“You see what that thing can do?” Panther hissed in rage. “Weapons don’t mean nuthin’ to it! What are we supposed to—”

“I want you to stay back,” Hawk told him, his voice steady, his gaze fixed on their attacker. “Keep Cheney back, too.”

“As if!” Panther snorted, dropping into a crouch.

“Do what I say!” Hawk gave him a quick, angry glance. “Sparrow, you too!” He snatched the spray from her hands. “It’s me it wants. I’ll try to draw it off. You go for help.”

Panther came right up against him. “You crazy! You’ll be dead before you get a dozen steps! We’re a family, remember? A family! We stick together!”

“He’s right!” Sparrow snapped. “Give me that!” She snatched back the Parkhan Spray. “You don’t even know what to do with that!”

They shoved Hawk and Tessa behind them and turned to face the monster’s slow advance. It looked huge, unstoppable. But they held their ground.

“Try to take out its legs,” Panther muttered.

“Or its eyes.” Sparrow was breathing hard.

They began firing their weapons, the Parkhan Spray’s steady burp contrasting with the boom of the Tyson Flechette, all of it back-dropped by the howl of the wind. Panther knew they were going to die, but at least they wouldn’t die of some stupid plague and they wouldn’t die alone. If it had to happen, better that it be like this.

His dark face tightened. The monster was still coming, brushing aside the damage the weapons were causing, unfazed by the damage, lumbering through the smoke and fire and explosions to reach them. Frickin’ hell, he thought in despair and rage.