slowly towards him. She closed her eyes and puckered her mouth until she felt her lips touch his face. She nibbled at him, drawing him closer to her. He began chuckling as her tongue slipped out to caress his face and upraised hands.

"Whew," he said as she drew away and opened her eyes. "Now I know what I'll be thinking about all night long. Won't have to worry about falling asleep."

Ellie made her preparations swiftly. She tugged her now-too-tight jogging suit from around herself. In the two hours since she had first put it on her body finally, completely outgrew it—she had to tear both the top and the pants to pull them off. She went from one of her clothing boxes to another, examining and selecting. The kimono-looking dress was still right-sized to her, as was the most recent delivery of panties, but the bras were now too tight for comfort—her current support was pinching almost constantly and it had been the biggest of the bunch. Ellie paused over the brilliant bikinis Steve had surprised her with this morning. A smile creased her face and she included them in the pile of clothes lying on her bedmat.

She pulled the corners of her bedsheet free and wrapped the clothing into one neat parcel. Her bundle of traveling clothes was nearly six feet square and two deep but it looked pathetically small in her hands. Ellie placed the parcel near the tent entrance and paused. She had never gone camping before in her life and she realized she had no idea what to expect during the time between their leaving the house and flying away from Asheville. Would she need something to keep her warm while she and Steve waited for night to fall? Even when jogging or walking outside she had never needed more than her jogging suit or one of the dresses no matter how cold or damp it was, but she had never actually stayed outside inactive for any extended length of time. Would she feel the cold after staying outside for hours? And what about Steve? Ellie smiled at the notion of Steve bundled up inside her bodice, next to her skin.

A soft noise made her turn. Steve had reappeared, bearing a large knapsack. Hadad hovered behind him.

"Mr. Carter has told me what you two intend to do," he said. "It is a good plan, one I in fact was going to suggest. Unfortunately, I must urge you not to tell your family good-bye again, Miss Andersen. It is best for all concerned that they know nothing of your escape plans. If they see both of you bearing spare clothing they will inevitably be required to divulge that information to the authorities and the jig will be up. Don't be sad, Miss Andersen. Your sister can still get hold of you. Now, I wish you both the very best. Once the fracas around the house settles I will join you in Alice Springs—you still are my responsibility to protect, after all. Now, I wish you both bon chance—and get a move on."

Ellie looked at Steve, who offered a half-shrug and a lopsided grin.

"Sounds like a plan," he said. Ellie gathered her dress around her legs and knelt beside Hadad. She gingerly extended one outstretched hand until she just touched his shoulder. Hadad remained still but appeared relaxed.

"Thank you, Brian," she said. Hadad offered her a broad smile and a diffident wave.

"You are welcome," he replied. Ellie turned to Steve, who waggled one eyebrow at her.

"Ready to go, lover?" she asked. Steve opened his crossed arms in response and Ellie picked him up and settled him on her shoulder again.

"Let's do it, pretty lady," he said.

Ellie slipped her parcel under her arm and strode from the tent. She turned once to get her bearings as Steve snuggled up against her neck, his hands gripping the collar of her dress. The sky was still overcast and the air smelled damp. Possibly another snowfall was on the way. Ellie faced the tent that had been her home for five days. When she had first arrived she had been only fifteen feet tall and it had been amply sized for her. Now, as she stood within her arm's reach of her new home she saw that her head was well above the top of the door flaps. In another day or so her head would brush the roof of the tent. She had effectively outgrown her accommodations. The thought depressed her. She felt Steve touch the side of her jaw tentatively and she fashioned a smile on her face.

"Give you a penny for 'em," he said. Ellie sighed and reached up to stroke his form on her shoulder.

"I'd give a lot to get back to my old boring life," she murmured. "But, that's not likely to happen. Well, handsome guy, let's get to one of those hiding places…"

Ellie's voice trailed off as a foreign sound suddenly intruded on her thoughts. She spun, almost dislodging Steve from his perch. The noise grew steadily and rapidly louder. It seemed to be coming from the trees on the slope above the house and Ellie oriented herself in that direction. She focused her eyes as strongly as she could and was rewarded with a glimpse of motion among the dense branches of a stand of conifers up the hill.

A helicopter suddenly popped up over the trees and floated steadily towards Ellie and Steve. It was dark green and slim, its cockpit contained by a boxy-looking windscreen. Free of the concealment of the pine trees its rotor and engine noise was much more noticeable. The sound was menacing. Two stubby wings stuck out from either side of the helicopter, bearing pods of weapons that resembled bunches of black grapes set in regimented rows.

"Oh, fuck," Ellie heard Steve say. The helicopter suddenly twisted in the air to nearly stand on its tail, its engines screaming. It came to a hover perhaps five hundred feet away. Ellie could see two helmeted figures inside it, one sitting before the other. A bulbous object on the helicopter's nose was twisting and turning this way and that—and Ellie could see a very large, ugly-looking machine gun under the helicopter's belly turn in agreement until it pointed directly at her.

Instinctively she ducked down, grabbing at Steve. The helicopter dropped until it was hovering only a few feet above the ground, its rotor wash flattening the grasses and raising dust. Ellie felt the wash of the machine flapping the skirt-legs of her dress. She shielded her eyes against the wind with one hand and protected Steve from the blast with the other. The helicopter began to inch closer to her, rising slightly as it did so. The noise of its engines was very loud now, almost drowning out the sound of another helicopter—one that sounded just like the first—that seemed to be coming up behind her.

 

Green River Road, Near I-26

Polk County, North Carolina

The Command Post for Operation Fence was nearly ready. General Moskowicz stood in the center of the just-erected tent beside the Green River Road exit of I-26, peering at a jumble of maps spread on a plywood table, his staff scurrying around him as they completed the setup of the command post. Outside one helicopter after another came to a landing or flew overhead, carrying more troops into the area that needed to be cut off from the rest of the county. The noise was indescribable. Portable and hand-held radios chattered and squawked constantly, adding to the din, and the small electric lantern hanging from the tent's peak did little to illuminate the interior of the tent.

"Sir, we're in contact with the CDC team," a voice called. Moskowicz turned to the communications specialists whose equipment occupied nearly a third of the tent, squatting on field lockers before their equipment like monks at table. "Doctor Turner is enroute to us now with his people. Bravo 210 is also arriving within twenty minutes. All advance elements have reported reaching their posts. We've just gotten position checks from Pachmayrs 200, 204, 207, 211, 215 and 229. They're in search formation and are beginning their sweep."

"Good," Moskowicz replied. PACHMAYR was the call sign for the 229^th Aviation Battalion, which used AH-64 Apache attack helicopters with sophisticated day-and-night sensors. He had ordered a wing of the battalion to search around and down the nearby mountain to the reservoir upon arrival. Moskowicz frowned as he turned away from the communications area. Haste and the bizarre nature of the mission compelled him to order that the real objective of their search not be revealed to any of the units in the field. He had instead issued generic, "search-for-anything-out-of-the-ordinary" instructions to his commanders. If any of them actually spotted this giant woman (in a phone call with this Turner now rushing to the area from the CDC in Atlanta he learned she should be thirty feet tall by now) or other evidence of her presence they would contact him, and then a bare minimum of his people would be rushed in to contain her while the rest would retire to Fort Bragg, out of any possible danger of contagion. It was a workable plan. Moskowicz nodded in agreement with his own ruminations and returned to the map.

The door of the tent was flung open and a young lieutenant rushed inside to snap to attention in front of her commander.

