I fired a round into the leathery yellow blob as it rolled into the air, and ducked sideways as it pounded into the living room floor. Splinters of wood and shreds of carpet flew into the shimmering moonlit air. I leaned slightly. The floor creaked in the sudden silence.

            There was a vibrating under the floorboards. A lamp fell over. I leapt again, and turned to fire at the thing as it rose at impossible speeds. Just for a moment, it hung... black eyes shining in the darkness, its formless body rising like a mushroom cloud.

            My finger moved by itself. A bullet tore through the thing. It rocketed into the far wall. For a split second, it stuck there, looking like a giant piece of popcorn. Its guts were a sticky mess of white fibers of unknown purpose. The 50 caliber bullet had utterly destroyed its body.

            But nearly instantly, the yellow exterior flowed back into place. Too quickly to be believed, the thing was fully formed, and as angry as ever. It twisted off the wall and went through the television like a cannonball.

            I dodged behind the piano for cover at the last moment, but it was a close shave. I shouldn't have let it surprise me,  of course. That was my own fault. Once more, I was left kneeling in my living room listening for the sound of the thing in the floor.

            It occurred to me, as I eased myself slowly into a better position to jump, that the last time we had done this, a creaky board had given away my position. If this thing was drilling into the floorboards, it might be using some complex form of echolocation to figure out where I was.

            There was an easy way to find out. I raised my hand to the piano and played a loud C major chord.

            The sound was cut off as the thing came shooting out of the floor and destroyed the soundboard of the piano with sheer kinetic force. Strings rebounded backwards into the lid like tiny metal whips as their anchoring was severed.

            I shot the thing again, just to keep it in its place. Shooting it apparently wasn't as fatal as I'd like it to be, but it forced a short recovery time and that might give me an opening to do something else. Unfortunately, it moved too fast for my draw and disappeared into the ground again.

            So, I needed something besides my gun to kill it. It was attracted to vibrations, so a trap might be a good place to start. What specifically to use as the lethal part of said trap, though, that was a mystery. The ability of the thing to rapidly self-repair indicated it had a rate of metabolism that was in an entirely different league from anything I'd ever heard about on Earth.

            Well, what was lethal in the living room? I needed something that wouldn't just hurt the thing, but keep hurting it. Electricity? No, I had no method of using it that didn't risk electrocuting myself. Dropping something really dense and heavy on it? In theory, yes, but first you'd need to get it stay still.

            And then my eyes settled on the fireplace. It's major disadvantages were that I didn't know if the thing would burn, and if it did, it might set other things on fire. Then again, my living room was pretty much already trashed. As for whether it was flammable... well, neither were humans, but if you turned up the heat enough, that didn't matter.

            Worth a shot. I used the dying chords of the piano as cover to creep to where the stereo system sat on the shelf. I reached for the nearest speaker, which was resting on a pedestal, removed the twist tie from the wire, and gently lowered the speaker to the ground by it. I swung it, gently, into the ashes of the fireplace.

            I felt a little guilty for doing it. It was, after all, one of my favorite things in the house. The first thing I'd bought with the bonus Uncle Sam had given me after my last assignment had been this stereo. It's maximum output volume was so high, the only thing in the house that drew more power was the dryer. Of course, if it saved my life, it'd be worth it.

            That thing was looking for vibrations? Brother, could I ever give it vibrations. I twirled the volume output on the stereo to high, carefully unplugged all the other speakers and prepared to hit the power button.

            I looked back at the fireplace. There was a gas valve next to it. The lighting mechanism was automatic and internal, like a stovetop range. It was great for roasting marshmallows with the kids on winter evenings. I hadn't asked the sales representative how it would fare with roasting mysterious otherworldly creatures that attacked you, for some reason.

            Ah, well. Here went nothing. I hit the power button and dived for the nozzle beside the stove. Mozart's Queen of the Night Aria cut through the night at ear-damaging volumes. I had become a closet opera aficionado since I left the armed services. The disk had clearly stayed behind.

            It had the desired effect on the creature. It came grinding through the floor as fast as it could, literally leaving behind a line of crumpled wood in its desperation to reach the speaker.

