He put a bullet through it. But if the shot had the least effect, it wasn't apparent. The creature swooped at him suddenly like a hawk dropping on a rabbit.
He shot again, then tried to hurl himself aside, but the pack hampered his movements. One moist wing snared him, slapped around him like wet rubber. He twisted, squirmed, toppled to the ground, rolling over and over.
The other wing lapped around him, binding his arms to his side, squeezing, squeezing.
The pain was intolerable.
As if from a distance, he could hear shouting. The savages had closed around him, snarling, baying triumphantly like hounds at the kill, but he was only dimly conscious of them.
The octopod on the litter put a silver tube to its mouth. A loud mourning note wound through the jungle.
The horn! It was the horn he'd heard earlier. It was also the last sound that he heard, for the terrible constriction never relaxed. Blackness welled up suddenly behind his eyes, blotted out everything.
When Jupiter Jones struggled back to consciousness, he was lying in a cage like a wild animal.
The realization shocked him.