Touched by an Alien

good thing. Mephistopheles was off balance and he stepped back, right onto the cart I’d been in. But it wasn’t solid, and it caused him to go down, butt first, right onto the entire baggage cart Reader had been driving.
    Reader was next to me now. “How do we kill this thing?” I asked while we moved around the rest of the baggage cart I’d been driving.
    “No idea. Newly formed ones like you and I took out are easy. Aim for the parasite.”
    “The jellyfish thing.”
    “Right. But if they manage to remain in control, the jellyfish moves inside the body, and it could be anywhere.”
    “Okay. Then how do we all get away alive?” I was willing to retreat. I had no ego attached to dying nobly.
    “We run like hell. But everyone’s tired. Only Paul probably has any energy left, since you and Jeff took a side trip.”
    “How’d you know about that?”
    “I know Jeff, and you’ve changed clothes. You aren’t the only smart one around, you know.”
    “Oh, duh. Okay, so no one’s got any hyperspeed left. The carts are smooshed, and we walk faster. Um, any ideas?”
    “Pray someone has a gun in their bags,” Reader offered.
    I looked at the bags. Most people packed their checked bags as I did—as if they were going on a year-long trip and had to cram everything they owned inside in order to survive. They were likely to weigh a ton each. It was crazy, but no crazier than using a pen to kill one of these things.
    “Grab the bags and start heaving them at him.” I tried to follow my own advice, but these things were heavy as lead.
    Reader didn’t argue. He just grabbed the other end of the bag I was trying to move. We swung it back and forth and then launched it, just as Mephistopheles tried to stand up.
    Score! Hit his knee, and it caused him some problems. We grabbed the next bag and did the same.
    Some of the A-C crew saw what we were doing and came over. I didn’t know any of them, but I did get to remind myself that if I died right now, I’d be surrounded by five hunks and so could possibly go happy.
    Mephistopheles caught on to what we were doing and started to bat at the flying luggage. This caused us to have to dodge hurtling suitcases, but it also meant he was focused on us, not my mother.
    I would have been happy about this, only Mom wasn’t cooperating. Instead of running away, she headed toward him. She waited until she was in close, then started firing.
    The bullets hit, but they didn’t penetrate. She used the entire clip, popped it out, reached back, pulled another clip from somewhere, put it in, and fired again. This time, instead of aiming for his torso, she went for the head.
    Better results, but still, it was more of a distraction than a deterrent. And he paid more attention to her than to our assault with the Luggage of Doom.
    Christopher, Martini, and Gower were by my mother now. I got the impression they were trying to get her off the offensive and into run away mode. It was certainly what I’d be suggesting right now. But she wasn’t having any of it.
    Mephistopheles got to his knees and swiped at my mother. I got scared I’d see him kill her. Fear, like tears, made me angry. I didn’t think about it, I just ran toward him. “Get away from my mother, you freak of nature!”
    Freak of nature is not necessarily the biggest insult one could hurl, but it sure seemed to offend Mephistopheles. He spun toward me, snarling. I still couldn’t understand him, but his expression said it clearly—he didn’t care for me.
    He reached out and grabbed me. His grip wasn’t pleasant, but he wasn’t crushing me, either. He had my lower body, so my arms were free. I risked a look around as he stood up. Gower and Christopher each had one of my mother’s arms and were dragging her away. Reader was moving the other agents away. And Martini was headed right for us.
    I had no idea what he thought he was going to do, but I didn’t have a lot of time to ponder, as Mephistopheles brought me up to face level. His eyes were horrible, but as he stared at me I saw them change and look more human. “You are trouble,” he said, and it was in English.
    “Your breath stinks. What’s your point?” Twelve feet of scary fugly, and this was the best statement he could come up with?
    His eyes narrowed. “You won’t be trouble much longer.” He opened his mouth, and I got the distinct impression he was going to try to bite my head off.
    The hell with that. I fumbled in my purse and my hand hit my