"We got lost." Eddie blurted. "We're not from around here." Once it was out, it sounded like the two most clichéd sentences in the universe.

The conjoined twins each raised an eyebrow and waited for the rest of the explanation.

"We're from Connecticut and we were headed to Vermont on Route Seven. We lost track of the map and our truck ran out of gas before we could find a service station." Nice save, Eddie thought, pleased with himself. Foxy remained silent.

"Connecticut, huh?" The twin on the left began. He pointed the barrel of his deer rifle at Foxy, and poked her above the left breast. She recoiled a bit, but never lowered her eyes.

Eddie, however, realized the flaw in his lie suddenly and with crushing disappointment. Foxy was, of course, still wearing a St. Ingrid's uniform shirt, with the school crest stitched on the pocket.

"Unless there's another St. Ingrid's in Connecticut, I'd have to say you're full of shit."

The little girl with the deadly aim giggled.



Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid--Eddie berated himself silently. Okay, Beames, dig yourself out of this one… But before he got another word out, the farmers cut him off.

"Get off our land." The twins said in stereo. The sound of their voices in perfect harmony made the hair on Eddie's neck stand up.

"But those…things…" Foxy started.

The little girl raised her shotgun even with Foxy's eyes. "You heard my brothers. Fuck off."