ORC SMASHED HIS bottle against the blue-eyed bug’s head. It did nothing. He hadn’t thought it would.

The creature swung its mandibles in a wide sweep and caught Orc in the chest. Orc went flying, facedown on the gravel.

He was winded. Not dead, though.

He got slowly to his feet. Why hurry?

“You want me, come get me,” Orc said.

Three of the monsters motored straight for him. Orc threw a wild punch, caught nothing but air, and was facedown again. This time three ropelike tongues had attached to him and he could no longer stand.

Plague, Chapter 41