She folded the map and started to place it back inside when a loud hissing sound came from behind them. She snatched up her weapon as her husband and Townhousen came running around the corner.

            “Mog!” Leif yelled.

            “Take cover!” Both Gretchen and her husband chorused together.

            They immediately dove for the meager protection of the convenience store. Gretchen crouched behind a display of dusty ice chests, her rifle at ready. Leif slid down beside her and aimed his own M88 out the shattered front glass window.

            The sibilant sound rapidly grew louder. Gretchen glanced around her to make sure everyone was accounted for. “Hold your fire! Wait for my signal!”

            The mog came from the direction where the men had gone to relieve themselves. It stopped at the corner and swung its ponderous head around. They heard it sniffing the air, searching for them. Searching for the humans, the way a dog would when it was on the hunt. She and the others knew the mechs would not be too far behind it, following it to take out every survivor it detected.

            The mogs were not the enemy like the mechs were. The mogs were the animals. Living weapons who walked upright. If she and her squad took the mog out first, the sound of the attack would alert the mechs and give away their position. That could lead to disastrous results, including the complete annihilation of the squad. The military had quickly learned to wait for the mechs to show, take them out first, and then go after the mogs.

            The thing continued to check the air, its head bobbing up and down. Gretchen narrowed her eyes as she studied the creature. She’d only seen one other of these aliens, but she’d never forgotten the way it looked. The coloring on this one was a little different, but otherwise it was identical.

            Her breath caught in her throat when it shifted on it back legs and stared directly at them. It knew they were inside. She waited, heart hammering, for it to let out a cry that would tell the mechs the prey had been found.

            She was aware of Leif peering through his scope. “Incoming,” he breathed. At the same time, she caught the nerve-shredding squeak of the mechs as two of them lumbered into view.

            One of the mechanoids lifted a hand and pressed what appeared to be a button on a small device. The mog reacted with a gurgling growl of what had to be pain. The creature went stiff for a second, then tried to turn on the mechs.

            Gretchen and the others watched in surprise as the mog launched itself at its handlers. Another screech of pain ripped through the air as it hit the alien with the device and wrapped its tentacle-like arms around the thing’s neck. A loud pop, and the head was separated from the body.

            The second mech raised its weapon, aiming it at the mog, when a short burst of gunfire came from the pulse rifle beside her. Gretchen jumped as Leif took out the mech with knife-like precision, leaving the mog standing there, its head bowed.

            She turned to ask her husband why the hell he’d fired without her authorization, when he leaped to his feet and jumped over their flimsy barrier, exiting the store. He continued to blast both mechs as he approached them. She kept her gun trained on the mog, but the creature appeared to cower in fear. Something about its suddenly passive reaction made her hesitate, and Gretchen threw up a hand. “Hold your fire on the mog!”

            Four soldiers immediately joined her in circling the creature, which remained in a crouched position. The others gathered around Leif, who made sure the mechs were permanently out of service.

            She kept the mog under guard and waited for her husband to come over. Once her initial irritation with his insubordination had cooled, she knew he had to have a good reason for his actions, but she’d save her tirade for later when they had some privacy. She’d never chew him out in front of the others, least of all his own squad.

            Leif ambled over, breathing heavily from the rush of adrenaline. He and the mog stared at each other for a second, then her husband lowered his weapon.

            “Why?” Gretchen asked softly. She didn’t need to elaborate.

            “Because they were abusing it,” he replied simply. “Because I thought this might be our chance to take one of these things hostage to see how it ticks. And because…since when do mogs get tattoos on their arms that say ‘Sarah’?”