they moved, morphed into other shapes, and if his bullets hit them, he couldn’t see any sign of it. They pulsed and heaved in a multitude of colors: dusty red, pale blue, fleshy tan, off-white; a cloud of floating, diving entities, some of them high in the air, others bobbing through the earth. But whereas the earlier snake-things had dislodged dirt and caused tremors as they'd moved, these seemed to ignore the ground entirely.
Each of the monsters was surrounded by a nimbus of light that left tracks across Clancy’s retinas as they moved.
Something roared, a noise that seemed to cover the entire spectrum of soundwaves from the highest to the lowest and sent shivers down Clancy’s spine. He gasped and wanted to howl like dog.
A cloud of beings broke away, floating rapidly toward him, bobbing, sliding, changing shape and color, sometimes flashing like meat, other times glittering like spines or claws, and, oh God, teeth, teeth seemed to be at the vanguard, changing shape but pressing forward.
Horrified, Clancy lifted a shaking arm, took aim, and squeezed off three more shots at the largest of the floating beings. One of the creatures snapped back and forth, a low hiss shaking the air. A new globule appeared and darted toward him.
He jerked aside as viscous liquid struck the ground and seethed. He aimed down at it, reflexively pulling the trigger. The liquid bubbled where the bullet went in.
“Run!” he shouted to Penemue. Whatever mischief the white-haired man was up to paled in the face of these alien monstrosities.
But Penemue seemed frozen, staring at the bobbing creatures with horror. Swearing to himself, Clancy ran forward, throwing a shoulder against the man’s side. It was like hitting a sack of bricks, but his momentum carried him through and Penemue staggered backward, his wool coat flapping. The provost gave him a surprised look.
“Run!” Clancy shouted again, turning. Now the creatures were moving toward Jackson, and the sight of them was enough to snap the injured officer out of his state of shock. He opened his eyes and screamed, trying to lurch to his feet despite his shattered bone.
“Don’t!” Clancy took step forward, but then the monsters surrounded Jackson and grew until he was completely obscured.
Then they all vanished—the swarm of alien beasts and Jackson both.
Or most of Jackson, at least.
Wet organs fell loosely to the ground in a cloud of blood.
Clancy made a low, whimpering noise, staring at the pile of intestines and guts. The fleshy mass steamed gently in the cold December night air.
The second swarm of creatures hovered, bobbing. Clancy dragged his eyes away from Jackson’s innards and stared at them, his mind chattering madly. For a moment he thought, ridiculously, of that stupid old question about how many angels could dance on the head of a pin—but these were no angels.
“Be still,” Penemue hissed. Clancy looked at him. The white-haired provost was standing motionless, his face drawn and tight, his hands buried in his pockets.
The advice was pointless; Clancy didn’t think he could move if he wanted to. What had happened to Jackson had paralyzed him with fear.
The giant snakes had awed him, but he understood snakes. By comparison, these swarms of squirming tubes and pulsing spheres and clouds of teeth couldn’t possibly be alive. The fact that they existed at all was an affront to reality.
The cold breeze carried the scent of hot blood and fresh meat to him. Bile burned the back of his throat.
“They’re studying us,” the provost said, his voice low. “They’re trying to decide if we’re dangerous. Don’t do anything to make them think we’re dangerous.”
“Uh-uh,” Clancy croaked, in agreement. Aliens—they had to be aliens. Except if they’d wanted to anally probe Jackson, they’d forgotten to take his colon with them.
Clancy ground his teeth against a bubble of mad laughter.
The cry sounded again, a multitude of voices covering every
Each of the monsters was surrounded by a nimbus of light that left tracks across Clancy’s retinas as they moved.
Something roared, a noise that seemed to cover the entire spectrum of soundwaves from the highest to the lowest and sent shivers down Clancy’s spine. He gasped and wanted to howl like dog.
A cloud of beings broke away, floating rapidly toward him, bobbing, sliding, changing shape and color, sometimes flashing like meat, other times glittering like spines or claws, and, oh God, teeth, teeth seemed to be at the vanguard, changing shape but pressing forward.
Horrified, Clancy lifted a shaking arm, took aim, and squeezed off three more shots at the largest of the floating beings. One of the creatures snapped back and forth, a low hiss shaking the air. A new globule appeared and darted toward him.
He jerked aside as viscous liquid struck the ground and seethed. He aimed down at it, reflexively pulling the trigger. The liquid bubbled where the bullet went in.
“Run!” he shouted to Penemue. Whatever mischief the white-haired man was up to paled in the face of these alien monstrosities.
But Penemue seemed frozen, staring at the bobbing creatures with horror. Swearing to himself, Clancy ran forward, throwing a shoulder against the man’s side. It was like hitting a sack of bricks, but his momentum carried him through and Penemue staggered backward, his wool coat flapping. The provost gave him a surprised look.
“Run!” Clancy shouted again, turning. Now the creatures were moving toward Jackson, and the sight of them was enough to snap the injured officer out of his state of shock. He opened his eyes and screamed, trying to lurch to his feet despite his shattered bone.
“Don’t!” Clancy took step forward, but then the monsters surrounded Jackson and grew until he was completely obscured.
Then they all vanished—the swarm of alien beasts and Jackson both.
Or most of Jackson, at least.
Wet organs fell loosely to the ground in a cloud of blood.
Clancy made a low, whimpering noise, staring at the pile of intestines and guts. The fleshy mass steamed gently in the cold December night air.
The second swarm of creatures hovered, bobbing. Clancy dragged his eyes away from Jackson’s innards and stared at them, his mind chattering madly. For a moment he thought, ridiculously, of that stupid old question about how many angels could dance on the head of a pin—but these were no angels.
“Be still,” Penemue hissed. Clancy looked at him. The white-haired provost was standing motionless, his face drawn and tight, his hands buried in his pockets.
The advice was pointless; Clancy didn’t think he could move if he wanted to. What had happened to Jackson had paralyzed him with fear.
The giant snakes had awed him, but he understood snakes. By comparison, these swarms of squirming tubes and pulsing spheres and clouds of teeth couldn’t possibly be alive. The fact that they existed at all was an affront to reality.
The cold breeze carried the scent of hot blood and fresh meat to him. Bile burned the back of his throat.
“They’re studying us,” the provost said, his voice low. “They’re trying to decide if we’re dangerous. Don’t do anything to make them think we’re dangerous.”
“Uh-uh,” Clancy croaked, in agreement. Aliens—they had to be aliens. Except if they’d wanted to anally probe Jackson, they’d forgotten to take his colon with them.
Clancy ground his teeth against a bubble of mad laughter.
The cry sounded again, a multitude of voices covering every
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