“SPARROW!” OWL HISSED.
But Sparrow didn’t hear her. She was remembering her last night with her mother. Almost five years had passed, yet it might as well have been yesterday.
She would never forget what her mother had done for her—how she had carried her from the killing ground of the camp, entrusted her with a weapon to protect herself, told her where to go to find safety, and given her a chance at life. It was all her mother had been able to do for her at the end, but it was enough.
I will grow up to be like my mother, Sparrow had promised herself afterward. I will make her proud.
The words recalled themselves now as she stepped in front of Owl, holding the prod at port arms, her finger on the charging trigger. She would have preferred the flechette her mother had given her or the big Parkhan Spray, but both were long since gone. The prod would have to do.
“Sparrow!” Owl pleaded a second time. “Get out of here!”
Sparrow heard her this time, but ignored her, her eyes fixed on the giant centipede. She had already seen how quick it could be, how fast it could strike. Cheney had done well to avoid its jaws for as long as he had, and she was neither as swift nor as agile as Cheney. She would probably have only one chance at the creature, and she would have to make it count. She wished she knew something that would give her an edge—a weakness or a way around its formidable defenses. Tearing off its legs had barely slowed it. Its body was ar-rnored from head to tail, and even with his huge teeth and tremendous strength Cheney hadn’t been able to do much damage to it.
You find a weakness in your enemy’s defenses and you attack it there, her mother had told her repeatedly.
Its eyes, she thought suddenly. Its eyes look vulnerable. But she couldn’t be certain without testing her theory, and if she was wrong, she was probably dead.
She tried to move and couldn’t. She could feel herself shaking she was so afraid.
But the centipede was gathering itself for a rush at Cheney, who lay thrashing against the far wall, still struggling to rise, his dark coat matted with blood, and there was no time left to be afraid. Sparrow slid sideways down the opposite wall, away from Owl and Squirrel, trying not to draw attention to herself. She noticed how the insect’s armor folded back on itself from one section to the next, forming a series of overlapping plates. The plates were designed to protect it from a frontal attack. But if she could get behind it or even to one side of it, she might be able to jam the prod between the plates and get up into the soft inner parts of the creature. It didn’t seem nearly enough, but it was all she could think to do.
She was not big and strong like her mother. She was not skilled or experienced. She was only thirteen years old. But she was her mother’s daughter, and she had vowed to make her mother proud.
She took a deep breath and charged the centipede from just behind its head, both hands gripping the insulated handle, her index finger locked down hard against the charge trigger. The centipede saw her coming and wheeled toward her, the gaps in its armor where she hoped to attack scissoring shut.
The terrible jaws opened, and its feelers reached out like tentacles. She jabbed the prod at its head in desperation, trying to strike the eyes, but the feelers knocked her blows aside. Even so, the prod had a measurable effect, and the insect’s huge body shivered as the electrical charge jolted it. Sparrow struck at it again and again, but she couldn’t find an opening between the armored plates and was finally knocked aside by one of the skittering legs, her arms and face cut and bleeding.
Instantly, the centipede came after her, and she knew she was dead.