"Sir, I think you'd better come outside," she panted. "A local law enforcement officer has arrived."

Moskowicz felt a beginnings of what promised to be a superior-class headache rise up the back of his skull. Another facet of the speed of this operation was the total lack of coordination with any state or local officials. North Carolina's governor was out on a junket in Scottsdale, Arizona and was apparently unreachable. The lieutenant governor was a state's-rights advocate currently raising hell with Washington over the mission Moskowicz was engaged in and had refused to enact martial law in Polk County without more information—information no one was willing to divulge. Nobody had bothered talking to county officials. He pursed his lips.

"No," he replied. "Bring whoever it is in here." Better to be as cordial as possible with the locals until he had the blessing of and authorization to enforce martial law from the Chief Executive and the governor of the state. The lieutenant nodded and turned, then gestured.

"Ah, sir, he's here now," she said. Moskowicz turned to see a man dressed in a police uniform covered by a jacket with SHERIFF on its back slipping around the tent flap to peer into the tent's gloomy interior. Moskowicz sighed briefly then fashioned a friendly smile and stepped up to the sheriff.

"Sheriff? I'm General Wayne Moskowicz, commander of the Eighteenth Airborne Corps from Fort Bragg," Moskowicz said, offering his hand.

"Russ Thompson, sheriff of Polk County," the officer replied, his handshake firm. "My, my, General, this is quite something you've got going on here. Can you tell me what's up?"

"Sheriff, my people are currently on a training exercise," Moskowicz replied. The sheriff pondered his answer for a moment. The roar and whine of more helicopters overhead effectively squelched further conversation for a moment.

"Is there some reason why you folks are exercising around our lake here?" Thompson said after the noise diminished.

"We were authorized to conduct a fast-type deployment around this reservoir as part of our ongoing anti-terrorist training regimen," Moskowicz replied. Thompson's eyes grew round and he whistled.

"So that's what it is," he said. "Boy, you folks sure do put on a show. Funny thing, though. I received no notification of this exercise from Raleigh."

The sheriff's observation was a reasonable one. A year ago an unannounced antiterrorist exercise over a city in California had raised a firestorm of controversy over peacetime military operations in civilian areas and the Department of Defense-Department of Justice Liaison Office had been created for the sole purpose of informing local officials of any future intrusions by U.S. military personnel. Moskowicz' headache grew worse.

"Please accept my apologies, Sheriff. You should have been informed prior to this exercise. Perhaps the governor's office didn't get the information to you in time."

"Maybe so," Thompson admitted, one thick hand rubbing his chin. He opened his jacket and pulled at his Sam Browne belt, his eyes wandering. Moskowicz thought he could see the gears turning inside the sheriff's head as he was thinking. It seemed this backcountry boy was accepting the banquet of bullshit he'd just offered.

"Darnedest thing, though," Thompson suddenly spoke up. "You see, I called the Governor's office. The Governor's out at the State Conference of Governors, and Lieutenant Governor La Pierre tells me his office knows nothing about any planned exercise in this area. I also received a telephone call from one of the local landowners in the area. Seems some soldiers wearing face masks forced his family to turn back to their home when they were trying to get to a plane trip—you know how rich folks are, just flying off to vacations in Paris and such at all times of the year and all—and he's now missed his flight. Seems sort of strange for your folks to be ordering civilians around during an exercise, you know?"

Moskowicz looked sharply at the sheriff as he abruptly realized the man was neither a rube or a fool but was capable of playing one very well.

"I'm sorry, sheriff, but we are on an authorized exercise," Moskowicz replied. "Perhaps Mr. La Pierre is in error."

"I'm sure you're right, General, ah, Moskowicz," Thompson replied. "So to make sure I also had my office call the DOD-DOJ Liaison Office in Washington not fifteen minutes ago. They tell me they know nothing about this either. Now, do you mind telling me what in hell you're doing here? Really, now?"

Moskowicz' face fell. The grinning, inquisitive little bastard in the sheriff's uniform was too smart by half. He straightened himself and looked Thompson in the eye.

"I'm sorry, sheriff, but I have my orders. If you wish I can put you in touch with my superiors in Washington. I'm sure they can give you the full particulars of this operation."

"I'd like that, General. Thank you for your time," Thompson replied, offering his hand again. Moskowicz' second handshake was perfunctory but the sheriff nodded in satisfaction and inexplicably wandered from the tent. Moskowicz closed his eyes against the pounding pain that now surrounded his skull.

"Sir! Sir!" the young female lieutenant suddenly popped back inside. "You'd better come out here and take a look, sir."

Moskowicz looked up at her serious, excited expression and nodded.

Outside the level of disorder was even greater than inside the tent. A jumble of Humvees and Blackhawk helicopters occupied the grass verge around the Green Rive Road exit. Vehicles had stopped on I-26 as their rubbernecking drivers paused to ogle the deployment. Moskowicz counted four sheriff's patrol cars at the outskirts of his command post, their lights flashing. Thompson was standing next to the vehicles, talking to his subordinates. Rapid motion on the highway to the west caught Moskowicz attention and he turned to see two cars with flashing blue or green lights moving at high speed towards him—volunteer firefighters or EMT's, no doubt. Behind them he saw a semitrailer towing a large satellite dish. Moskowicz rubbed at his aching forehead after he read the lettering on the side of the semi: CNN.

"Look over that way, sir," the lieutenant said, pointing. Approaching from the east was an ambulance—Moskowicz could read COLMBUS COMMUNITY VOLUNTEER AMBULANCE CORPS on its side—followed by four cars with rotating beacons. He squinted down the highway. Two more vans, each bearing transmitting equipment on its roof, were also rolling towards him, their hazard lights flashing.

"Jesus H Christ," he muttered under his breath. First local law enforcement, then a volunteer ambulance and now three—count em!—three news vans all pulling up to his location, including one belonging to the queen mother of the breaking news story, CNN. Moskowicz' quick, improvised—and secret—mission was now a PR nightmare.

Moskowicz retreated to his tent. Once through the flap he paused, rubbing his eyes. Another helicopter's sudden arrival—from the noise it was a Chinook—made a convenient distraction while Moskowicz tried to formulate a plan to deal with his new problems.

"Pachmayr 215, this is Fence Command," one of the communications specialists, an E-8, suddenly called out. "You're in the mud. Can you repeat—"

The sergeant suddenly slapped off his headphones and threw a switch. A howl of static and a jumble of noise flooded the tent, making everyone wince. The sergeant thumbed the transmit switch of his microphone again.

"Attention all units, attention all units, cease transmitting, I say again, cease transmitting. Pachmayr 215, what's your status?"

He released the button and a multivoiced roar erupted from the speakers.

"Pachmayr 215, you're still in the mud. Repeat your message."

"—Command this is the biggest fucking wad you ever saw I never seen anything like it before can you read me—"

Moskowicz stepped closer to the communications table.

"What's going on?"

"Sir, Pachmayr 215 has been trying to give us a contact report but we're having trouble reading them—"

"Command, this is Pachmayr 211," another voice spoke out. "We've shifted to the alternate frequency. Do you read, over?"

"Affirmative, 211. Go ahead."

"Command, 211. We're here with 215. Sir, I don't know how to describe it. There's something here. It looks like a girl but it's big as a house—ah, correction on that, it looks bigger. Our coordinates are map grid 088723. Repeat, we are observing something that looks like a giant female. Our coordinates are map grid 088723, over."

