ETHAN SCRAMBLED BACKWARD on all fours. Severed ends of threads lay on the beach, feebly writhing and squirming in their death throes. The living parts had retreated into the water and no more were slithering out to clutch at him. He was clutching his weapon so tightly the stock dug into his ribs, but he barely registered the pain.
As he regained some control, Ethan eased farther from the water, pushing between the roots of plants. Then a thought hit. Sluglimpets. He sprang to his feet, his pulse racing once more. The vegetation was full of shadows but he couldn’t detect any movement. He hoped the digesting predators didn’t inhabit that region.
He couldn’t risk returning to the water’s edge, but he had to drink. The few mouthfuls of water he’d managed to scoop out hadn’t done much to slak
