Tears filled her eyes. She had known Saafi for years. He was a good man. Worst of all, there was absolutely nothing she could do for him. The feeling of helplessness washed over her, mixing with a cloud of grief and anguish.

One of the spiders pulled the glass from Saafi’s chamber with two of its legs. With another pair of legs, it pulled Saafi out, suspending him in midair. A second spider scuttled up beside the first and shot out a thin, blue web. The material covered Saafi’s feet, wrapping them tightly. Slowly the spiders worked their way up his legs, torso, and chest, twirling him around and around.

Holly continued to watch, petrified. The only consolation was that he was in a coma and, hopefully, wouldn’t be able to feel any pain. She reminded herself of this over and over again as the web tightened around his neck.

And then his eyes opened.

He tried to suck in a deep breath but couldn’t—the thin blue web was too tight. Instead, his eyes darted around the room, trying to focus in the dim light. Slowly they came to rest on the creatures. His mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out; the web quickly covered his mouth, his nose, and finally his eyes.

Holly’s stomach lurched. She coughed bile into her mouth but forced it down, the tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. The last thing she saw before she fainted was the spiders dragging Saafi’s cocooned body away.

Overton twirled his combat knife before jamming it into a thick piece of sausage on his plate. His shoulder was surprisingly free of pain. The gel was just one of many advances in modern medicine that extended the lives of Marines. Even when they were torn and shredded like the piece of meat in front of him, they could be patched back together and returned to service as effective killing machines.

He smiled and brought the steaming piece of sausage to his mouth and bit in, savoring the juices as they ran down his hoarse throat. It was the first decent meal he had eaten in days, and he was going to enjoy it, savor it as if it was his last—after all, it very well could be.

He wasn’t sure how much time he had left. And after seeing what they were up against, he was willing to bet that his life expectancy had dropped considerably since the invasion.

“She’s awake,” Bouma whispered in his ear.

Just my luck, Overton thought, staring down at the two strips of bacon and half-eaten sausage that he was going to have to let go cold. He sheathed his knife and headed for the red couch, joining Sophie and Bouma.

“My name’s Sophie,” she said, crouching next to the girl.