Everyone fidgeted nervously as the T’s, having spread out in a row, regarded them coolly, their heads c*****g this way and that, their little foreclaws opening and closing. And Red realized, as he had when the raptors had eluded him behind the Scrambler, that they had learned—evolved—and were not so stupid as to simply rush headlong into a hail of gunfire. Frank Miller, meanwhile, was having nothing of it.
“They’re animals, for Christ’s sake,” he snapped, tightening his grip on his weapon. “Fill ‘em full of lead and they bleed and die, just like anything else.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said the man in the convenience store tunic, and added, “A boar spear—have you ever seen one? It’s got a pair of spikes, see, angled forward along its shaft. And do you know what those spikes are for?”