            The lighting mechanism in the fireplace clicked once, clicked twice. The creature drilled through solid brick and rose into the air in a fountain of fireplace ash. Then the lighting mechanism clicked a third time, and a brilliant rosette of flame overtook the think in flame.

            It must have destroyed every terminal control nozzle in the lighting mechanism. The fire flared into a red-hot temper around the thing. As the speaker melted, the creature emitted a high pitched shrieking higher in pitch and far more alarming than the soprano diva.

            It tried to roll out of the fire, but I kicked it sharply back in with my bare foot. It was like how some people play soccer with a flaming ball to train them to kick it as quickly as possible, except they probably aren't trying to turn a gas nozzle all the way up as fast as they can when they do.

            The thing responded really badly to fire. All its manic energy seemed to become unfocused. It just sat in one place, desperately trying to regrow its exterior even while the fire reduced it to ash. It vibrated and bulged, but it remained roughly stationary, and since stationary was in the middle of a raging fire, this was not a good long term plan.

            I watched until it was reduced to beigish-brown slag. I didn't even think about twisting the nozzle back until you couldn't see its flyblown remnants because they were hidden by the fire.

            What remained, when the flames had carefully been subdued, was a charred dark-yellow husk, torn and shrunken in the fire. It was mostly burned away, but apparently, it was the most resilient part of the animal. The guts had been totally charred from a viscous sack to a thick, chalky residue.

            You couldn't mistake this for anything else. This was a peep. Someone had actually tried to kill me with a peep. Actually, someone had very nearly succeeded at it. And not just me, but my whole family.

            In the circumstances... knowing as I did the details of the fight with, and eventual assassination of,  Kristopher Kringle, AKA Santa Claus... there really was only one individual who could have sent it. But how could that be...

            There was a knock on the door. Well, the neighbors had just heard the sounds of mass destruction, several gunshots, and a loud blast of Mozart music, which had probably left them totally bewildered. Really, a visit from the boys in blue was not that unexpected, all things considered.

            Except that, when I opened the door, they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a man in an extremely well-pressed black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie. He had a completely bald head, but a very young and bulky physique. He also had "spook" written all over him, but possibly my military training was the only reason I felt that way.

            "Captain Mesner?" the man said, flipping open and shut an agency ID far too fast for me to read the contents.

            I shook my head.

            "That's Major, and retired. Got a promotion on an honorable discharge and a golden parachute a mile wide." And other perks, of course. Taxes happened to other people, now.

            The man looked past me, at the wreckage of the living room. Then he looked at me again. He raised an eyebrow.

            "In light of  current events, I'd strongly advise that you revise the 'retired' part." he said.

*          *          *

            There had been words with my wife. She didn't believe that we had just experienced a perfectly normal home invasion, and not being stupid, she also didn't believe I'd caused all this damage myself.

            "I want to see the body." she said.

            I decided to take refuge in silence. I couldn't think of anything I could say that wouldn't make it worse. I mean, I had a body, of a sort, but right now it was on its way to a government lab far away.

            She sat staring at me as I packed my bag in silence. I pulled my uniform out of the closet. I hadn't even looked at it in a couple of months. My wife saw it too.

            A look of sudden concern crossed her face.

            "Something is going on here, Neil, and it concerns a lot more than a burglar, doesn't it?"

            I nodded, as I shoved the uniform into the suitcase, and looked up.

            "But I can't tell you what, or how much it concerns, without endangering you."

            She looked down at the floor.

            "Just what happened on your last mission, Neil?"

            "I can't tell you that either."

            Her brow furrowed.

            "I'm your wife, Neil. I have a right to know. At least a tiny amount."

            "It's so classified that I can't even tell you the names of the people involved, Honey. And it doesn't matter because you'd never believe a word of it."

            A tiny sound at the doorway dropped in the middle of the conversation. I glanced at my wife.

            "You can come in, Grace." I said aloud.

            My eight-year-old daughter inched her way into the room. She saw the suitcase on the bed.

            "Where is Daddy going?"

            My wife smiled, in a brittle way. "He can't tell us, sweetie. It's a big secret."

