There’s a sharp breaking noise—the sound of a tree being uprooted and snapped. Something huge is coming this way. I put my hand on Sarah’s shoulder.

“Get back,” I tell her. “You need to stay behind us.”

She looks at me, her grip tight on the Mogadorian blaster. For a moment, I’m worried she’s going to argue, even though she knows fighting a Piken is way different than being in a firefight with Mogs. Shooting from behind cover is one thing. Going toe-to-toe with a monster that thinks blaster fire tickles—that’s something else entirely. Sarah touches my hand, lets her fingers linger for just a moment, and then breaks away, running for cover near the post office.

“What the hell is that?” asks Five, still standing next to me, now pointing towards the tree line.

We both see the monster at the same time as it bursts from the trees, bearing down on Six. But I don’t answer Five. I actually can’t answer because, whatever this thing is, I don’t have a name for it. It’s like a centipede the size of a tanker truck, its wormlike body covered in cracked and leathery skin. Hundreds of tiny gnarled arms extend from its body, churning up earth as it rumbles forward with surprising quickness. At the front is a face sort of reminiscent of a pit bull—flat, with a wet snout, and a slavering mouth that opens upon rows of jagged teeth. In the center of its face is a single unblinking eye, bloodshot and full of malice. I remember the horde of creatures the Mogs had caged in West Virginia; as nasty beasts go, this guy would be at the top of my list.

Fast as Six is, she isn’t faster than this thing. The centipede draws even with her and then jerks sideways. Its back half—the tail—pivots upwards, the bulk of it towering over Six for a moment before crashing down.

Six throws herself to the side just in time to avoid being crushed. Chunks of ground spray out from where the tail landed and made a huge indentation in the ground. Six is quickly back on her feet, driving her sword into the centipede’s body. It hardly seems to notice, its twisting body recoiling with enough speed to jerk the sword out of Six’s hands.

“How are we supposed to kill that thing?” Five asks, taking a step back.

My mind races for an answer. What advantages do we have over this one-eyed worm thing? It’s fast, but bulky and confined to the ground. . . .

“You can fly, right?” I ask Five.

“How’d you know that?” he asks, his eyes locked on the beast. “Yeah, I can.”

“Pick me up,” I tell him. “We need to stay above this thing.”