treading carefully。 Woods was sharing a joke with Greiss； who was in a surprisingly sanguine mood；
when his feet were yanked out from under him。 The Catachans went for their weapons as their
comrade dropped。 Woods was on the ground； in the long jungle grass； and the red flowers were all
screaming。
Lorenzo’s first thought was that he had been careless； stepped too close to the flowers—though
he had to admit； that didn’t sound much like Hotshot。 But Woods； he realised； wasn’t just being
held； he was being dragged。
It wasn’t the flowers’ heads that had Woods； it was their roots。 They had burst out of the ground；
tangled themselves around his ankles—and they were grasping now for his wrists。 They were
coiling and writhing around him like living things； like serpents； striking when they sensed an
opening。 The closest troopers—Muldoon and Landon—had dropped to their haunches； knives
drawn； but the roots were thick and tough。 By the time Landon had drawn sap； and Muldoon had cut
his first root through； ten more had erupted from the undergrowth to replace them。 And the wailing
flower heads were snapping at the would…be rescuers； straining at their stems。
Woods was pulled out from under Landon。 The rookie lunged after him； desperate not to lose the
root he had almost severed—and a flower head caught his finger。 Landon fought to free himself； but
the red petals held him as tightly as they’d held Greiss’ stick the previous day。 Landon redistributed
his weight； tried to gain leverage； and another flower opened its petals wide and clamped itself onto
his left ankle。 He was immobilised。
Muldoon had fared better； snatching his hand away from a similar attack—but by the time he
and his night reaper resumed their work； Woods had been pulled another metre toward uncharted
territory。 The nearest roots had relaxed their grips now； having passed their captive on to those
behind。 They were rearing up； twitching from side to side as if on the lookout for fresh prey。
Woods had one hand free； and he was clutching at the undergrowth； at anything that might
anchor him。 After pulling up a third clump of weeds； he abandoned this plan and reached instead for
his devil claw。 As he tried to manoeuvre it through the living bonds that held him； a flower caught
the blade and wrenched it from his grip。
“Hey；” called Woods； the strain in his voice belying his forced jovial tone； “a little help would
be appreciated； you know？”
The entreaty was unnecessary。 Most of the Jungle Fighters were on him； or struggling to reach
him through the minefield of grasping vegetation。 They were cutting； tearing； hacking； but Woods
was still being pulled away from them。 A root caught his free arm； and pinned it to his side like the
other one。 Now he was trussed up good and proper； like a fish in a net； hardly able to even struggle
anymore。
Mackenzie was shouting； “Don’t just stand there； do something！ Cut him loose！” as if it might
help。 Lorenzo was just watching； thinking… looking for a way； a safe path； to reach Woods through
the press of bodies that surrounded him； realising that even if he could find one he would only be
joining a losing battle…
He remembered the acid lake； and it occurred to him that the roots might be pulling Hotshot
towards something…
48
Lorenzo bounded past his comrades； drawing his las…gun。 He was surprised to find that
Guardsman Braxton had had the same thought。 They stood side by side； and scanned their
surroundings； fingers uneasy on their triggers。
Lorenzo saw it first： an acid spitter； lurking in the heart of a flowering bush； almost totally
concealed。 It stiffened； as if sensing eyes upon it； and opened its mouth。 He was sure it was too far
away to reach him with its deadly spray—but instinct made him leap aside anyway； and push
Braxton with him。
The spitter’s aim e sluicing into the dirt at just the spot where they
had been standing。 A few seconds later； and Woods’ head would have entered its range。
A dual burst of las…fire destroyed the acid spitter。 Then； without having to confer； both Lorenzo
and Braxton pointed their guns at the undergrowth in Woods’ path； and began to blast the flowers
that waited there。 The flowers’ siren wail went up an octave； becoming louder； more intense； more
painful； and Lorenzo’s head began to throb。 He could see black spots at the edge of his vision； and
he knew the rest of his squad was affected too； because they were starting to reel and shake their
heads and put their hands to their ears。
He kept on firing； because it was the only way to end it。 Each time he incinerated a red flower
head； its roots thrashed for a few seconds longer and then fell limp； but that dreadful sound never
seemed to ease。
Lorenzo had to cease firing when he was too blind to aim properly； when the remaining flowers
were too close to the prone Woods for safety。 He was going nowhere now； the roots around him
dead and blackened； but he was still firmly entangled。 The other Jungle Fighters followed Lorenzo
and Braxton’s lead； targeting the flower heads rather than their roots。 They seized them by the red
petals； holding their “mouths” closed； and sawed them from their stems。 With each flower that died；
more of Woods’ bonds fell loose； and finally he was able to tear himself free and stand； evidently in
pain from the continuing screaming。
Mackenzie was feeling the worst of it； though。 He was practically on his knees； his hands
clasped over his ears； and Lorenzo was alarmed to see blood trickling through his fingers。
