The one that had disappeared into the treetops came speeding down on Linda, who was smashed to the ground. Mark grasped it by the neck and lifted it up, snapping it like a snake. As it squalled, its back broke with a crunching pop, and the bottom half went limp. When he threw it to the ground, it tried to pull itself away. Knots shot it in the head.

Stumbling to their feet, the three of them caught up with the others, all of whom had stopped and were returning to give support.

“Keep moving, goddamnit,” Mark snarled. This business of returning was indiscipline. No matter what, if you’re a soldier, orders come first.

Ahead, at last, was their van. Mark hoped it would protect them from the things, because if enough of them showed up at once, the entire unit was going to die the way Massengill had, and this operation would be concluded.

The sun had risen into a golden sky, and morning was steaming away the dew of dawn. Tiny yellow flowers flowed past under their feet. All of this Mark saw with the sharpness that comes to the eyes of men in battle.

Knots got into trouble, flailing at one that had grabbed his neck under the back of his helmet. Next, Milton stumbled and rolled, screaming, and the screams were buried in a great roar, as if some leviathan had opened its throat and given monstrous song to the dawn.

Mark turned toward the sound and saw, coming through the woods, dozens of the creatures. Some looked human. Most were pale and sleek, with those strange, empty eyes of theirs.

He opened his Metal Storm, extended the drum from the body, and held it up, aiming it toward them. When he pressed the firing button, there was the familiar r-i-i-p THUNK, then the shriek of the beads slamming toward them. Again Mark fired, the sound rocking the air. Behind him, the van’s horn started honking.

Once he saw that everybody except poor Massengill was accounted for, he leaped into the bay doors, shouting to their driver to get out of here.

Dawn turned to dark.

“Holy God,” PFC Richardson cried. Somehow, one of the things had survived the lethal hail of pellets and was clinging to the van’s hood, blocking Richardson’s view.

“Step on it, Pete, goddamnit!”

“I can’t see shit, Colonel!”

“Get us out of here!”

Richardson floored it, and the tires screamed and the van swayed.

“There’s a steep shoulder, sir. I can’t risk going over.”

As Richardson spoke, the van tipped sharply to the right. He turned into the skid, recovered, and seemed to gain traction. The hybrid was reaching around into the cab, trying to grab the steering wheel.

From behind Richardson, Louis leaned forward and fired his pistol out the window and into the thing’s head.