"Sir, it sounds like they wandered into something up the hill there," the other master sergeant suggested. Moskowicz nodded and turned to the map. He ran his fingers along the crudely drawn grid laid over the map. Grid 088723 had a clearing in its center but no structures indicated. So there is really something—no, someone—there, he thought.

"What the hell kind of chemical agent did they get exposed to?" Moskowicz heard one comm specialist ask another. "Those guys sound like they're drunk or on something really groovy."

"Okay people," Moskowicz snapped loudly. The space grew still. "What ground assets do we have around grid 088723? A full Company? Good. Order all other units to pull out immediately. I repeat—immediately. Recall Pachmayr 215 but leave 209 there to keep an eye on things."

"Recall our other units to the back-up point, sir?"

"Negative. Send them back to Bragg. Call in all the choppers and pull everything but the Second Company. Make sure our remaining people stay in MOPP IV. I want all other assets cleared out of the area now. Jump to it, people."

Moskowicz strode from the command post. Outside a tempest raged, courtesy of the arriving Chinook helicopter. Moskowicz vaguely recalled a report about a helicopter arriving late but he had more important things to do. He motioned over the female lieutenant whose platoon had been responsible for perimeter security near his command post.

"Okay, Lieutenant, listen up," he said after the Chinook had landed and the noise level dropped sufficiently to permit conversation. "We're heading into the hot zone. Nobody—nobody—comes up this road after us without my express permission. Is that clear?"

"Yessir," the lieutenant replied, snapping to attention. Moskowicz nodded and motioned to the pilot of his Blackhawk, who started the helicopter's engines. He turned once to survey his surroundings. The two news vans and the CNN semi had jockeyed for position off the highway exit and were now in the process of setting up their transmitters. His mouth tightened as he caught a glimpse of that sheriff, in the glare of a video camera's lights, talking and gesturing to the CNN reporter. The latest arrival was sitting on the ground, it's access hatches open. Moskowicz could just make out the pilots in its cockpit, probably chattering to one another. He turned away to go to his own chopper just as one of the passengers of the Chinook stepped out of the fore hatchway down the ladder, ignoring the urgent gesticulations of the aircrew behind him, a uniform bag and a rifle case in his hands.

Moskowicz was intercepted by one of his aides while striding to his chopper.

"Sir, we established direct radio contact with the CDC team enroute to here," he said. "They should arrive within the hour."

"Good," Moskowicz replied. He was grateful for the news—soon he could hand this godawful mission off to somebody else and get back to his regular duties. "Make sure everything is out of here within an hour, understood?"

"Yessir."

Moskowicz felt the blast of a helicopter's rotors and turned to see the late-arriving Chinook take off without disembarking any of the troops inside. Good. He turned to his own Blackhawk and stepped inside, pointing skyward with this thumb as he did so, his aides queueing up behind him. The pilot observing him nodded at his motion and began to lift the helicopter even as Moskowicz and his staff clambered aboard.

Lang slipped around the tent which served as the command post. He felt extraordinarily alive, in total control. Fate had favored him ever since DART's mission was abruptly cancelled. First, his superior Viscount did not rescind his operations authorization and Lang used it to get high-speed transport from Hickham Air Force Base in Hawaii, cutting hours off his travel time to the States. Then when he arrived in Washington and called the Pentagon to arrange transportation his first contact was a classmate from West Point who mentioned the exciting gossip of a sudden domestic deployment by the 82^nd Airborne in North Carolina, dropping Doctor Turner's name in the process. Lang had noticed the massing of helicopters, asked a few questions at Andrews and put two and two together. His operations authorization came in handy again and he had waved it like a magic wand to get transport to Polk AFB and then here. Fate was truly smiling on him and DART and Lang was confident it would continue to do so. He was now within hand's reach of that supersized bitch and probably the man who had helped her and he would fulfill the ultimate purpose of a Paradigm Cordon—protecting the United States from all unusual or extraordinary dangers.

Lang pulled off his flight suit and chucked it to the side. Opening his uniform bag he pulled out his dress green uniform jacket and put it on, then his hat. Stepping around the tent, he surprised a group of soldiers who were approaching to take it down. He returned their salutes and nodded, hefting his case. A Humvee, its engine running, was sitting across the road, a young blond female officer sitting on its fender. He stepped in front of her and she snapped to attention.

"Lieutenant, I have here equipment that the General is going to need," he snapped. "I'm going to borrow your transport to get it to him."

"Sir," she replied, "I am under orders from General Moskowicz that no one is allowed into the hot zone without his prior authorization."

She turned to her vehicle and the radio inside. Lang's hand stopped her.

"Hold it, lieutenant. My arrival here is top secret. There are to be no broadcasts of it to anyone."

"Those are not my orders, sir—"

"How would you like to spend the next five years in Diego Garcia while you wait for your dishonorable discharge to be processed, soldier?" Lang hissed at her. "Keep on doing what you're doing and I can guarantee your career in this man's Army is finished right now."

"Sorry, sir, but I have my orders," she replied. The lieutenant was tall and slim. She straightened and stepped forward until she was face to face with Lang and peered down at him, her body language expressive. Lang's expression did not change but a flush crept up his neck. He turned on his heel and stepped away from her without saying a word.

 

CNN Studios

Atlanta, Georgia

Lionel Bruce, line producer for The Early Afternoon News, watched over the banks of television monitors in the main control room for the news studios of CNN. The news anchor, Alan Kennymore, was being attended to by one of the roving makeup artists while the producers prepared for a breaking news story. Bruce watched the clock inexorably count down the seconds until the current commercial break ended.

"Five, four, three, two, one—and, cue Alan," he muttered into his headset. The current musical teaser was played, and then the studio director pointed to Kennymore.

"We interrupt our normally scheduled broadcast to continue bringing you our breaking story," Kennymore intoned, his liquid voice enunciating each syllable. "In North Carolina, fully-armed soldiers from the famous 82^nd Airborne Division have been scrambled from their base at Fort Bragg neat Fayetteville and are currently operating in the Blue Ridge Mountains near Asheville, North Carolina. Details are sketchy at this time but CNN is on the scene and has a report. We go now to Sally Firth near Asheville."

Under Bruce's direction the main television feed changed. In place of Kennymore the monitors shows the image of a young blond woman in a business suit and dress blouse under a camel-hair coat standing in what looked like a field filled with vehicles, holding a microphone.

"This is Sally Firth, speaking to you from Green River Road in Polk County, North Carolina. Approximately two hours ago, a large number of fully-armed and equipped soldiers of the 82^nd Airborne Division were suddenly deployed into the area surrounding the Polk County Reservoir. Local residents were alarmed at the sudden appearance of large numbers of helicopters bringing in soldiers and equipment for what so far is an unknown operation. I have here with me the sheriff of Polk County, Russell Thompson. Sheriff Thompson, Can you tell our audience what is going on here?"

Bruce watched the field camera pan until a short, heavyset man in a sheriff's uniform appeared in view. Firth held the microphone in front of his face.

"Sally, I regret I cannot," Thompson replied. "I have spoken to the commander of the Army troops here, General Moskowicz, and he has refused to divulge to me exactly what his purpose here is."

"Can you speculate why—"

"All I can say, Sally, is that my office received no warning about this military operation being laid on. I have spoken to the Governor's office here in Raleigh and they are ignorant of any military operation being planned here, either."

