I can't help but stare at the thing's head as we ride up to ground level in the elevator.

Scarecrows have always creeped me out, but this one takes the cake.

Not that it's a particularly scary scarecrow.

It wears worn leather boots, blue jean overalls, a threadbare plaid shirt, and a long brown coat.

Its eyes, which are round white buttons, are shrouded by the straw hat on its head.

It has no mouth on its burlap sack face, only a toothpick sticking out of the sack cloth where the corner of a mouth would be. Apparently it senses me watching. It turns

its head slightly, the dry straw that makes up its body rustling softly as it moves. I suppress a shiver at that sound, and at the four

little holes in the middle of the buttons that pass for pupils. Adjusting my M4 rifle makes me feel

a little better, although I'm not sure how effective it would be against this thing. I glance past

the scarecrow at Sweeney, who stares at the anomaly with unabashed curiosity.

He meets my gaze with his pale green eyes glittering as he winks.

He looks back at the scarecrow.

So, my man, let me ask you a question.

Do you piss? Do you even have the equipment?

Wyatt, who stands behind me, laughs.

Dalton, standing behind Sweeney, shakes his head with a smile.

The scarecrow turns to look at Sweeney with that dry rustle that makes me think of a snake,

moving through summer grass.

The only answer is the toothpick shifting, as if it's chewing on it.

But it has no teeth. It can't chew.

Just like I'm sure it can't piss.

The elevator stops and the doors open. The four of us escort the scarecrow out into the corridor,

...