Sparrow removed three of the prods from the locker and brought them to Owl. She took two and propped them against the wall behind her. She let Sparrow keep the other. At the far end of the room, Cheney was all the way down on the floor in his crouch, so agitated he was shaking as he inched forward, then crabbed slightly to one side, muzzle lifted toward the sound of the scrabbling.
Cracking sounds resounded through the underground like gunshots, sharp and unexpected, followed by a slow shifting of something big. Cheney backed away toward the center of the room, keeping his eyes on the bedroom ceiling. Then, all at once, the entire ceiling in Owl’s room gave way. It happened so fast that she barely had time to register the event before it was over. Heavy chunks of plaster, wooden beams, and wires and cables embedded in the mix came crashing down under the weight of a huge dark presence. Dust billowed into the air, momentarily obscuring everything. Squirrel screamed, and even Sparrow jumped back in shock. Owl was already thinking that they had to get out of there.
But it was too late. The dust settled and a nightmarish creature emerged from the debris. At first, Owl couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
The creature was a long, jointed insect that looked to be a type of centipede, but one that was hundreds of times larger than it should have been, stretching to twenty feet and rising four feet off the floor. Its reticulated, armored body was supported by dozens of crooked legs and undulated from side to side in a snake-like motion as it advanced. Feelers protruded from atop its shiny head, and a pair of wicked-looking jaws opened and closed from below. There were spikes everywhere, and bits and pieces of clothing and debris hung off the tips like strange decorations. A series of bulbous eyes dotted its flat, hairy face, eyes that were blank and staring.
Cheney was on it at once, tearing at the spindly legs, ripping them off as fast as jaws could close and teeth could shred. The huge insect whipped about to snare him, using mandibles and body weight to try to tear or crush the big dog, but Cheney was too quick and too experienced to be so easily trapped.
The battle raged back and forth across the far end of the common room, the combatants smashing everything from furniture to shelves to dishes to lights.
Owl and Sparrow watched in horror, transfixed by the ferocity of the struggle.
Squirrel just hid his head and begged someone, anyone, to take him away.
For a time it seemed that Cheney would prevail, darting in to tear off legs and rip at armor plates, then darting away again. But the giant centipede was not affected by the damage done to it. It was a creature Owl instantly decided must have been mutated by the chemical and radiation attacks that had taken place as much as five decades earlier. How it had grown to its present size or why it had appeared here was fodder for speculation, and the answers would probably never be known. What mattered was that its alterations had given it tremendous strength and stamina, and not even the considerable wounds that Cheney was inflicting seemed to affect it.
Eventually, the effort began to tell. Cheney was tiring, and the centipede was not. The razor-sharp jaws were beginning to find their mark, ripping at the big body, tearing off chunks of fur and flesh and leaving the big dog’s mottled coat matted and damp with blood. Owl could tell that Cheney was slowing, that his attacks were less ferocious and driven more by heart than by muscle. But Cheney would never quit, she knew. He would die first.
When he went down, it happened all at once. He was tearing at still another leg, searching for still another weakness, when the creature’s jaws finally got a solid hold on him and clamped down viciously. Snarling and snapping, Cheney twisted furiously. Slippery with his own blood, he broke free, but the effort sent him tumbling all the way across the room where he slammed against the wall and went down in a heap. Gasping for air, his flanks heaving and his legs scrambling for purchase on the concrete flooring, he struggled in vain to rise. Blood welled up from the wounds caused by the insect’s jaws, and Cheney snapped at them furiously, as if in terrible pain.
The centipede advanced toward him, jaws wide.
Owl turned quickly to Sparrow. “Take Squirrel and get out of here.
Get as far away as possible. Try to find Hawk and warn him.”
She knew she had just pronounced a death sentence on herself, but she also knew that Sparrow could not get her to safety in time. Sparrow would be lucky if she managed to escape with Squirrel, and that was the best they could hope for.
“Sparrow!” she hissed when the other failed to respond.
But Sparrow was staring straight ahead at the centipede, her hands tightening about the handle of the prod, her lips compressing into a tight line.
Owl realized suddenly what she was going to do. No! she tried to say, but the word caught in her throat.
Sparrow stepped in front of her, a shield against the thing approaching, and brought up the prod.
*