"Okay. Now, so far we have not been able to get any of the military to talk to us on camera except to warn us not to try to go up this road. There is speculation that a citizen's militia group may be occupying a parcel of land around the reservoir but none of the soldiers here will confirm or deny that speculation. Have you any information on the possibility that this might be a reaction to a threat of domestic terrorism?"

"My office did receive an alert from the North Carolina Department of Investigation several days ago regarding possible citizen's militia activity somewhere in the United States, but there is no evidence that any such activity is taking place in this area," Thompson replied. "The area surrounding the reservoir is home to three horse farms and the estate of Mr. Steven Carter of Carter Industries, a well-known and respected figure in our community. There are no terrorists threats here."

"Okay, thank you, Sheriff. That was Sheriff Thompson of the Polk County Sheriff's Office. Back to you, Alan."

Again the switch from the outside camera image to the rostrum camera was smooth.

"Thank, you Sally. CNN has attempted to contact officials at the Pentagon but we have not yet been successful is learning why regular Army forces are suddenly engaging in what looks like a deployment on American soil. We have been assured by the Pentagon that a press release on this developing situation will be forthcoming but we have not been given any time frame as to when that release will be. CNN will continue to monitor events and will break into our current schedule as the situation warrants. This is CNN."

 

The Carter Residence

Polk County, North Carolina

The two helicopters approached slowly. The first to arrive flew unsteadily, seemingly unable to maintain a steady altitude. Ellie could see the two figures inside it pointing at her but she couldn't see their faces. She turned to look at the other helicopter and saw the same motions.

"Ellie, quick, back inside the tent," she heard Steve shout through the din of the two helicopter's engines. Ellie nodded, not relinquishing her handhold on Steve. She rose to a crouch and slipped back under the tent flaps.

Inside the tent she took Steve in her hand.

"Oh, God, Steve, what are we going to do?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over the noises outside. Steve's expression was concerned and anxious and that frightened Ellie even more. She concentrated on listening to the sounds outside. The noise seemed to diminish and her hopes begin to rise.

"It sounds like they're leaving," she said to Steve. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him cock his ear and listen intently for a moment.

"Maybe. Maybe they need to refuel, or they've been ordered out," he said slowly. "That gives us another chance. C'mon, Ellie, let's give it another try."

Ellie bent at the knees and deliberately opened the door curtains. She looked outside and felt her heart sink. One of the helicopters had alighted on the grass at the edge of the clearing, rotor spinning, engines idling. It had landed it at the best possible spot to observe both her tent entrance and the main door of the house, making it impossible to slip away unnoticed.

"Fuck a dog," Steve said, softly and fervently. "The other one's probably on the opposite side of the house. Ellie, this doesn't matter. These people aren't getting their hands on you."

"But what can we do?" she asked.

Steve did not answer, and Ellie turned her head so she could see him with both eyes. He was rubbing the back of his head with one gloved hand and biting his lower lip. She could see his eyes darting back and forth and his expression grew more intense. He sighed volubly and he turned to face her. He stripped the gloves off his hands and reached out to rub her jaw.

"I really don't like the idea, but it may be the only way to keep them from grabbing you and taking you away," he said after a moment. "How do you feel about being interviewed?"

Romita grabbed up his video camera, its attached cables trailing behind him, and moved as quickly as his bulk and burden allowed into the house. He had already moved the van onto a level area of the grass verge near the driveway and extended its transmitter antenna. The telescoping stalk antenna was fully deployed to nearly a hundred feet in the air, like a thin, branchless tree growing out of the middle of the news van's roof, the highly directional transceiver designed to broadcast VHF video and audio signals atop its peak. A nervous Stiller had taken up residence inside the van, crouching in front of the van's broadcast controls. She looked at the monitors over her head to check the quality of the signal being received in the van via the two hundred fifty feet of cable they carried for making on-the-scene news broadcasts—and until this day had never used. Stiller grabbed up a walkie-talkie.

"Marty, can you hear me?" she called.

Inside the house Romita juggled the camera to reach into a pant pocket and yank out his half of the walkie-talkie set.

"Yeah. Yeah, Karen, I hear you fine. How's the picture?"

"Picture's good, Marty. All the stuff works," she replied. Romita nodded and struggled to get his encumbrance through the shower room and into the tent abutting the house. In a far corner of the tent Ellie had seated herself near a bank of overhead lights, her knees snug against her bosom, her expression a combination of resignation and anxiety. Steve stood beside her, one of her hands pressed between his arm and chest. Romita lowered the heavy video camera and checked to ensure the attached boom microphone was properly plugged in then hefted it back onto his shoulder. He turned on the camera's halogen lamp and aimed it up at Ellie. Pressing his eye to the viewfinder Romita squeezed the trigger on the handle of the video camera. He went as still as he could, pressing both hands against the camera to keep it steady.

"Good picture, Marty," he heard Stiller's voice announce on the walkie-talkie. "Do you want to start transmitting now?"

"Yeah, Karen, and record this as well," Romita replied. In the van Stiller reached up over her head and twisted the transceiver controls a little, trying to aim as precisely as possible along the bearing Carter had given Romita. Well, the dish was aimed as well as she could make it. She looked at the visual again, then threw two switches.

"You're on," she called to Romita.

 

Green River Road, Near I-26

Polk County, North Carolina

The engineers in the WNEC-TV news van were busily digesting the latest soundbites from the voluble sheriff of Polk County when a VHF broadband signal suddenly arrived on their antennas. One engineer looked at the image being transmitted, fiddling with the controls to sharpen the picture. His eyebrows drew together as he peered at his monitors. He grabbed at his partner's arm.

"Get a load of this," he breathed.

Sally Firth was trying unsuccessfully to get some information from the female officer commanding the roadblock when she saw out of the corner of her eye a sudden flurry of activity among the three news trucks. She thanked the officer and smoothly retreated back to the CNN semitrailer, camera and sound man in tow.

"What's going on, guys?" she asked of no one in particular as she stepped into the warmth of the semitrailer's large, comfortable control station. The field director turned and waved her over.

"Sally, take a look at this," he said.

Firth leaned forward to focus on the monitor, squinting at the small picture it displayed. It was an image of a woman in a light-colored or white dress. Even on the eight-inch black-and-white video screen she looked pretty, her hair done up in a braid, her features attractive. She was speaking but Firth could not hear anything.

"Just video?" she asked. The director shook his head and turned on a speaker.

"—and ever since then my body has been growing," Firth heard the woman say. "I went to a hospital in New York and they did a lot of tests on me but I don't think they ever found out why I am suddenly growing so much."

The woman paused, turning her head slightly as if listening. She nodded.

"I am afraid of what the government people will do to me," she continued. "When they took me from the hospital before it was by force. Well, they first sprayed some sort of gas at me that paralyzed me, then they tranquilized me over and over again, then they stuffed me inside a bag and carried me out of the hospital. I was taken to some laboratory in Texas where more doctors did more tests on me."

Firth wrinkled her face in puzzlement. She watched as the image pulled back and choked.

"What the hell—" she began. The director whistled. The woman was sitting in some sort of enclosure—with a tiny man standing beside her. Firth could see that one of the woman's hands was being held under the tiny man's arm. It was one of the most realistic special effect shots she had ever seen—or was it?

"What the hell is this?" she asked aloud.

"Dunno," the field director replied. "But it sure looks real. From the signal strength it's coming from close by."

"Can't be real," Firth replied automatically. Then she paused and considered. "D'you think this has something to do with all these fritz helmets wandering around here?"

"Does a bear shit in the woods? Sally, whoever's broadcasting this might be sitting on the news story of all time."

