The shot doesn't repeat. But the one who settled in with a "light fifty" across from the house is unlikely to leave his position quickly. He waits. He cast a line and waits.
Agnia groans in pain and hisses angrily. The black tail thrashes convulsively, scattering objects around the room. "Bitch... I'll tear him apart!"
"You'll tear him apart... You'll tear him apart... Lie still,"— I take the girl by the hand. Black rhizome threads have already begun tightening the edges of the wound, stitching human flesh together.
"What the hell?!"— Agnia's green eyes darken with anger.
"This is a diversion... We're waiting for transport. If we engage in combat, we'll lose our target. We need to..."
But the girl isn't listening anymore. Her elongated body has begun transforming. With each impact against the walls, it seems to splatter, spread out like blotches of ink, breaking into separate weightless strands of cells, twisting into dense bundles, regaining solidity, and rushing toward the window. Twisting into the bullet hole, the rhizome swiftly breaks through outside, shatters the glass, and fills the window frame. Somewhere inside itself, it has already calculated everything. The point of contact with the body. A neat little hole in the window. Now there's only a direct trajectory to the enemy. All that remains is to grow. A minimal correction for wind and free-fall acceleration, and the thin black thread with a heavy drop at its end leaps onto the wall of the neighboring building. There, a new blotch is already rapidly spreading.
"You idiot!"— I jump up from the floor and, bursting out of the apartment, rush upstairs—humanly—on my own two feet. Right now, the main thing is not to miss the damned truck. After all, the rooftop of the high-rise is, after all, an observation post. Since the covert operation failed, at least we shouldn't screw up completely now.
From above, the city looks empty. Residents have long since evacuated themselves according to their interests and preferences—on different sides of the front lines. Now it is periodically used as a rear staging base by our opponents. To bring a couple of units of equipment for repairs, to let Western military specialists restock. Too little activity to actually be hit by a ballistic missile. But a convenient spot for a self-initiated provocation. There's still too much radioactive junk left on the ruins of the local quasi-state. It wouldn't take much to stage a ground explosion to simulate a TBM strike, then scatter evidence all over the world. No one will investigate anyway. The guilty parties have already been appointed in advance.
Fortunately, intelligence for us is gathered not only by satellites and drones, but also by conscious citizens. So we learned about the dangerous cargo before it left the gates of the special enterprise. But why now do I absolutely need to intercept the cursed truck...
There it is! Driving down the avenue as if nothing happened. Ordinary-looking. With a white cross on the side. They use such vehicles to transport ammunition or mercenaries of the junta. I glance anxiously downward. Agnia's black tentacles are already fully active in the windows of the neighboring building. Muffled screams come from there. Please hurry... Please don't let them raise the alarm...
The car approaches the intersection. Come on, Mykolka... Come on, dear... Turn... This way... Damn it! They made it. The truck passes the intersection, speeding toward the exit from the city.
Without hesitation, I follow. Fighting the instinct for self-preservation, the human body leaps off the edge of the roof at full speed and even manages to make a few useless steps in the air. The rhizome inside isn't impressed by parkour. We both already know what will happen to these legs when powerless flesh hits the asphalt. It's time to get rid of them... Between the ribs, through skin and clothing, sharp and long spines protrude. Then black threads already curl around them. They bend and break the framework, forming joints, weaving the new limb with fibers of muscles and ligaments. They connect them to the torn remnants of the previous torso. They spread over the tissue in dark crimson blotches. Wrapping their neck, they shove the head inside the growing chitinous armor. They give you a sense of what the word "cephalothorax" really means. Along the entire back—from the nape of the neck to the very ass—similar black bubbles swell, grow, merge, overlap each other, harden in the air, and solidify, becoming rounded articulated plates. They should look beautiful in the sunlight, but I can no longer see this with my own eyes. The rhizome grows through the visual canal, pushing the retina and lens out of the eyeball, stretching and turning the light-sensitive surface inside out. Crab genes suggest that it's better to attach the new eye to a telescopic "antenna," while the spider suggests repeating this solution four... No. Eight times. Under the eyes, massive hinged mandibles close, along whose inner contour you can still discern human teeth if desired.
What lands on the narrow driveway between buildings is no longer a human being, but a giant bristling centipede. Hastily moving its numerous legs, it races through the courtyards toward the avenue—to intercept the car.
Seeing the monster emerging from the alley, the driver accelerates. I make a desperate leap, but fail to grab the side. I tumble head over heels, breaking several thin limbs under the wheels. Luckily, I still have more than two dozen of them left. The truck slightly rocks from the impact but continues confidently down the empty road. It's carrying something very heavy. I felt it right away. Exactly the one we were waiting for.
Twisting its sinuous body, I also pick up speed. I imagine how panicked the soldier behind the wheel must be right now. He looks in the rearview mirror. Notices the predatory clicking jaws. His eyes meet mine—four pairs of my eyes. He knows what will happen when I catch up to him. I know it too.
The car exits onto the artillery-ravaged section of the road. It swerves. It bounces over potholes.
The distance between us gradually decreases. Just a few more meters... I just need to calculate the jump well. This time there must be no mistakes... Suddenly, the tarpaulin at the back opens. From the darkness of the cargo bed, the barrels of a twin machine gun emerge. Apparently, they intended to use it in case of a possible drone attack. But I'm a far more suitable target... The machine gunner nervously moves the barrels like stingers, preparing to pull the trigger... Opens fire. Shots explode the road into fountains of dust. And my body—splashes of dark burgundy blood.
I try to shift left and right, but immediately realize that I'm only losing speed this way. I won't dodge all the bullets. Time to act! With the last of my strength, the giant insect shrinks, springs with its whole body, pushes off the ground with long hairy legs, spreads its tentacles in the air, ready to pounce on its prey. Anticipating the meal, the rhizome releases digestive filaments from the ends of its legs...
But the machine gunner instantly raises his infernal sewing machine upward. Both barrels literally pepper me with lead. They rip me apart in mid-air. The heavy carcass, bleeding profusely, sprawls across the road. Thin tentacles stretch toward the prey, which is now beyond reach. In vain. The car disappears in clouds of dust and smoke.
He got away... He got away... Disappointment overrides physical pain. Feeling the same, the rhizome, it seems, starts devouring itself, reluctantly returning me to human form. Who will return my torn uniform. At least the pants and boots are intact. Wearing a helmet. What a fool. I walk slowly back toward the houses.