I watched as the animals spun around in a deathmatch, kicking up orange dust, causing clouds of it to overtake us, growling and gnashing their teeth.
“It’s no good, mon,” said Nigel. “I’m down to my last clip.”
“Here,” said Lazaro, and tossed him a fresh one. “I brought extra.”
But Nigel was right: We weren’t going to last, much less get Sam to a medical bay—not the one in Gargantua and not the one in the bunker. I just didn’t see it happening before—
Before—
And there was a sound, very faint at first but growing, intensifying, coming closer. Getting louder—and I mean exponentially. Chopping the air like a string of firecrackers, like a machete, seeming to eclipse everything as a shadow passed over the ground and I peered skyward—following the thing as it briefly blotted the sun, trac
