The truck leapt forward.Behind them, the forest came apart.
Black insects spilled out—thousands, half a meter long, steel hairs hissing like knives on a grindstone.Everything on the ground—bones, meat, rust—vanished under their crawl.
A splinter pack peeled off and gave chase.Faster than the truck.Three seconds to bumper.
Ratty pressed his face to the glass.The lead bug had a face—almost human—wet black eyes wedged between chitin plates.
"Closer!" Ethan yelled, foot to the floor.The engine screamed.
They kept coming, a black tide rolling over itself.
Noah's eyes narrowed.A gold haze flared out in a perfect circle.
The first row of insects locked up, legs twitching, antennae sweeping empty air.The swarm lost the scent.
The truck punched through the edge of the field, and the haze dropped behind them.
Noah wiped blood from his lip.
"Go," Marcus said.Ethan didn't argue.
When the insects were dots in the mirror, Noah sagged sideways.
Ethan caught him.
"Still breathing?"
Marcus flipped a red pulse-core into Noah's hand,"For now."
The glow sank through his skin, and color crept back into his face.
Caleb exhaled. "Hellspikes. One tag and you're mulch."
No one answered. The engine filled the cab.
Ethan tried to laugh.
It came out dry. "Remind me to set the woods on fire next time."
"Just drive," Marcus said.
The forest shrank to a black smear in the rear glass.
Inside, no one spoke.
In the back seat, Ratty's nails dug into his ribs—as if something inside had started eating its way out.