Leon broke off suddenly, and then Cole heard it. A chattering sound. A sound like nails being tapped on hollow wood, the sound he'd heard when he was fixing one of the cameras only last week.

A sound like claws, opening and closing. Like man-dibles, clicking…"Scorps," John said softly. "Aren't scorpions sup– posed to be nocturnal?" "This is Umbrella, remember?" Leon said. "You have two grenades, I've got one…"John nodded, then said, "You know how to work a semiautomatic?"

The big soldier was watching the dune, so it took Cole a second to realize he was talking to him.

"Oh. Yeah. I haven't ever used one, but I went target shooting a couple of times with my brother, six or seven years ago…" He kept his voice low as they did, listening for that strange sound. John looked directly at him, as if sizing him up -

– then nodded, and pulled a heavy-looking handgun out of his hip holster. He handed it to Cole, butt first.

"It's a nine-millimeter, holds eighteen. I got more clips if you run out. You know all the gun safety rules? Don't point it at anyone unless you mean to kill, don't shoot me or Leon, all that stuff?"

Cole nodded, taking the gun, and it was heavy and although he was still more scared than he'd ever been in all his thirty-four years, the solid weight of it in his hand was an incredible relief. Remembering what his little brother had told him about safety, he fumbled through checking to see if it was loaded before looking at John again. "Thank you," he said, and meant it. He'd lured these two guys into a trap, and they were giving him a gun; giving him a chance.

"Forget it. Means we won't have to worry about covering your ass on top of ours," John said, but he wore a slight smile. "Come on, let's move out." John in the lead and Leon behind him, they started east, walking slowly through the changeless environ– ment. The sand was really sand; it shifted underfoot, and with the blasting heat, it made for a real workout. They'd only gone a short distance when Leon called for a halt. "Thermal underwear," he muttered, bolstering his handgun before pulling off his black sweatshirt and tying it around his waist. He wore a thick, textured white shirt underneath. "I didn't realize we'd be hitting the Sahara…"

They all heard it, only a second before they saw it -

– before they saw them, three of them, lining up at the top of the dune. Tiny rivers of sand trickled down from beneath their multiple legs, each as thick and stocky as a sawed-off baseball bat. They had claws, giant pincing claws that were narrow and black, serrated on the inside, and long, segmented bodies that dwindled to tails, curling up and over their Backs – and tipped with stingers. Wicked, dripping stingers at least a foot long. The trio of sand-colored creatures, each five or six feet long, maybe three feet high, started to chatter -

–the slender, pointed, tusk-like projections beneath the rounded arachnid eyes tapped against one another,

beating out the strange tattoo of clicks that they'dheard before…… and then all three of the creatures, the monsters, were sliding down toward them, perfectly balanced, scuttling through the moving sands with ease. And at the top of the dune, another three appeared.

"SHIT," JOHN BREATHED, NOT EVEN AWARE that he'd spoken as he raised the M-16 and open– ed up. – bambambambam -

–and the first of the scorpion-things let out a strange, dry, hissing sound, like air being let out of a giant tire, as the bullets hammered into its curled body. A thick white fluid burst from the wounds that had opened in its insectile face, a face of drooling tusks and spider's eyes, a face with a black shapeless hole for a mouth. Writhing, claws raised, it fell on its side and twisted wildly, digging its own shallow grave in the hot sand. Leon and Cole were both shooting, the thunder of the nine-millimeter drowning out any more hissing, producing even more of the pus-like blood in the second and third of the Scorps. The white liquid spewed out in glurts, like puke, but there were three more of the creatures coming down…… and the first one, the one that John had drilled full of holes, was getting up. Getting up unsteadily, but getting up all the same. The openings were oozing with that viscous white goo – and even as it took its first step toward them, John saw that the liquid was hardening. Plugging the wounds as efficiently as plas– ter filled a hole in a wall. "Go go go!" John shouted as the other two crea-tures, taken down by Leon and Cole, started to move, their wounds already scabbing over. The second threesome was halfway down the dune and closing fast.

Gotta get out.

There were still two more "environments," and they'd already blown at least a third of their ammo; this ran through John's mind in the split-second it took him to spray the Scorps with a hail of bullets, as Leon and Cole ran east. He didn't even try to take any of the six down, he knew it wouldn't make a difference. The line of explosive rounds was to hold them back until the other two men were clear, his mind grasping for a solution as the impossible animals waved their jagged claws, scrabbling against the shifting sands and spurt-ing more of their bizarre epoxy.

–grenade but how do I get them all, how do we avoid taking shrapnel -The closest of the Scorps was perhaps a dozen feet in front of him when he turned and ran, moving as fast as he could through the blazing heat, his adrena-line up and raging. Leon and Cole were fifty meters ahead, stumbling through the sand, Leon running sideways, watching front and back, sweeping with his semi. John risked a glance back, saw that the scorpion creatures were still coming. Slower than before but not faltering, their waspish bodies dripping white, their bizarre elongated claws raised and snapping. They were gaining speed, too, faster with each skitter– ing step, a pack of undead bugs looking for lunch -

– pack, in a pack

They might not have a better chance. John dropped the rifle, the sling hanging awkwardly around his neck, and jammed one hand into his pack, still managing a decent run. He came up with one of the grenades, jerked the pin free, and turned, backing up in a shambling jog. He tried to evaluate the distance, the M68's process running through his frenzied mind, the Scorps sixty, seventy feet behind.

–impact fuse, armed two seconds after it hits, six-second backup -"Grenade!" He screamed, and threw the round canister up, praying that he'd judged it right as he turned and lunged, the grenade still ascending as he dove into the side of the sand dune. John swam into it, pushing with all his considerable muscle, burrowing into the hot grit blind and breath– less. The sand was cooler underneath, waves of the unpacked stuff pouring across his face, trying to force its way into his nose and mouth, but he couldn't think of anything except pulling his legs in – and what the blast-projected slivers of metal could do to human flesh. One final, desperate kick and – KA-WHAM -

– there was a huge shift all around him, an incredi– ble pressure slamming into him and into the moving wall he was embedded in. He felt the weight on top of him press down, forcing the air out of him, and it took all he had to force one hand up to his face, to cup it over his mouth. Breathing shallowly, he started worming his way back out, wriggling and kicking.

Leon, did they get down in time, did it work?

He fought against the still sliding currents of pol-ished granules, taking one more breath before using both hands to swipe at the heavy sands. In a few seconds he was out, rivulets of grit streaming off of him, his irritated eyes watering. He wiped at them one handed, raising the M-16, looking first at the threat…… which wasn't a threat anymore. The grenade must have landed right in front of them; of the six mutant scorpions that had been pursuing them, four were in pieces. John saw a still-twitching claw lying across the sand in a puddle of white, a tail with stinger still attached sticking out of the side of the dune, a leg, another leg; the rest was unrecognizable, great hunks of wet mush splattered in a rough semi-circle. The two Scorps at the rear of the pack were still whole, but were definitely not going to get up again; the bodies were intact, but the eyes and mouth, the strange mandibles, the faces were gone.