Maren’s ears were full of a ringing sound. Her body felt weightless, as though she could lift her feet off the ground and float in midair. Her brain was so sluggish that, for a second, she considered doing just that. A voice was trying to press through the ringing, but she couldn’t make out the words. But when Saul’s glove squeezed her arm, hard enough for her to feel it through the thick suit, she realised he was talking to her.

“Get into the station,” he barked. “Get into the station and lock the doors. Bring Suriya if you can, but don’t slow down for her if she won’t run.”

The ringing sound suddenly made sense: it was Suriya’s screams.

Saul shoved something into Maren’s hand. She looked down and saw it was a spare gun. Something clicked inside of her, and she tightened her fingers around it. “Understood.”

Saul raised his own weapon and leapt over the step, firing towards the man below him as he fell. Maren grabbed Suriya’s arm, vaguely relieved to hear the scream choke off—she must have run out of breath—and pulled them both over the ledge in Saul’s wake.

Her knees jarred as she hit the metal roof, but she didn’t dare stop moving. Suriya didn’t seem to understand what was happening, so Maren linked her arm through the other woman’s and began dragging her.

The figures around them exploded. Their suits shredded, and their helmets burst off as the inky black tendrils spilled out. Maren caught glimpses of the remains of human bodies as she ran past them. A couple of the creatures still had half of their faces attached. Others had shreds of flesh sticking to the black substance. One had an arm, flopping limply, as though it were waving to them.

I wonder if Holly is here somewhere?

The tendrils were moving impossibly quickly. They lashed towards the running crew, snagging at ankles and bashing into suits. One hit Maren’s back, and she stumbled. Cracking gunfire came from Saul’s gun as he shot the tendril that had attacked her.

“Don’t slow down!” he snarled as he leapt over a tendril that tried to trip him.

Suriya was whining, making a high-pitched sound, like a dog that had lost its owner. Maren tightened her grip on the older woman’s arm as she tried to keep her moving. A black tendril caught her ankle and tried to pull her down. She aimed her gun and fired three rounds. They cut through the black substance and sent it thrashing back towards its owner.

“Guys?” Gin’s voice came through the whining and the bursts of gunfire. “There’s a problem here.”

“No kidding,” Maren screamed. They’d reached the second step, mostly thanks to Saul’s well-aimed fire, and she could see a group of suits waiting for them below. Even as she was trying to count them, they burst apart. More blackness spilled out. Tendrils waved through the air, reaching towards her.

“Eight minutes!” Gin squeaked, then her line went quiet again.