akelike life. Shaped like a plant, yet with the motions of an animal.
And cracking, splitting. This was the worst.

Seams and openings appeared. Splintering, gaping mouths that vomited out
a horde of pallid animals. Jason heard their shriekings, shrill yet
remote. He saw the needlelike teeth that lined their jaws.

The paralysis of the unknown held him there. He should have died. Kerk
was thundering at him through the power speaker, others were firing into
the attacking creature. Jason knew nothing.

Then he was shot forward, pushed by a rock-hard shoulder. The wounded
man was still there, trying to get Jason clear. Gun clenched in his jaws
he dragged Jason along with his good arm. Towards the creature. The
others stopped firing. They saw his plan and it was a good one.

A loop of the thing arched into the air, leaving an opening between its
body and the ground. The wounded Pyrran planted his feet and tightened
his muscles. One-handed, with a single thrust, he picked Jason off the
ground and sent him hurtling under the living arch. Moving tendrils
brushed fire along his face, then he was through, rolling over and over
on the ground. The wounded Pyrran leaped after him.

It was too late. There had been a chance for one person to get out. The
Pyrran could have done it easily--instead he had pushed Jason first. The
thing was aware of movement when Jason brushed its tendrils. It dropped
and caught the wounded man under its weight. He vanished from sight as
the tendrils wrapped around him and the animals swarmed over. His
trigger must have pulled back to full automatic because the gun kept
firing a long time after he should have been dead.

Jason crawled. Some of the fanged animals ran towards him, but were
shot. He knew nothing about this. Then rude hands grabbed him up and
pulled him forward. He slammed into the side of a truck and Kerk's face
was in front of his, flushed and angry. One of the giant fists closed on
the front of Jason's clothes and he was lifted off his feet, shaken like
a limp bag of rags. He offered no protest and could not have even if
Kerk had killed him.

When he was thrown to the ground, someone picked him up and slid him
into the back of the truck. He did not lose consciousness as the truck
bounced away, yet he could not move. In a moment the fatigue would go
away and he would sit up. That was all he was, just a little tired. Even
as he thought this he passed out.

XIII.

"Just like