With Woods out of the danger area； however—and Landon freed now； along with Woods’
knife—lasguns could be employed again； and it wasn’t long before the final red flower was blasted
to a cinder。 Lorenzo closed his eyes and let out a long； shuddering sigh as he was soothed by a
blessed silence。
“Well； that seals it；” muttered Greiss； when their ears had finally stopped ringing。 “There’s
something seriously nuts about this place。”
Donovits was sitting on the ground with his knees drawn up to his chest； his forehead shiny with
sweat。 “It’s as if evolution has been speeded up here；” he considered。 “The red flowers couldn’t
catch their prey any more； because the insects—and we—had learned to keep out of their way； so
they evolved a means of bringing their prey to them。 Likewise for the spitters； they’ve learned how
to spit further。 The different species are even working together—but all this should take generations。
Instead； it’s happened in a few days。 I’d say it was impossible； but we’re seeing it with our own
eyes。”
Lorenzo felt that chill of the unnatural playing about his spine again。 He didn’t want to hear this；
didn’t want to believe； but he had no choice。 “That’s why the birds and the lizards have been
growing more hostile；” he said in a hollow tone。
“And changing their tactics。” Donovits confirmed。
“And why they only started calling Rogar III a deathworld a few weeks ago；” said Armstrong。
“I’d guess；” said Donovits； “that it was the arrival of the orks and the Imperium that upset the
ecological balance here。 Since then…”
“Rogar has been evolving ways to combat them。” Armstrong concluded the thought grimly。
“Now； it’s evolving ways to combat us！”
49
It took a moment for that to sink in； for the consequences to register with everyone； before
Greiss put them into words。
“That means we can’t take a thing for granted；” he said glumly。 “Soon as we think we know
what a creature or plant can do； it’s likely to up and develop a whole new set of offensive
capabilities。 You need to stay on your toes； troopers。”
Mackenzie had been leaning against a tree； hands on his knees； getting his breath back； licking
his wounds。 Now he pushed himself up to an unsteady vertical。 “You’re forgetting； Trooper Greiss；
you don’t give the orders around here anymore。”
“Will do； sergeant；” said Woods as if the commissar hadn’t spoken。
“Too right； sergeant；” said Myers。
“Whatever you say； sergeant；” said Storm。
Mackenzie just scowled； and ordered them to get moving。 He was no longer so keen； though； to
lead from the front as he had been doing。 He instructed Woods to take point in his place； and fell
back to his more accustomed position among the troops。 He saw that Greiss was regarding him
through hooded eyes； and he said curtly； “I’m watching you； Greiss。 One misstep and I’ll have you
in chains。”
“With respect； commissar；” Greiss growled； “you might be better off watching your own back。
The jungle’s a dangerous place—and if you get dragged away like Hotshot just did； you don’t want
to be relying on an ‘undisciplined rabble’ to save your scrawny hide； now do you？”
He bared his teeth in a cruel smile。
They reached the river early in the afternoon。
Mackenzie looked pleased about this； as it suggested he had kept his squad on course despite
Greiss’ reservations。 “Five minutes； everyone；” he said magnanimously。 “Fill your water bottles；
wash up； whatever you feel you need to do。 Just remember； this is the last known fresh water
between us and the warboss。”
“You’re assuming it is fresh water；” said Greiss。
“I told you before； Greiss； my men reconnoitred this area。 We tested the water for all known
poisons and diseases。”
“We might know a few you don’t；” suggested Armstrong。
Mackenzie’s voice rose in indignation。 “That water is perfectly safe。 I’ve drunk it myself。 Or did
you think we’d been sitting on our hands for the past year just waiting for the almighty Jungle
Fighters to show up and rescue us？”
“Just saying I’d like to see for myself；” growled Greiss。 “Sharkbait？”
“Aye； sergeant。” Muldoon tore up a handful of weeds and approached the riverbank。 The water；
a short way below him； was impossibly clear and fast flowing。 It was six metres wide； and it
sparkled hypnotically as it caught the sun。 Lorenzo shared the sergeant’s suspicion： it looked too
good to be true。
Muldoon cast his weeds into the river。 It hissed and bubbled where they hit； and Lorenzo could
see that the water was eating into the vegetation； even as the current swept it away in a telltale cloud
of vapour。
Mackenzie blanched。 “It… The reports… My men assured me… Why would they…？”
“Just a guess； commissar； sir；” said Greiss with a crooked grin； “but perhaps your men just don’t
like you much。”
Braxton hurried to offer a kinder explanation。 “It must be as Donovits said； sir。 The planet is
adapting to our presence； finding new ways to fight us。”
“Maybe；” agreed Donovits； “but this goes beyond evolution； accelerated or not。 If this really was
a freshwater river—if it’s become so highly acidic in a matter of weeks—we’re talking about a
sizeable ecological shift。”
50
“Could it be the orks？” asked Braxton—and he wasn’t the only man present； Lorenzo sensed；
who wanted to think that—to cling to a rational； knowable cause for their woes。 “Could they have
poisoned the water somehow？”
“Maybe；” conceded Donovits； though he sounded doubtful。
“Don’t underestimate these orks；” muttered Mackenzie。 “I told you； this new warboss is smart！”
“Yes； well；” said Greiss。 “Right now； the important thing isn’t what may or may not have
happen