            "Is that why you're fighting?"

            I tousled her hair.

            "I dunno. I think it's going pretty well, considering I told Mommy about my trip an hour ago or so."

            She looked at the clock, in case, somehow, she had misremembered the time. Then she looked back at me.

            "That was a dumb thing to do, Daddy. No wonder she's mad."

            I gave an exaggerated shrug.

            "My bosses didn't tell me until half an hour before that."

            She held up a tiny finger.

            "Hang on. That was when the burglar came in. I remember, because Mom and I were in here with our guns, and, and I looked at the clock because it was still dark outside."

            Grace could shoot with enough accuracy at a range of fifty yards to qualify as a police officer, and my wife could take the tip off a pencil in one shot at that distance. Any burglars who made it past me would have a nasty surprise waiting for them.

            I nodded at her.

            "And then my bosses came, and told me where the burglar had come from. And now I'm going to go find the rest of the burglars so they can't ever come and hurt you."

            She pondered this, for a moment.

            "Be careful, Daddy. Burglars can be dangerous."

            "Not as dangerous as I'll be if he isn't careful." said my wife, "Now, go back to bed, honey. I need to have a few words with Daddy."

            After my daughter had left the room, she turned to me.

            "Listen, Neil... classified or not, one day I am going to find out what all this is about."

            She stopped me before I could say anything else, and kissed me. Then she looked deep into my eyes.

            "So just you come home safely, because otherwise I'll never get to interrogate you. Because I don't know who these bastards are, but I know they messed with the wrong man." She squeezed my hand.

            "Good hunting, Neil. Wherever you're going."

*          *          *

            "Let's not mince words, sir. This is about killing the Easter bunny, isn't it?"

            The man turned his head to the side, slightly.

            "How did you guess, Major?"

            "The peep was a good tip-off. I'm going to ask you point blank, mister... whatever you name is... did you know about this?"

            The man leaned back into the leather seat of the towncar.

            "Names don't mean much, but you may call me Weiller. I'm not at liberty to say how much we knew about the situation, though."

            "I see. So, you did know. You put my family in a lot of danger by not telling anyone, you know that? Stupid danger, too. I'd bet my mortgage that this is connected to the death of Kringle. There can't be that many people masquerading as holiday figures out there. And if that's true, it means Nordland had files on it."

            He remained impassive.

            "There are rules, Major. Clearances and secrecy. Surely a military man like yourself can appreciate that?"

            "Ah, yes. Very important, those clearances are. Otherwise people might get information they need before problems get critical, and constantly putting out fires gives such a finished look to a government, doesn't it? No, don't answer that. I already know how enamored you spooks are of your Chinese walls." I took a deep breath, and forced myself to relax.

            "I want the team I took up last time. They're the only men on the planet who know the first thing about what to expect from this op. And don't even think of trying to say no. If they know where my family lives, I will damn well handle the situation as I see fit."

            He raised a hand.

            "I am already arranging protection for your family. As to the other item... you will certainly get to take the same team. I have gotten reports that they all sustained similar attacks. Why do you think I showed up so soon after the attack? It was considered prudent to send someone to ensure your safety."

            I stared at him.

            "How well do you think you did at that, Mr. Weiller?"

            He gestured expansively at me.

            "You're still alive, aren't you? I am, however, adding a member to your team."

            I didn't even have to think about this remark.

            "No you aren't. One, there is no way that this person knows a thing about this op, and a slide show is not going to be preparation enough. Two, they have never worked with my team before. Teams like mine drill until we know the other guys better than we know ourselves, you get me? Add a member and this assassination mission becomes a daycare."

            "On the contrary, Captain Edridge has just as much experience with these assignments as you, and there is a special extra concern on this mission which only he is familiar with."

            I nearly broke out shouting right then, but something about the way he said "these assignments" stopped me. I narrowed my eyes.

            "There's already been another incident just like these, hasn't there?"

            A pained look flashed across his face.

            "No comment."

            I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

            "Stupid. You're all so damned stupid. Okay, fine. Tell me what this extra concern is, that you consider worth jeopardizing the mission."

            "I am not at liberty to say."

