I had never noticed how sexy Anna’s index finger was, but as I saw it curled around the trigger of my grenade launcher I nearly forgot about our impending doom. As I was picturing those slender digits in some black Isotoners, Seth interrupted.

“Well, what about the aliens?” said Seth, searching for a flaw in our story, clutching to the what was left of his of his world view.

“Think back to junior high school,” I said, trying to calm my brother. “Did you ever notice your history teacher was a little off?”

“Mr. Scaney was a little strange,” answered Seth, nodding his head.

“Of course he was,” I said. “And if we asked a hundred people the same question, ninety-nine of them would have a similar answer. That’s because your teacher and everyone else’s was not of this Earth. Mr. Scaney was an alien.”

“But why?” said Seth.

“You ever hear of The Watchers?” I said. “You know, the dudes with the big heads from the comics? These aliens are like that, only they like to mess with us. And they hate Canadians.”