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Michio’s fingers shot to my wrist, forming a shackle. His glower underscored his unspoken no.
A stabbing mouth lashed toward Jesse’s chest. He ducked, freed his tomahawk, and severed the head.
Stinging sensations lit my neck, the aphids’ hostile unrest overwhelming my own. Gunfire thundered from the tree line, and it seemed to be drawing the aphids. Would it be enough?
I spat a chewed fingernail. “I’ll try to command them.”
“They can handle this, and we need you coherent.”
How many aphids did I control in Iceland? A whole damned army. But I had skin-to-skin contact with all three guardians. I had their energy source, their Yang, to fuel my command. If I tried to harness more than one with just Michio, I’d pass out in seconds.
“Evie.” Michio pulled my finger from my gnawing teeth. “They’ve fought off more than this countless times. Relax.”
To say I was incapable of relaxing was an understatement.
The bugs slowed their march toward the woods, and one by one, they turned back to Roark. A crimson smudge glistened amid the black splatter on his face.
No, no, no. I couldn’t breathe as I yanked against Michio’s hold on my arm. “Roark’s bleeding. They smell him. It’ll draw their hunger.”
Michio’s attention flicked from Roark to Jesse, the tree line, back to Roark. Muscles bounced in his jaw. His squeeze on my arm punctuated every syllable. “If we go out there…” He pulled in a deep breath. “If the aphids don’t kill us, your Lakota will.”
Roark stumbled backwards, outnumbered. A single arrow danced in Jesse’s quiver. Maybe fifteen…twenty aphids remained. Some were dragging themselves back up.
I flashed Michio a fearful smile. “I’d rather deal with a pissed-off Jesse than a dead one.”
“Shit.” He released my arm. “I’ll be right behind you.”
My fingers grazed the magazines on my belt. Sidearm on my thigh. Carbine on its sling. The brace of knives on my forearm. Michio’s door opened with mine.
I slammed into the foul stench of aphid blood and raised the carbine. My strides tangled in the overgrown grass. I ducked, missed a lunging body, and squeezed the trigger.
A green shoulder exploded in bone bits. Beside me, Michio released the spike from his shinobi-zue and pierced the aphid’s orb. Without looking back, I ran toward the center of the battle, making every bullet count.
Screeches haunted the air. The report of rifles boomed. And Jesse’s shouts. “Goddammit Evie. Back in the truck! Fuck no. Evie—”
The carbine reverberated against my ear drums, spitting brass and paring Roark’s attackers. I leapt over a tree stump, spun away from the thrust of stabby mouthparts, firing at the bugs as they blurred around me. Their speed was supernatural, their limbs twitching with energy. Just like mine.
I fought like them, blurred like them. Good ol’ benefits of my creepy DNA. Only way I was going down was if all the creatures swarmed me at once.
One shouldered into my stomach, snarling and snapping. I kicked it away, but its taloned foot snatched my leg, stabbing my shin with five daggers. Its spiny hairs were like razors, shredding my jeans. I tried to swing a leg up to wipe my bloody scratches against its skin, hoping the contact would cause its insides to explode.
The damned thing evaded my kicks, but not my hand. I swiped the knife, and the hissing mouth tore away under the slice of high-carbon steel. I finished it with a stab in its gutted maw and shoved it off.
Another jumped toward me, and I spun the blade. Shit, I missed and quickly rolled out of its way. It fell on me, and I caught its shoulders, holding it away. Its jowls chomped toward my neck, slapping strings of warm, fetid slobber on my face. Son of a bitch, it was pissed.
My arms grew weak, its weight pressing down. I couldn’t hold it off much longer, couldn’t fucking push it away.
I met Michio’s fierce eyes across the field. He dodged a swinging pincer, his expression feral as he sprinted toward me, skidding and slamming into the aphid on top of me.
In a blur, he twisted its head halfway around. Bones cracked and ripped through green skin, but that wouldn’t kill it. I released my last blade and stabbed it in the face. As it dropped, I yanked the knife from its sightless eye and fell upon my stomach. Fuck. My pulse whooshed loudly in my head, and my body thrummed with adrenaline.
“Stay down,” Michio said through labored breaths.
Yeah. No problem. I dragged the carbine into position and sneezed against the swirled up pollen and dust. With shaking hands, I adjusted the scope, trained it down field, and picked off the ones bounding after Jesse.
Brain matter spurted and ribboned from punctured skulls. Those I missed dragged their bodies and crawled on stubs to continue their hunt.
Exhale. Squeeze. The carbine’s telescoping stock tapped my shoulder. I rocked with it, settled in a zone, wrapped in the caress of gun powder. When the bugs moved toward me, Michio fought them. With his hands, his spiked cane, his musculature and speed impossible to follow. Goddamn. He was as fast and strong as the aphids. Was he injecting steroids?