"We gotta get up that road," she said.

 

The Carter Residence

Polk County, North Carolina

"Miss Andersen, you say you are afraid of the 'government people'," Romita asked as loudly as he could. Lack of exercise and the weight of the camera on his shoulder was cutting into the air he needed to ask questions.

"Why would you be afraid of them? Weren't they trying to help you?"

"I-I think it would be wonderful if someone could help me return to my normal size," Ellie replied. She paused and looked down at Steve, who squeezed her hand under his arm and grinned up at her. "But I don't think anyone can. When I was at the laboratory in Texas there were fourteen doctors and scientists around me, doing all kinds of things to me, but I don’t think they ever found out anything that could help. They made me feel like I was a laboratory specimen rather than a patient. I really don’t think any of them cared for me or what was happening to me. I think they just wanted to keep me for study. I'm never going back to them."

"What are you going to do now?" Romita asked. Ellie blinked away an excess of moisture that was forming around her eyes and looked down at Steve.

"I'm going to try to live as normal a life as I possibly can," she said. "I met a man who has promised to care for me no matter how big I become. All I want—" she paused again at Steve's squeeze. A smile lit her face. "—all we want is to be left alone to live our lives. I am no danger to anyone. I may be over thirty feet tall and growing but I'm still a human being. I would never hurt anyone. You've seen me—do I appear dangerous—"

The rapid approach of a helicopter effectively ended the interview. Romita's camera shook in his hands. The new helicopter grew louder very quickly and its rotor wash flapped the roof of the tent.

"Crazy bastard," Steve muttered. "Must be only a hundred feet in the air and he's dusting the house."

Romita fumbled his camera. It nearly slipped from his grasp until he grabbed its carry handle and set it down on the ground. He appeared exhausted from his exertions and the adrenaline rush he had endured for the last few hours. Romita looked up at Ellie and giggled again.

"That was a great interview," he said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Ellie raised her head at the sound of a faint, distorted voice. She felt Steve move too, as the sound repeated itself.

"Attention in the house," the voice said again. "Attention in the house. You are completely surrounded. Come out of the house unarmed and with your hands in the air. I repeat, you are completely surrounded. Come out of the house with your hands in the air."

Ellie felt Steve sag against her hand. Looking down at him she could see his utter dejection. The fingers of both his hands were fluttering as he looked aimlessly at his surroundings. She closed her hand around his arm and he looked up at her.

"Ellie, I can’t—I don't—I don’t know what to do," he said, turning towards her. Ellie looked down at her lover, her own anxiety replaced by concern for him. She looked around the tent that had been her shower room for the last few days, furrowing her eyebrows. Then her expression cleared. She released Steve's arm. Clasping his torso in her hands she stood up, carrying him into the air. To Steve's unconcealed surprise she smiled.

"Steve, you've done enough to try and protect me," she said softly. "Now it's my turn."

"Tell that idiot pilot I'll personally cashier him if he buzzes the house again," Moskowicz snapped at his radio operator. He had appropriated one of Second Company's Humvees for a mobile command post. By his order it was parked in the middle of the access road leading to the house and the two tents, in plain view, while the other vehicles of Second Company were hidden in the woods surrounding the clearing.

He waved away the soldier with the bullhorn and put his binoculars to his eyes, looking for a reaction. Everything around the house was still. He did not fail to notice the dirty van with the deployed stalk antenna sitting in front of the house and the cables trailing in through he front door—another news van. He checked his watch repeatedly until five full minutes had passed but there was no motion around the house.

"Okay, soldier, tell them again," he said. The soldier repeated the same warning and demand through the bullhorn. Moskowicz detected motion at the far end of the tent. The door flaps opened and—

"Sweet Jesus," Moskowicz breathed. That ridiculous, pear-shaped brigadier had been right. The woman was every bit as big—as gigantic—as he had asserted. A man dressed in a field coat and denims was walking beside her. More motion caught his eye. Six more people came out of the main entrance of the house, including two tiny figures at the feet of a man and woman—

"All units—check fire, now," Moskowicz ordered. "There are children in that house."

His radio operator grabbed up a field phone transceiver.

"All Second Company units check fire, check fire," he said loudly. "There are children in the fire zone. Check fire, check fire."

Once she was outside Ellie straightened and walked slowly to the front of the house, Steve pacing beside her. She looked around the clearing. One camouflage-painted Humvee stood in the middle of the access road a hundred yards away, surrounded by a knot of people. In the shadows of the trees bordering the clearing she could see soldiers and more vehicles, surrounding them. The soldiers looked misshapen until Ellie realized they were wearing dark-colored hoods over their heads. All of them were pointing their rifles right at her. The front door of the house opened and Nancy, Mark and the kids all emerged, escorted by Hadad. Ellie saw motion next to the near Humvee. Almost in unison all of the soldiers within range of her vision suddenly raised the barrels of their rifles into the air.

As Ellie reached the area of the driveway immediately before the front door of the house she stopped. Turning she faced the exposed Humvee and its attendant soldiery, the others gathering around her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Romita stumping out the door, juggling his coat in one hand and his camera in the other. The video cables leading to his news van nearly tripped him but he recovered, shrugged his arms into his coat and raised his camera again, panning it around and up at her.

Ellie had never felt so frightened. She focused on the border of the clearing again and saw subtle motions under the shadows of the trees. The soldiers were moving, increasing the number of troops already visible to her. The soft growl of a diesel engine called her attention to her right and she saw another Humvee approach through the woods, coming up the trail she and Steve had jogged on previously. The boxy truck had what looked like a dark-colored stovepipe sitting on top of its roof. It must be some sort of weapon—a big one. Ellie gulped. She felt a gentle touch on her calf and looked down. Steve's expression was as severe as she had ever seen but his touch was reassuring nonetheless.

"I'm cold," she heard Dennis say. Ellie looked to her opposite side at her sister and Mark. Nancy was buttoning a squirming Dennis' coat tightly around his neck. Sally had crossed her little arms around her chest in an obvious gesture. Ellie's glanced at Hadad.

"Brian, what should we do?"

Hadad looked up at her.

"Probably the best thing to do would be to wait and see what they want," he replied after a moment.

Ellie shook her head and slowly lowered herself to her knees, wrapping her trouser-skirts around her legs as she did so.

"What are they waiting for?" Mark asked aloud. "What're they going to do?"

"I imagine their commander is probably asking himself the same question right this moment," Hadad replied softly, his tone rich with irony. He produced a pair of binoculars from under his coat and peered around the periphery of the clearing, stopping when he saw the Humvee with the weapon on its roof. He recognized the weapon as a TOW anti-tank missile launcher, deadly accurate to four kilometers' range and carrying enough wallop to kill a modern main battle tank. Ellie's motion had provoked interest by the Humvee's crew and the troops surrounding it—Hadad could see the TOW gunner inside the Humvee press his masked face up against the windshield.

"Big sis, let me help," Ellie said, holding out her hands. Nancy nodded and Ellie scooped each of the children up, inserting them into the front of her bodice. She could feel both kids shivering against her skin. Ellie pressed her niece and nephew against her.

"I'll keep you two warm while we wait for the soldiers, okay?" she whispered. She bent to apply a kiss to the top of each child's head then looked up again at the unmoving soldiers surrounding the house.

