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Greenville was a little town, barely big enough to support a school. Until five years ago you had to drive an hour to the state college in Burton. Then they floated a school bond and an old strip mall got converted into a satellite college.

It was a little town but Greenville had its share of troubles. Nothing worse than a fistfight ever happened at the college, though, until the day Wally Turner showed up for class with the trunk of his car full of guns.

He had a plan. He'd go in, attend his first class and make sure everyone he had a beef with was there. Then he'd drive into the woods, change into the all black gear so popular with school shooters, and show up to let them know how very unhappy he was with life. He figured he could kill a dozen people minimum before the sheriff and his deputies showed up. He might even get a few of them, too. He was certain to die, but he'd have the satisfaction of getting back at the people he hated first.

It was a good plan. The only problem was the Web searches he'd done while setting it up. He'd been careful, but not careful enough.

There was a nervous moment as he pulled up to the school. Someone was in the car next door and got out just as he did. Luckily it was just the short Asian woman they'd had as a substitute teacher these last few days. Mrs...Adams? He remembered it wasn't an Eastern-sounding name.

Mrs. Adams was barely over five feet tall and he nodded politely to her as he stepped past. Just as he lost sight of her something clamped down on the back of his neck like a vice.

It was neatly done. Mrs. Adams reached one little hand out and dragged him into the trees as easily as a mother cat drags her kitten by its scruff.

She was unbelievable strong for such a little woman. As they disappeared into the woods he recovered enough to backhand her. Or at least he tried. With her free hand she caught his forearm. That's when he saw it.

The hand that caught his arm was twice the size it should be, with pointed nails like claws. The one wrapped around his neck was too big for her body and her forearms were outsized too. As he struggled to pull away she braced herself and her thighs bulged unnaturally. Suddenly she was taller than he was and Wally's eyes went wide as her smile parted to show sharply pointed teeth.

"Now now," she said in a voice like a purr. She hadn't sounded like that yesterday in class. They were surrounded by brush now. There was no one to see her change. No one but Wally.

Bones popped and tendons creaked as she grew. Her torso lengthened, thickened, her arms grew long and muscular but slender. For a moment it seemed she stood on her toes, then her shoes burst to reveal four-toed padded feet on backward-bending dog legs. Her ears grew pointed, migrating to the top of her head to stand tall and upright as he eyes went yellow-gold above a suddenly snouted face.

And everywhere fur grew. Orange, chocolate brown hands and feet, white along her belly revealed as her dress tore away. A fluffy orange tail as long as he was tall split the last remnants of the dress as it grew from the base of her spine, It had white at the tip too. One moment a short, harmless-looking woman held him in an unnaturally tight grip. The next an eight-foot-tall fox woman picked him bodily from the ground and carried him still deeper into the woods.

"What, what," Wally gasped, only for her to grip down on his neck until he almost passed out. She had gone from half his size to twice his size. He squirmed in her grip but it was hopeless. She'd been too strong for him at five feet tall and now she could snap his neck in an instant if she chose. She carried him until undergrowth blocked the view in all directions, then set him down without ever letting go.

"Here we go," the vixen purred, and pinned him to a rough-barked oak tree with one clawed hand. "Now I'm naked. You should be too."

With her free hand she tore away his clothes, snapping his belt like a bit of string and hooking claws into the hem of his pants. With a casual tug she ripped them from his body, spun the legs around her hand and dropped the balled-up cloth. One clawed foot like an oversized dog's stepped on the toe of his foot and she lifted him out of one shoe, then repeated the process with the other. He was left with nothing but his undershorts and the earrings in his ears.

She paused to look around, her tall upright ears swiveling like antennae. "Can't be too careful. Wouldn't want anyone to stumble in and interrupt us, would we?"

"You're a werewolf," Wally gasped. She had never let go of his neck this entire time. She'd picked him up by his throat and almost strangled him when she pulled him out of his shoes.

"Werefox," she purred, her long muzzle with its black nosepad turning back toward him. Amber eyes with slit pupils like a cat's looked him over.

"You're a cop," he said. "One of the Lupine Units, right?"

"Unit Nine," she purred. "Undercover specialist. Normally I work human trafficking, but lately I get called when there's a suspect getting ready to shoot up a school. You know what the best thing about school shooters is, Wally? No one misses you when you are gone."

"But -"

"When the school closes for the day, someone will notice your car still parked there. In the morning, a local cop will check it out. They'll find all the guns you have in the trunk. It'll make the news. They will look for you, but never find you. There won't be anything to find."

Wally hung there in her grip. She was pretty in an animal way. If only she weren't eight feet tall and looking at him the way he looked at a hamburger.

