Tunnels 04, Closer

had been swiped with an invisible bat.
    As their antennae twitched, the other fleas turned slowly, their jointed legs twitching and humming, until they were facing Elliott. Then they began to advance toward her.
    Running between the blackened tree trunks, Will skirted around the back of the dead buffalo in order to reach Bartleby. The Hunter was dazed and unsteady on his feet, but otherwise unharmed. Getting hold of his scruff, Will was dragging him up onto his paws as one of the fleas at the edge of the pack noticed him.
    "Come on, Bart!" Will urged the cat.
    Bartleby was standing now, but he hadn't recovered sufficiently to move at any speed.
    The flea hopped, landing just in front of Will. It happened so quickly, he reacted completely on instinct. He shot it at point-blank range. Its hard exoskeleton cleaved open, exposing its white flesh as a milky fluid splashed the ground around it. It reminded Will of a coconut he'd won in the shy in the traveling fair in Highfield, which he'd cracked open with a hammer.
    He was trying to drag Bartleby away with him as he heard Elliott shout his name and then gunfire. Swapping her pistol for the Schmeisser, she was firing short bursts at the advancing horde of fleas. Every so often one of them hopped at her, but she was able to shoot it out of the air before it reached her.
    "Go!" she yelled, as she spotted Will and Bartleby, who was now moving under his own steam, although rather drunkenly. She wheeled around and they fled together. Within minutes, they'd clambered up the other side of the hollow and were in the ash fields again. The edge of the jungle loomed before them -- they were tantalizingly close to it.
    "They're coming!" Will puffed, as he threw a glance behind them.
    The fleas hadn't given up on the prospect of catching some fresh prey. Now that they weren't restricted by the charred tree trunks, they really began to show what they were capable of. They began to make tremendous leaps.
    Even above the sound of the rain and the wind, Will could hear the thump of their powerful hind legs against the ground as they launched themselves in high arcs. They were dropping out of the sky and landing all around.
    Will and Elliott would run ten meters, then stop to deal with the fleas pursuing them, repeating the maneuver over and over, but making agonizingly slow progress toward the tree line. They hoped that when they reached the jungle, they'd be able to shake the insects off their trail.
    Elliott was dispatching most of the fleas with her Schmeisser, and Will picked off any that got past her with his Luger. He was just thinking that they had the situation under control when one of the fleas struck his back. It immediately gripped onto his shirt with its pincer-like claws. As he tried to shake it lose, he lost his balance and flopped face first into the ash.
    Bartleby's yowl alerted Elliott that something was wrong. Will was rolling over and over, and also trying to strike the insect with the butt of his pistol, but it clung resolutely onto him. Worse still, the flea was gradually edging toward the exposed nape of his neck.
    Then it drew back its proboscis, making ready to bite him.
    Elliott didn't have time to switch over to her handgun, which would have allowed her to make a more accurate shot.
    "Stay face down!" she screamed at the struggling boy. "And stay still!"
    She crouched, aimed, then unleashed a volley with the Schmeisser.
    With a loud crack, Will was showered with white gunk. He hauled himself to his feet, shook his head, and began to sprint again. Elliott took care of several more fleas, but then they appeared to give up the pursuit. Glancing over her shoulder, Will saw the surviving fleas were springing back toward the hollow, probably to return to the buffalo carcass.
    And within twenty minutes, Will and Elliott were under the jungle canopy, where they paused to recover their breath.
    "Thanks," Will panted, tearing off some leaves to wipe the remains of the insect from his hair and neck.
    "No problem," Elliott replied, slapping the side of her Schmeisser. "It was a hit or miss -- these things aren't that accurate."
    "You used that ?" Will said, still trying to catch his breath.
    "It did the trick," she said.
    "It did," he panted, raising his eyebrows. "But... one thing."
    "Yes?" she asked.
    Will glanced suspiciously at the jungle around them. "If any of these trees look at you with mean little eyes... just let them have it too, will you?"
    "What?" she