What the hell am I supposed to do now? Moskowicz asked himself. The tableau unfolding before him was like something out of a 50's B-movie. Through his binoculars he saw the giantess walk slowly to the front of the house and then come to a halt, six normal-sized people clustered around her feet. She was so big that at a hundred meters’ range she filled the optical field of his binoculars. He watched as the giantess turned from one side to the other, looking down at the people below her. She then folded her immense legs and knelt on the ground. Moskowicz felt his breath catch in his throat as she picked up the two children and stuffed them into the front of the dress she wore, cradling them in her hands. She was keeping the two kids warm? He choked as he saw her bend her head and apply what could only have been a kiss to the two kids' heads.

The commander of the Eighteenth Airborne Corps found himself at an utter loss. No amount of training could have prepared him for this moment. His mind desperately searched through every bit of education and experience he could recall in an effort to provide him with a foundation on which to make a decision and came up empty.

Who the hell's in charge of this jug fuck? Moskowicz heard himself mutter his own thought aloud. He lowered his glasses. Straightening his shoulders he turned to his staff.

"Get me a B-C suit," he ordered. "I'm getting closer."

The dismantling of the roadblock command post was proceeding at a sedate pace. The lieutenant slouched casually on the fender of her Humvee, observing her squad of troops working under the direction of the company master sergeant. The sheriff and his deputies were huddled together, speaking in low tones. A half-dozen volunteer emergency medical technicians and one female doctor in a hospital coat stood near them, engrossed in a conversation of their own. The unpleasant, supercilious Colonel Lang had made a seat for himself on the grassy curb of the road near her Humvee, staring off into space. He had tried to get her to transport him up the road without informing her superiors, even waving a high-rate clearance order he was carrying in front of her nose, but she had been adamant in her refusal and Lang eventually acquiesced, although he insisted that no one be told of his arrival and the lieutenant was just unsure enough about her footing in dealing with the noisy little bastard to obey his injunction. The lieutenant was about to nod to herself in satisfaction when the sound of air horns heralded the arrival of a cavalcade of six motor homes from the west branch of the highway.

The lead motor home screeched through its turn off the highway and came to a dusty halt a bare foot from her Humvee. The lieutenant waited, hiding her displeasure at the coach’s rambunctious arrival. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lang jump up from his seat on the curb of the road. He peered at the motor homes for an instant then returned to his al fresco accommodation, rifle case beside his feet, back turned in a gesture of disinterest. The front door of the coach opened and a figure dressed in a silver anticontamination suit struggled down its steps. The lieutenant rose from her slouch and stepped up to the figure.

The man inside the suit was in his mid-forties to fifty, with carefully-coiffed black hair and a practiced smile. He waved at her as she approached and pressed a button on the box attached to the front of his suit.

"Lieutenant? I'm Doctor Turner with the CDC," he announced.

"Yes, sir. Please wait while I contact General Moskowicz and inform him that you are here."

Turner's smile disappeared.

"Every minute is vital here, Lieutenant," he said, trying to make his voice as forceful as possible. "Please move your vehicle so we make a start up the road while you talk to your General."

The lieutenant sighed. Why was everyone who showed up at the checkpoint in such an all-fired hurry?

"Those are not my orders, sir. Please wait and I will get you clearance," she replied, her tone implacable. The squad of soldiers she commanded all moved to surround her and half had their M-16s in their hands. Turner looked at them, shrugged and nodded.

"Fine," he growled, his friendly pose gone. "Do it your way. I'll be sure to mention your lack of cooperation to your commander."

With that he spun on his heel and returned to the motor home. The lieutenant stared after him for a moment, then shrugged—

The sound of plastic hitting metal abruptly called her attention behind her. She saw the rifle case Lang had been carrying bouncing on the rear bench seat of the Humvee as he slipped behind the wheel. Before the lieutenant or anyone else could react, he had put the vehicle in gear and gunned the engine.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, sir—" she shouted, breaking into a run. Her effort was useless and the Humvee quickly rolled around a curve and out of sight. The lieutenant loosed a torrent of curses that would have done someone twice her age and experience proud. Suddenly the lead motor home let off a blast from its air horn, making her team jump en masse. Freed of the barrier of her Humvee the vehicles began to move. The lieutenant tried waving them down but it was too late. She had to jump off the road as the parade of motor homes followed the stolen Humvee. She thought she saw one of the suited figures inside the lead home wave airily to her as it passed. She found her hand going for her Beretta 9-millimeter sidearm but restrained herself and thumped the side of the motor home with a fist instead.

In a few moments it was over. The lieutenant used up her vocabulary of invective quickly as she observed the motor homes follow her appropriated command truck. Her team was milling around the road, the master sergeant going to each armed soldier and slapping their fingers from around their guns' triggers. Her shoulders sagged. Not only had her assigned task been co-opted but with the theft of the Humvee and its radio her means of contacting Moskowicz to inform him of what had just transpired was gone. She looked down at the ground, repeatedly clenching her fist. Her team sergeant strolled up to her.

"This is a real cluster fuck, L.T.," he muttered. She nodded.

"Any chance somebody kept a field radio with them?" she asked, already knowing the answer. The sergeant shook his head.

"Only radio we had that can contact the Old Man went off with that little prick," he replied. The lieutenant began gathering breath to repeat her dissertation of invective when her eye fell on the four police cruisers set off the side of the road in a herringbone pattern.

"Come on," she growled, trotting towards the knot of police officers. She saw one of the deputies point towards her as she approached and the short, rotund sheriff turned on his heel, a broad smile on his face.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," he snorted.

"Sir, I need to borrow one of your police cars," she began formally. The sheriff cut her off with a gesture.

"The only time United States military personnel can appropriate American civilian vehicles or property is in time of war, lieutenant," Thompson replied. "I'll be pleased to offer you a ride but our vehicles stay with us."

The lieutenant flushed with anger. Her quick head gesture was seen by the master sergeant, who reached back with one hand and snapped his fingers. Immediately the four armed soldiers dropped whatever they held in their hands and grabbed up their assault rifles. Thompson's eyes grew wide for an instant, then he imitated the sergeant. His three deputies looked at the soldiers bearing down on them and drew their sidearms in swift, practiced motions.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, sir," the lieutenant growled in a low tone. Thompson's grin grew until it looked like it would meet behind his head.

"Enforcing the law, lieutenant," he replied. "Have a care, now. Look to you right."

The lieutenant's eyes flickered to the gaggle of news vans. At least two video cameras looked like they were trained on her. She could see a sound man holding a parabolic microphone in his hands and it was pointed right at them.

"I don’t think you want to be seen shooting up innocent civilians, do you, lieutenant?" Thompson asked. He shook his head. "Y'all get in my car and I'll take you up their. Billy," he called over his shoulder. One of the deputies sprang to attention and holstered his gun. "Take over the roadblock duty here. Make sure no one gets up the road without prior approval. Give me a yell if anybody comes. Doctor Canfield, Columbus Volunteer," he raised his voice still further, "I'm going up to the house with the lieutenant here. If I yell for you, come a-runnin'. After you, lieutenant."

The lieutenant saw the woman in the doctor's coat and the EMT's nod. She turned to see Thompson already trotting towards his cruiser. She loped after him and grabbed him by his shoulder.

"Sheriff, you must understand. What we're doing here is for your protection," she said. Thompson looked her in the eye.

"Lieutenant, I know exactly why you're here, which I suspect is more than you do," he replied. "I know exactly what's up this road. I can tell you that she is no danger to you or anyone else. The only dangerous people around here are you folks. Let's go."