"Have you noticed in the news lately, that seems to happen quite a bit lately. All these wanna-be school shooters just leaving their guns and manifestos behind, and disappearing. Why, must be a dozen of them now that just up and disappeared before they fired a shot."

Her smile widened, and he noticed how far back along the sides of her face it went. "I bet you're wondering where they all went."

"No I'm not," Wally gasped, but she reached out her free hand and gripped him by the hip. The other hand released his neck, gripped him beneath his armpit and pulled him toward her. Instinctively he planted both hands against her chest and locked his elbows. He was already too close to her fangs.

She was so strong that his desperate effort only held her at bay lasted only a moment. She was easily twice his size and could pull him apart like a cooked chicken if she wanted. His arms bent and her muzzle got closer.

"Don't you want to know why I -" Wally was looking into her maw as it opened, the long narrow jaws parting above and below his face. Folds of skin parted at the back of her long maw and he saw the slick pink gullet leading down into darkness.

"No," purred the vixen, and shoved him in.

Only as his head disappeared down her throat did Wally realize he put his hands against her breasts when he tried to hold her at bay. They were small, athletic breasts on the slender eight-foot-tall vixen. He caught a last glimpse of his hands dug into her white chest fur and then she leaned forward and swallowed his face.

Wally kicked as sharp fangs scraped his chest and back. It didn't save him. He managed to get a knee against her breastbone but her powerful arms dragged him remorselessly in and his face slid into the waiting tunnel of her gullet. His knee slipped with a sudden lurch the lights went out.

She was only twice his size. Big, but far too small to swallow a man whole. Maybe a whole rabbit or small dog, but not a man. Unfortunately no one told her that. His arms were forced back against his sided as she leaned forward, her cheeks expanding over his shoulders, and with an upward thrust of her muzzle he was gone to the waist.

She swallowed him easily, darting her nose upward to engulf another half foot of man, pulling her muzzle back and then thrusting it upward again. He'd seen kingfishers swallow fish the same way. His own weight held him still for each thrust of her muzzle and with four quick tosses of her head his hips were in her maw.

Slimy gullet slid past and he felt her long slender torso expand. Her ribcage should have blocked any further progress but it expanded around him like an elastic cage. As his legs kicked helplessly from her jaws his face pushed through a muscular obstruction into the soft wet folds of the vixen's stomach. Only then did she swallow.

"No!" Wally cried, but his complaint was lost in the sloshing wetness of her gut. A great contraction rolled through the muscles of her throat, squeezing him downward. His knees kicked on either side of her lower jaw and he felt her strip the socks off his feet with clawed fingers. He was wearing nothing but boxer shorts torn by her fangs and a few scraps of T-shirt when she closed her long muzzle around his feet.

"It's not fair," Wally said as the vixen lifted her muzzle for the final gulp. Her throat pulsed again and he slid heavily into her stomach, swelling her white belly fur and distending her slender middle into a great lumpy bulge. She'd swallowed a man almost half her weight in a matter of seconds.

Soft folds of stomach stretched tight around him and the thick laver of mucus coating it coated him as well. The slime in her throat had merely lubricated him for easy swallowing. This wasn't harmless gullet slime and it stung wherever it touched. Thick beads of stomach acid trailed over his skin and already a pool of it filled the bottom of her stomach, oozing into the gaps between his limbs. He occupied almost all the space inside her and his bulk displaced the acid so it squeezed into every crevice of his body.

In a few minutes he'd gone from predator to prey. If she hadn't been there, he'd be in class right now, planning who to shoot first when he came back with his AR-15. Instead he was in a vixen's stomach.

If only he had a knife! There was practically no room to move in here, but he could at least hurt her. Maybe even cut his way out. Without a knife, without guns, he was just a meal for her. If she even noticed him clawing at her guts with his fingernails, she didn't show it.

Wally struggled, and kicked, or tried to. The rubbery pocket of meat left no room to fight and she wrapped her long-fingered, clawed hands around the bulge to feel him squirm. Wally sucked in probably his last breath and cursed as stomach acids stung him all over. Through the thinly stretched flesh and fur that lay between him and daylight, he heard her chuckle.

"You were sure angry at someone," she purred. "Now you can explain it to my stomach."

There was a sudden inward pressure. Wally couldn't have told you what happened then, it was so quick. There was a hot gurgle, he heard the vixen belch, and that was that.

*****

Officer Sanders, undercover, made his way through the woods. He was dressed in hiker's clothes and followed the edge of the woods. At a certain point he turned unerringly to follow the vixen and her prey . It was almost as though he knew their every move in advance. And of course he did, both by those moves being planned out ahead of time and by the tracker in Unit Nine's wristband.

