So, when it all came down to it, he could pray after all. Was he talking to God? Yes, but he was also talking to every ace here to protect the Cosmodrome. He was praying to the soldiers—UN and Russian and Kazakh—and to pilots of the jets and helicopters and the men in those tanks. He was praying to more than the God he didn’t believe in. He was praying to the entire world, asking all creation to see what was happening and to stop it.

Please, stop them …

The tanks opened fire. The muzzles spouted destruction, deep, thrumming blasts that Marcus felt right through his tail. The blasts tore into the cloud, exploding on impact, tearing creatures apart. In one spot, a tall, lumbering thing ripped in half, his upper body twirling away even as his legs stumbled forward a few more steps. In another, a mass of shapes disappeared in a spray of cloud and dust.

Yes. Keep killing them …

The machine gunners strafed the oncoming horde with wild abandon. Here and there Marcus saw the deformed bodies dance and jerk as bullets tore through them. Creatures fell, writhing, clawing their way forward, wailing as they died. Those that got out in front of the others took the brunt of it, soldiers training their aim on them and shredding them until they fell in bloody pulps.

Yes. Stop them!

Jets roared out over the plain, iron daggers that sliced through the sky at incredible speeds. They dispatched their missiles, banked before they got too close, and shot off to either side as the resulting blast lit the cloud from within with booming eruptions of light and fire and, hopefully, death.

Yes!

And the combat helicopters. What deadly beauties. When the tanks began to back toward the Cosmodrome, they flew in over them, a cordon stretching all the way across the oncoming mass. They opened fire with their mounted machine guns. The horde came on but the helicopters backed as they did so, chewing them ragged.

Yes, we’re doing it.

Each death seemed a small victory. A tiny burst of hope. The monsters were dying. There could only be so many of them, right? Marcus turned to Bugsy, who was staring at the scene as he spoke into his mouthpiece. He clutched him by the shoulder. “We’re doing it!” he cried. “We’re gonna fucking beat them!”

Bugsy yanked his shoulder out of his grip. He turned on him, pushed away the mouthpiece, and pointed. “I’ve got wasps in that shit. If you could see what I can you’d—”