Moskowicz leaned forward in the front passenger seat of the Humvee, peering through the lenses of his combination mask and hood. At his order only himself and his driver had donned their chemical-biological protective gear and climbed inside the Humvee and were now rolling slowly up the road. His driver, an E-5 named Price, was perspiring freely inside his suit, fogging his mask. He repeatedly shook his head in an effort to clear his vision.

"Jesus, sir," he said, his voice muffled by his mask and hood.

"This is close enough, sergeant," Moskowicz replied. "Stop it here and keep the engine running."

Price jammed on the brakes, nearly catapulting Moskowicz through the windscreen. He muttered an incoherent apology as Moskowicz gave him a withering look and snapped open the Humvee's door to step out onto the driveway.

Less than fifty feet away knelt the giantess. Her arms were still across her bosom as she supported the two children snuggled in the neckline of the dress she wore. Her auburn hair was done in a single braid that cast down her back to lie in a whorl on the macadam of the driveway. Through his rapidly fogging eyepieces Moskowicz could see her blue-green eyes fixed on him. Her expression was neutral but a shadow of fear surrounded her eyes. Standing directly beside her was a young man with straight brown hair and an aggressive expression, his arms folded across his chest. Moskowicz hands' fell nervelessly from the frame of the Humvee's passenger side door to his sides and it swung idly until it was nearly closed. He gulped and shook his head to clear some of the droplets from his face mask.

"H-hello," he said, his voice cracking. The giantess nodded her head slowly.

"I-my name is General Moskowicz. I'm the commander of the Eighteenth Airborne Army Corps," he continued. "We-ah, we are here to-to help you."

The giantess nodded again. Moskowicz saw a ghost of a smile cross her face.

"Thank you, General Moskowicz," she replied. "I am afraid that I don’t need any help."

Moskowicz frowned. Her calm demurral threw him into confusion.

"Miss, ah—"

"Andersen. My name is Eleanor Andersen, but everybody calls me Ellie," she said.

"Miss Andersen, it's pretty obvious that you do need help," he replied. "I do not know what has happened to cause this to happen to you but there are obviously some issues of public safety and national security here that need to be addressed."

Ellie had bent her head slightly and cocked one ear in Moskowicz direction. Her expression reflected her effort to concentrate on what he was saying through the distortion of his hood.

"I would be able to understand you better if you weren't wearing that mask," she said softly, a surprisingly pretty smile lighting her countenance. Moskowicz shook his head. "I'm obviously not contagious."

"This mask is just a precaution."

Ellie sighed.

"The last two times someone told me that the suits they were wearing were just a precaution were very unpleasant times for me," she sighed. "I'm sorry, General, but I am not going to be a guinea pig for you people. If you have anything else to say, say it. Otherwise, I suggest you leave us alone."

Moskowicz heard a new sound behind him. He turned just in time to see six motor homes race up the road until they came to a stop just short of the driveway. The front door of the lead vehicle slammed open as it came to a sliding halt a few yards from Moskowicz and a suited figure rushed out. A herd of other, similarly-dressed individuals followed him, spilling from the vehicles. Moskowicz felt a sense of relief at this new distraction and turned to greet the new arrival. The man offered one gloved hand.

"General Moskowicz? Good. I'm Doctor Turner, from the CDC in Atlanta," the suited figure said. Moskowicz nodded.

"Glad you're here, Doctor Turner. I have been instructed to provide you with whatever assistance you need."

"Thank you, General. I will need your help."

Turner pushed past Moskowicz and walked confidently towards Ellie.

"Miss Andersen? I'm glad we are able to meet again," he said, adjusting the volume control on his suit's speaker box to amplify his voice. Ellie nodded politely.

"I am sorry, Doctor Turner, but I am not happy to see you again," she said. "The last time we met you threatened to keep me inside a locked room until I grew so big I crushed myself to death inside it."

"I am sorry that I gave you that impression, Miss Andersen," Turner replied. "As I recall you were not being cooperative with us in our efforts to find a cure for you. I assume you are still growing? Given that you are still growing I imagine you would wish to consider coming with me to a facility we are preparing for you. Then we can work together on helping you."

Moskowicz blinked. Turner had accepted her riposte without any gesture of protest. He took two steps forward until he stood side by side with the silver-suited doctor.

"And if I choose not to cooperate?" Ellie asked.

"It is to your advantage to cooperate," Turner replied. "I can assure you that things will be different for you this time. It is a very large facility, with plenty of, ah, headroom for you. We are in the process of setting up every possible accommodation for you, for these people here, and for anyone else."

"'These people here'? Why would you want to take them?" she asked.

"They've been exposed, Miss Andersen," Turner replied, his tone indicating that he was explaining the obvious. Moskowicz got the feeling that the polished doctor had been rehearsing his lines before he arrived. "Exposed to you. We have no idea what the long-term effects of such exposure will be. They need to be examined and treated if necessary."

Ellie appeared to consider Turner's words. Turner made a gesture and the herd of silver suits suddenly began to move as a group towards her. One of them reached out as if to lay hands on the man standing beside her knee. She suddenly moved a hand in an amazingly quick gesture. Before anyone could react her near arm was extended, her index finger poking the chest of the nearest suited figure, who rocked on his heels as he stopped dead.

"You are not touching him, or any other member of my family," Ellie said. "I suggest you back off. Remember the last time you people made me angry? I don’t want to hurt you but to protect my family I will."

"Back your people off, Turner," Moskowicz said, grabbing at Turner's arm. Turner spun on his heel so he could see Moskowicz through his faceplate.

"I thought you were supposed to help us," he snapped. "This woman needs to be taken to the facility we're opening in Utah. She's too big a danger to just wander around in as densely populated an area as the east coast."

Moskowicz felt anger suffuse him.

"Walk with me," he said in a deceptively soft tone, gesturing. Turner's body language was rebellious for a moment, then he acceded and followed Moskowicz some thirty paces down the driveway until they were safely out of earshot. Turner's people, mindful of Ellie's three-foot long hand, backed away out of her arms' reach.

"Turner, it seems to me that you need to persuade her to go with you," Moskowicz suggested, his voice low. "You obviously have had contact with her before. Did you learn anything? Perhaps if you can offer some hope—"

"General, there is no hope that we can see," Turner muttered in reply. "Every single test we performed on her came back normal—every single test. Right now she is thirty-three feet tall. At that size she can't even stand up, as you can see. Soon her own body weight will crush her to death. We need to get her to a facility where we have the tools to fully examine her after she dies and find out how to duplicate and control what's happened to her."

"Er, Doctor—" Moskowicz began.

"Sorry, doctor," Ellie said simultaneously in her normal tone of voice. "Under no circumstances will I or any of my family and friends go with you. Not anywhere. And, for your information, I am not so helpless as you assume."

She slowly unfolded her legs and rose upright. Turner gagged as she turned slowly until she faced him, her arm still supporting the two children. She took five steps forward, closing half of the distance between herself and the two suited men.

"I am not contagious," she said softly as she peered down at them. "Or dangerous to anyone who does not mean me any harm. As you can see I am healthy, well-dressed and well-cared for. I'm even engaged to be married." She extended her hand to reveal a sparkling ring. "I intend to live as normal a life as I can. I don't need your help—and I will not tolerate your interference in my life."

Both Moskowicz and Turner were flabbergasted. Even from over a hundred feet away she had evidently heard every word they had exchanged. Turner recovered first.

"There are more important issues here than just you, Miss Andersen," he said. "Until the CDC is satisfied that you represent no threat to public health or safety you should consider yourself under my care and custody."

