Reynolds was about to give the order to switch to lethal weapons when Talbot shouted “Contact!” and unleashed a torrent of foam that struck the floor, mushroomed out and solidified. But the man had missed the mark, and instead of locking the Tsuchi in place, he provided it with a springboard to launch its attack.
The creature sprang from Nemesis’s tail, where it had been hiding, perfectly camouflaged on the rough, black flesh. Talbot unleashed another stream of foam, this time striking the Tsuchi’s underside, but as the viscous goo expanded, the Tsuchi landed atop Talbot’s face, wrapping its eight legs around his head and squeezing.
Talbot’s muffled screams were punctuated by a loud crack from his jaw. The foam slid into his mouth. Down his throat. And it was expanding. His body twitched and fell back with the Tsuchi frozen in place, unable to escape the foam, but striking him over and over with its stinger-tipped tail. Fortunately, the armor did its job, preventing the stinger from reaching his flesh.
Reynolds dropped his stun gun and drew his KRISS rifle, putting a single round in Talbot’s head, and putting the man out of his misery. Then Reynolds sent a stream of bullets into the Tsuchi’s tail, severing it. The long, whip-like tail fell to the ground, writhing and spinning on for several seconds, before it fell still, like the Tsuchi itself. The creature was locked in place, unable to move its limbs, trapped in the foam. It was still alive—for the moment—which would please Brice, but it was the least of their problems.
“Stay sharp,” Reynolds said. “There are three—”
“Argh!”
The high-pitched shout spun Reynolds around. It was Gilmour, suspended in the air upon what looked like a spear tip emerging from his chest. It had punched a hole through both layers of armor, but that wasn’t the most shocking thing about the scene. The tip of the spear looked like a giant-sized hypodermic needle. The hole at the end was clogged with Gilmour’s guts, but they shot out with a slurp and were followed by a spurt of white fluid. The gore landed at Reynolds’s feet, red flesh mixed with white fluid, all surrounding a writhing, white larva. Then the spear-needle withdrew and stabbed Gilmour twice more while he was held aloft by two, long, spidery arms, tipped with scimitar-sized talons. Each thrust shot a new larva into the air, none remaining inside the body, which Reynolds knew was a good thing. Gilmour’s body was then cast aside, revealing the horror behind him.
At the most basic level, the creature resembled a Tsuchi—eight limbs, a spider’s face and mandibles, and a long, twitching tail. But the comparisons ended there, because this thing was much, much worse. The first, most obvious discrepancy was the size. The armored shell on its back, stretching from head to tail in a series of overlapping armored plates, was the size of a Volkswagen Bug. The creature’s eight eyes glowed bright orange, as did several basketball-sized spots on its underside. Given the evidence of the Tsuchi’s birth, Reynolds understood what the glowing membranes meant. The eight legs, still thin and spindly, were now covered in thick armor, like Nemesis, but with a bluish, almost iridescent hue. In fact, all of the armor had an almost oily quality, as though energy were flowing through it. It was the tail that held Reynolds’s attention the most, now arched up behind the monster’s back, poised to strike.
But the monster didn’t move. It regarded the four remaining men, one after the other.
“Ellis, Cross,” Reynolds said, “hose this thing down when I give the word. McAfee, switch to lethal. Aim for the head. Do not hit the orange membranes, or we’re all toast.” He didn’t wait to hear confirmation from the men. They hadn’t run away, which meant they were listening. “Fire!”
Twin streams of foam shot out, striking a few of the Tsuchi’s scythe-like limbs, but not all of them. Spinning sideways, the monster shot one forelimb at Ellis and snapped its tail at Cross. The latter’s shout of surprise was cut short by a loud crack—the giant needle punching through his armor, body, a second layer of armor and finally, the foam’s containment unit. When the tail withdrew, foam sprayed out from the back of the tank, and from the hole in Cross’s chest. As it hardened and expanded, Cross was lifted off the ground like he’d been nailed to some kind of ancient sacrificial altar.
Ellis fared no better. The sharp talon at the end of the limb hadn’t pierced him, but it slid up and under the man’s armor, yanking him off his feet and into the creature’s talons, even as the tail stabbed through Cross. When both talons dug into Ellis’s shoulders, his body convulsed. Blue sparks leapt out and streaks of electricity sparked between the two points. When he hung limp, the Tsuchi began to chew, dragging Ellis’s body further inside its widening maw with each bite.
It wasn’t until Cross was frozen in hard foam, and Ellis was fully consumed, that McAfee and Reynolds recovered from their shock and opened fire.