“Lukasz!” Ren hefted a second rifle. Koszmar’s. “Catch!”
It sailed over the swarming strzygi and Lukasz snatched it out of the air. He slammed a round into the barrel, took aim, and fired.
The monster on Koszmar exploded.
“We’ll hold them off,” she shouted. “Get Koszmar.”
Lukasz nodded.
He advanced over the congealing strzygi, blasting aside anything that got in his way. Koszmar was trying to get away. Lukasz could see the hand curling and uncurling, nails grasping. Fingers twisting. Shot after shot scattered the monsters. He blasted them back, their bony legs flailing. But there were always more. They just came back. Swarmed over the Wrony again. Devouring him.
“Come on, you little bastards,” he growled, advancing. Shot after shot. “Come on.”
Now that he was closer, he could see why Koszmar had been swarmed. A blistering pit, newly erupted, simmered beside the blond Wrony—it was still rimmed in red, still billowing tarry black smoke. Purple-black roots uncoiled from the darkness. Body after scaly body, the strzygi clambered out.
He raised the rifle for another shot.
Click. Nothing.
“Damn!” He squeezed the trigger again.
Click.
He was out of bullets. And the strzygi were still feeding, chewing away at that poor idiot’s soul. There was no time. They were insatiable.
Lukasz swung the rifle like a club. The swarming bodies went flying. With every blow, he ignored the screaming protest from his wounded shoulder. He swung with all his strength. It wasn’t enough. God, there were too many of them—
Fur flashed. Ry?. The big lynx tore into the strzygi.
“You okay?” asked Lukasz, between blows with the rifle.
More of an arm appeared. For the first time, the pristine black coat had been marred. Smeared with blood.
“Enjoying this, honestly.” Ry? caught a strzygoń in his teeth and flung it into a tree. He was soaked with blood, but his eyes burned. “You?”
Lukasz didn’t respond.
Long silver hair appeared. It was smashed into the earth. It took Lukasz a sickening moment to realize it was all that remained of the vila-hair helmet.
Koszmar’s face appeared. He was whiter than a mavka, streaked with his own blood. A gash yawned in one high-boned cheek. He whimpered, thrashed. For a moment, the strzygi receded.
Ry? whooped in triumph. Lukasz dropped the rifle, hauled Koszmar up. Somewhere, Ren was reloading and firing into the monsters like a clockwork machine. A warm feeling flashed in him, more than admiration. But he didn’t have time to analyze the feeling. Because Koszmar looked like he might be dead, and—
“Kosz.” He shook him. “Kosz, damn it. Get a grip—”
The cut in Koszmar’s cheek was so deep that it revealed his blood-streaked teeth. The gray eyes flickered.
“Oh hell,” muttered the Wrony. He stumbled, wincing. Put a hand to his torn-apart face and flinched. “My face—”
“It’s fine,” lied Lukasz. He glanced at Ry?, who was sniffing at the undulating roots by the pit. He looked up and nodded vigorously. “It’s fine, it’s not that bad, Kosz, I swear—Ry?, watch out!”
He was too late.
The temporary lull had left Ry? alone by the pit. But under the onslaught by the opposite side of the campsite, the strzygi had—with a chilling kind of organization—switched their target.
Ry? looked up.
His pupils dilated as he saw the tide change. Lukasz dropped Koszmar. While the Wrony fell dazedly to his knees, Lukasz swung the rifle with his screaming shoulder. A single blow swept three strzygi back into the pit.
He could hear the others shouting. Jakub paused to reload.
The strzygi came. They pushed straight past Lukasz, didn’t even break stride when the rifle sent them flying. It was no use. There were too many of them. Ry? saw them coming. His ears flattened, and he crouched down.
Terror registered, starkly, on his face.
“Ry?!” Lukasz roared. “RY?!”
Lukasz threw aside the rifle, drew his sword. But it was too late. The strzygi covered Ry?.
The pit loomed. Smoking. It looked like a yawning, starving mouth. The lynx was being borne back, back . . .
“RY?!”
Entirely covered, the lynx was a mass of seething bodies. His head surfaced like he was drowning. Then he was gone again. Lukasz slashed and hacked, ignored the agony in his shoulder. The mass of strzygi pushed him back. Back to the pit. Ry? yowled.
Sweat poured down Lukasz’s forehead.
“HANG ON!”
Lukasz flung aside the bodies. Fought his way to the edge of the pit. Without thinking, he flung himself flat on the ground. Roots curled over his arm. He tore his hand free. More strzygi barreled toward him.
Ry? screamed again. The others shouted. Lukasz was deaf to everything else.