“Retreat!” he bellowed. “Retreat!”

To their credit, the Romans did not break. They stepped backward as one, grunting in unison. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Thuds sounded from above as more ants dropped onto their formation. One fell on the shield above Cade’s head, knocking the heavy wood into his head and pressing him into the ground.

Dazed, Cade could only push on, gripping Quintus and the gun with all the desperate strength he could muster as they slow marched out of the tunnel.

The wall held, even as men cursed and pincers broke through shields and sliced away fingers, scissoring through metal and flesh.

Behind, a rattle of sling stones gave blessed, brief relief, and the ants standing upon the roof of their testudo were knocked down, sliding along the edges or through to the floor below.

Step. Step. Step. Cade realized now that his blade lay forgotten, for he dragged the gun with one hand and held Quintus’s shoulder and thumb-hooked loops of ammunition in the other.

Light, dim from the setting sun, was blessed, letting Cade know they had exited the tunnel. But suddenly the men stopped. Cade took a moment to turn, only to see his formation pressed against a low wall of river boulders, with their reinforcements crouched behind the wall, flailing slings as they hurled rocks above their allies’ heads.

Cade’s men were trapped by their own barrier, unable to find the time to retreat behind it.

And as the ants began to mass in front of their faltering shield wall, his men could not turn around to leap over it. Only crouch beneath the flailing claws, living by the grace of their disintegrating shields. Quintus fell to one knee, a claw slipping through his defense, snipping a deep wound into his thigh.

Cade set his jaw and blinked sweat from his eyes. If he didn’t do something, they were all going to die. The men needed time.

“Come on!” he roared.

In one motion, he yanked Quintus back, straightening and stepping over him. He faced a wall of clicking and hissing ants. Cade lifted the gun in both hands, straining beneath the weight as the first of the ants lunged forward.

He rammed into his hip, depressing the trigger button. And the ant was blown away, spinning into oblivion.

It was like a holy wind had erupted in front of him, sweeping away insects in a hail of bullets. Limbs flew, and ichor spattered, tumbling their bodies back into the tunnel mouth. Cade swept the gun back and forth, his entire body juddering beneath the weight. He could not speak, only pour hellfire onto the creatures that wished his destruction.

Scores of ants were massed in the tunnel, slowed by the retreating testudo. At this close range, he could not miss.

And then, just like that, the gun fell silent again. His ammo was spent, and he could do no more. A hand pulled Cade back, tugging him toward the wall.

The gun fell from his nerveless fingers, and hands lifted him over the low barrier. In front of him, the pile of bodies twitched and quivered. And beyond that, the ants’ chatters echoed down the tunnel.