            I wondered if government agents actually knew anything. It was hard to tell extreme secrecy from a total lack of content. Not that the two were mutually exclusive, of course. I pointed a finger at him.

            "You'd better make that protection for my family very, very good, Weiller. From what I've heard of this mission so far, you're determined to get us all killed."

*          *          *

            I didn't meet Captain Edridge until the briefing. He was pretty much what I expected, from a man who had impressed Weiller. You saw all sorts of ways of wearing uniforms in spec-ops... do a couple of survival courses and espionage missions and tell me that you don't think of clothing differently, too. You came to understand a uniform as a way of showing unity of purpose, a way of distinguishing skill and station at a glance, a way of identifying friendlies... an extremely valuable tool, in other words. But still a tool, and hence, not always applicable.

             Edridge, however, was that special breed that maintains a love for a well-pressed uniform that transcends mere experience or usefulness. It looked like it had been tailored around him this morning. He could have been right off the cover of a military magazine, no airbrushing needed. He had short, neat black hair, and an air about him which indicated that not one of those hairs had ever been out of place, and none of his future plans showed it on the schedule.

            Since he was apparently coming, whether I wanted him to or not, I did my best not to hate him on sight. It wasn't easy.

            Everyone else was there, too. I found out later that almost all of us had eventually settled on fire as a way of killing the peeps. All ten of the original survivors had gotten a peep. It was generally agreed that Thyger's method of trapping it in a wall safe with remote-detonated C4, and setting it off, was the most appropriate to the situation. Certainly the most cathartic.

             I was mad. The families of Buckley and Pearson had also gotten peeps, and that really twisted at my gut. They had been killed in action on the mission to assassinate Kringle. And just to make sure it was personal, Pearson's grave had apparently also been desecrated... his body had been stolen. Whether the Bunny was holding it for ransom, we didn't know. At least that wasn't a problem for Sergeant Buckley. The way he died, he never even had a grave.

            The briefing was, well, brief. We didn't really know much. Our presumptive target was the Rabbit. He'd all but sent us a calling card. From documents in Nordland, we knew he was on Easter Island. We knew he had driven the human inhabitants off the island with automated tanks, and raised some kind of EMP shielding over the island. We estimated the timing to coincide with when the peeps were sent, using a variant of Kringle's teleportation delivery systems and some as-yet-unidentified aircraft. This turned maneuvering anything more technologically advanced than a rowboat onto the island a tricky proposition. We'd made a deal with the Chilean government to keep it quiet for now. It wasn't exactly going to go down in the history of impressive cover ups. It was home to a couple of thousand people.

            We didn't even really know what he looked like. But Weiller had a theory.

            "There are ancient records of a race on Rapa Nui known as the Hanau Epe. Reports are a little mixed on their exact appearance, but some translate their name to mean 'long ears'. They have also been described as 'white'."

            There was a long silence. Dorhaise, the medic, was the first person brave enough to reach the obvious conclusion.

            "I'm sorry... do you mean to imply that these are actual giant rabbits? Not just a person pretending to be one?"

            "Captain Edridge would be the expert on that. He has extensive background in animal physiology and I believe he has recently gained a great deal of experience in what we like to call practical cryptozoology."

            Edridge sat up slightly, which was a feat, given his ramrod-straight posture.

            "I've done a little research on the matter. Actually, extremely large rabbit breeds exist in captivity, and apart from issues with genetic linkage, I find no convincing evidence of intrinsic harm. Whether their physiology would scale all the way to human size is untested, but the exact dimensions of the Hanau Epe is also uncertain. To paraphrase, on the basis of available information, we cannot rule out the possibility."

            Edridge pronounced his phrases as carefully as he dressed. He stiffly slid a file to me from across the table. It halted in front of me with the edge exactly parallel to the table. It contained some papers on rabbits. I handed it to Dorhaise.

            "Okay, Weiller. We'll expect the unexpected. Now, would you care to tell us how we're supposed to get on to that island?"

            Weiller smiled. He had the least pleasant smile I'd ever seen on the face of someone I wasn't allowed to shoot.

            "Perhaps now would be a good time to reunite you with an old friend." he said.