"Sorry, doctor."

"This is not a request, Miss Andersen," Turner said.

"The answer is still the same."

"General Moskowicz, I require that you detain this woman until arrangements can be made for transport," Turner said, turning his back on Ellie. "I will contact Pope Air Force Base and see if there is a flatbed or pallet available to carry her—"

"Just hold it, Turner," Moskowicz said, almost spitting his words. "I am not going to take any action on this situation until I get further instructions from HQ—"

"You were instructed to cooperate with me."

"Fine. I will as soon as you start using your head. What would you like me to do? Order my people to pull a Gulliver? Maybe you'd like to persuade the lady to lie on the ground so we can tie her down."

"Look, I don't need to hear—"

Turner stopped speaking as Moskowicz looked around him. Beyond the line of motor homes a new parade was rolling up the road--a police cruiser, with lights flashing. The police car came to a stop just behind the motor homes. Moskowicz cursed fervently as he saw first Sheriff Thompson and then the lieutenant he had left in charge of the roadblock step out of the car and stare up at Ellie.

"Jesus fucking Christ," the lieutenant said, craning her neck to look at the giantess. Moskowicz marched up to her. He reached up to the hood of his B-C suit, tugging at the ties holding the base of the hood to his chest. Thompson leaned against his cruiser, an amused smirk on his face.

"Hello, Sheriff Thompson," Ellie said softly, smiling.

"Hello, Miss Andersen," Thompson replied.

Moskowicz yanked his hood's elastic drawstrings from around him and dropped it on the ground. The exchange between the sheriff and the giantess startled him so badly his mouth fell open and he lost control of his features. He looked around at the people near him. The female lieutenant was standing in openmouthed shock, her eyes fixed on the giantess standing over them in the driveway. Thompson had folded his arms across his barrel chest, an utterly annoying sarcastic grin on his face. Turner looked as befuddled as Moskowicz felt. The general looked up at Ellie as she did her best to hide her amusement at his expression.

"Will somebody please tell me just what the fuck is going on around here?" Moskowicz demanded. "What are you doing here, lieutenant? I told you to stay at the CP."

"Sir, our transport and radio was stolen by a superior officer who arrived by helicopter just as you left the CP," she replied as she came stiffly to attention. "It was necessary to ask for the Sheriff's help to inform you of the theft."

"She's telling the truth, Moskowicz," Thompson added. "That guy jumped right in and stole that Hummer. Damnedest thing I ever saw."

"Officer? What officer?"

"Colonel Lang, sir—"

"Lang—" Turner asked.

"Lang?" Ellie said. As if the name was a switch everyone save for Turner and the two military officers suddenly became active. Ellie spun on her heel to face Steve, who waved her towards the house and away from the officers. Hadad immediately moved to place the Burkes between himself and the house, looking around in all directions. Thompson stood up and moved quickly to the trunk of his cruiser, retrieving what looked like a hunting rifle with a telescopic sight. He grabbed up a magazine for the rifle and slapped it into place then worked its bolt to chamber a round.

"Mr. Carter, Miss Andersen, get back in the house right now. Stay away from the windows," Thompson shouted as he thumped his car's trunk closed and stumped towards them.

Turner and the two officers had stood stock-still during the sudden flurry of activity. The faceplate of Turner's anticontamination suit had suddenly started to fog, hiding his face. Moskowicz and the lieutenant looked alternately bewildered and alarmed by the sudden motion around them.

"What the hell is going on?" he said. "Lieutenant, who the hell is this Lang? I don't know that name. He said he had equipment I needed? What equipment?"

"I don't know, sir—"

"It was a rifle box," Thompson said.

"Now, just how do you know—"

Ellie took one full step towards Steve, her hands bracing the two children against her chest. She felt a sudden, sharp sting on the back of her left hand.

"Ouch!" she cried. She looked down and saw a small spurt of blood erupt from the back of her hand. A loud crack suddenly made itself heard across the clearing, echoing back against the mountain.

Lang felt his excitement peak. It had been so easy to fool that ass of a lieutenant back at the roadblock and take the Humvee—easier than it had been to hide the car and move quietly through this damned wilderness until he found the clearing with the big house and those two tents that he knew must be the domicile for that huge, dangerous bitch. Other soldiers occupying positions in the woods were easy to spot as they were all chattering at the top of their lungs—lousy discipline. He knew he needed to move quickly—that blond in uniform would undoubtedly grab other transport and tell the field commander that he was here and he could not let anything stop him from fulfilling DART's mission. Then he found the clearing with a slight rise, giving him a superb view of the house. He unboxed his rifle and looked through its sight. Fate had favored him again—that gigantic bitch was outside, in the open. He panned his sight back and forth in front of the house. Accompanying her were three men, a woman and two children, an Army officer and a silver-suited figure off to one side, somebody with a large video camera off to the other. The one in the anticontamination suit was doubtless that lickspittle Turner and the military officer Lang did not recognize. No matter. He slipped one full magazine of fifty caliber rounds into his Barrett M1982A1 semiautomatic assault rifle and pulled the charging handle. Looking back through his sight he saw a police car roll up, and that asshole blond stepped out. Still no matter—the fox was in the hen house. He looked back through the sight at the giant. She had the two brats stuck in the top of her dress—weird. His instincts told him that even the biggest sniper rifle in the Army's inventory was not going to be enough to kill that huge bitch, no matter how many rounds he put into her. He had to get the troops around him to kill her instead. There was only one way to do that. Lang put his Bravo-four sniper designation to the test and bent his face to the reticle of his rifle's telescopic sight.

Ellie had stopped, shocked by the sudden injury to her hand, the hand supporting her niece. She felt Sally move under her palm.

"What—" she began. Steve too had stopped moving. Ellie was looking down at him when a gray blur intruded into her vision. Hadad had jumped on top of Steve, knocking him to the ground and falling on top of him. Ellie felt her heart stop. She heard another sharp, loud crack echo against the hill. Her sister screamed in pain as a pink cloud suddenly surrounded her right arm and chest. Nancy fell to the ground, grabbing her arm. Another echo rolled around them.

"NO!" Ellie screamed. She felt a sting in her other hand, the one holding Dennis. Another blood spurt. Ellie turned to face the house, putting her back to whoever was shooting at them—at her. She fell onto her side, the impact knocking the air out of her. A sharp, powerful hammer slapped at the middle of her back and she heard another echo. She heard the general shout and curse. Another blow, this time to the back of her head. Another echo. Another blow. And another. Ellie's eyes blurred as bullets smacked into the back of her skull, making her nauseous and dizzy.

"YOU BASTARDS!" she screamed in pain and fury.

Moskowicz spun on his heel at the sound of the first shot. Obeying his training and instinct he fell flat to the ground.

"Who the fuck—cease fire, cease fire!" he shouted down the hill. The lieutenant beside him joined him on the ground. Thompson stayed upright, rifle in hand.

How could that have happened? Lang thought. The giantess had fallen in front of his targets, obscuring them completely. He panned back and forth, seeking an opening in the wall of cloth and flesh the giant bitch had put between him and his quarry. A sudden glint to one side caught his eye. It was that pudgy sheriff with a rifle in his hands. The rifle looked like it was pointed towards him. Lang almost laughed. To think that some two-bit hick could match him, a trained sniper—

Lang died as the round from Thompson's rifle struck him, a surprised expression on his face.

Growth Encounter Part 11