on the other side of the station.

My claws slashed out, when did I get claws, and ripped her vocal cords right out. That was probably what killed her. I bit into the flesh in my claw, savoring the sweet taste of life just shortly gone. I plunged my fangs into the gaping and mortal wound. I drained her dying body of the precious nectar of life. When did I turn poetic?

As I suckled on her, I held my free hand up in my field of vision - it was impressive. The nails had hardened and elongated down the fingers, which while not thicker, were corded with muscle. As I dropped Collins, I extended my right index finger and drug it down the side of the inner wall, gouging out a chunk of plastic. I bent down and tore off her right leg. I hadn't had to strain, it was as easy as pulling a drumstick off of a chicken; tastier as well.

The rest of the afternoon was blur, I took out the communications link first and then went hunting the rest of the crew. Did I forget to mention that bacon tastes like a leather strap compared to feast I had that day. For the most part, I took little morsels from my coworkers and drained them dry. I thought I might have a problem with the men, I was a child of modern homophobic America, but while I didn't find them as succulent as the women, I did find them delicious in their own right.

I saved Atkins for last. He didn't try the cyanide until the rest of the crew was long dead. I think he was holding out on the hope that one of them would take care of me. He was barricaded in his quarters, trying to reach some contact with a transmitter he had hidden in there. Too bad I had found it last week and removed some chips from it.

The fool even had a gun, as I found out as I tore open his bulkhead. I took one bullet in my left kidney and another in my right lung. The next one whizzed past where my head had just been and went though the main observation panel. Big windows look great in movies, but even small portholes don't mix well with projectiles. Atkins had picked this room because he could set his camera up and snap his own images of the Earth.

I'd planned to get information from him about my condition, about what happened to that chimpanzee, and I wanted to draw out his death. But he robbed me of my revenge. I did love it as his eyes popped out. Strange, I wasn't having a problem. After he died, I watched my wounds heal themselves, no bullets popped out, but the flesh still knitted together pretty fast.

I stuffed someone's flight jacket in the hole, the atmosphere was all gone by then, I don't know why I bothered, and I took my latest snack with me to the smaller of the escape pods. It was built for two, how optimistic, and by the time I landed in Mexico, I'd eaten all of the tender insides. I avoided most of the muscles and bones, but it was quite possibly the best meal I'd had since Morocco. I made sure to leave the face intact.

I had a nifty new PDA which I planned to explore on the way up the coast back into the US. I picked Mexico because it was close enough to the border for me to get up there, but far enough away to keep the US from dropping a couple chopper loads of troops on my head right away. If I went on the back roads, well I might be white, but not many people were going to help the US troops track me down. They might help their own authorities, but when the Chupacabras started attacking, my guess is that they would lock their doors and keep away from all strangers.

All I had was a polo shirt, some light blue shorts, some deck shoes, the PDA, and my winning personality. Well, I also had the wedding