The soft grass underfoot showed little trace of the werefox's passage, even when she was carrying a man, but her burst shoes and scraps of clothing made a trail easy to follow. With painstaking care Sanders collected every scrap, dropping them into his hiking pack as he went. When he found one clear fox-print as wide as a man's face he ground it under his heel until it could be anything. A bear print, a confusion of deer hoofprints, anything but the track of an eight-foot-tall vixen.

He found Unit Nine sprawled out comfortably at the foot of a tree, ankled crossed and hands draped over the bulge in her middle. He look one look at her and shook his head.

"How do you do it?" The bulge in her middle wasn't half the size it should be. To look at her now you might think her pregnant, or maybe that she'd eaten a small deer. There just wasn't room in there for a whole man. He'd seen faces leer out of the belly fur of other werewolves and knew how long it took the flesh to dissolve away. There shouldn't be a smooth, rounded, and most of all small bulge so fast. This was just not right.

"It takes Unit Six a whole day to digest a man," he complained. "And he's half again your size. I know you swallowed him. There's no blood, you wouldn't leave anything for people to find."

Sure enough, she'd gathered up every scrap of Wally Turner's clothes, wrapped it around his shoes, and dropped it neatly into his pack when he held it open.

"Even if you digested him that fast, you'd have to crap him out. You wouldn't do that. You don't leave evidence behind."

"No I don't," Unit Nine purred. She climbed to her feet and stretched. She was a handsome creature, vixen from head to toe and naked now but for fur.

She had also eaten more humans than the entire rest of the werewolf squad put together. When Sanders considered asking her out on a date, he thought about that and kept his mouth firmly shut. Maybe some men did get to spend the night inside Unit Nine - there were rumors. Even if those were true, most people who did ended up with a whole lot more than their penis inside the vixen. Sanders had no interest in a date that ended with a burp.

"I will tell you a secret," she purred. He pointed the route through the woods and she nodded. She could easily outpace him on her long legs but let him lead the way. It wouldn't do for some local yokel to happen upon them.

"You've seen a werewolf get shot up. You know what happens when they are hurt so badly they need food to regenerate. Not a little food, a lot of it, and they need it right now."

"I saw Unit Five digest a couple of hams and a turkey just about instantly," Sanders said. "One minute they were a bulge, then there was this weird groan and they were just gone. He'd been stabbed a bunch of times."

"Regenerating isn't the only thing a werewolf does that burns a ton of calories," Unit Nine purred. "So does shape changing. Back home, when someone changed for the first time they tended to eat the first person they met. Changing makes us really hungry."

"The others can't change," Sanders observed.

"That's right." Unit Nine waited until Sanders signaled the coast was clear, then climbed into the back of a nondescript Ford Econoline van parked on the side of the road. Her minder climbed in the driver's side door and started the engine. They were driving down the road, just at the speed limit, when the conversation continued.

Unit Nine put her chin on Sander's shoulder as he drove. In the shadows of the van, anyone who saw something through the windshield would just think there was a big dog in the back.

"I can change, and not just back to human. I learned that I could do small changes, and do a lot of them. I can look like different people, I can change just one limb, move mass around...I can swallow someone and do that, change enough that I get really hungry. Burns them right up. If I'd kept at it there wouldn't even be a bulge by now. But then I really would have needed to take a crap. Not everything gets absorbed even when a werewolf is really hungry."

"I wondered about that," Sanders mused. "Not the crapping," he said quickly. "I meant, you're smaller than the others and you eat more people. I wondered why you didn't get fat."

Unit Nine chuckled, her whiskers tickling his neck. "It's the werewolf diet," she purred. "It's only March and I've eaten three human traffickers, two muggers, a rapist and a college student."

"The press has been going on about that," Sanders says. "But they are starting to lose interest. 'Another school shooter disappears without shooting anyone' gets old. People are just happy the schools don't get shot up."

Unit Nine nodded. "It's a good deal for everyone." She licked her chops. "Except the shooters."

It was two years since Unit Nine expanded her activities to assisting other agencies with suspected shooters. The FBI didn't ask what happened to the suspects. Neither did other agencies. They probably thought, correctly, that it was better for their peace of mind not to know. They were just happy not to have messy incidents in their districts show up on the evening news.

Unit Nine burped as a last bubble of air made its way up out of her guts. There were at least a dozen active, if little-followed-up on missing person cases going that she knew of. Some people worried that those shooters would show up again.

Unit Nine didn't worry. She knew exactly where those perps disappeared to, and given the chance she'd happily send more after them.