They were running with several of their friends toward the emergency escape vehicles away from a nasty, previously unknown, hazard on the planet.
Their friend starts to mention on how slim their chances are on escaping unscathed.
"Don't tell me the odds, just keep running, I always beat the odds!" -- Fighting Fit
Inspired desperation is one heck of a drug. When the chips are down, when it's do or die, incredible feats are possible.
So when the swarm burst forth from the forests without any warning, adrenaline was everyone's best friend and only recourse. At least until further analysis in a point of safety could reveal something better than running for their lives.
When it happened to Phlox and Gresh while they were setting up colonial habitats, there was certainly a desperate need. They were a long distance away from the nearest emergency escape pod. There was a moment in which both were trying to understand what was happening while the bug-out siren was sounding and the cloud was emerging from the plantlife.
When they did understand, there was a mad scramble to get down from the habitat in progress. Already lagging behind others who had not taken the time to understand what was happening.
Some pods were already launching.
Gresh scooped up Phlox under one arm, as he was the smaller and slower Havenworlder. Then Gresh put every atom of effort available into running the easiest path to the nearest operational escape pod.
"We'll never make it," panicked Phlox.
"Never say never," cried Gresh.
The odds were not in their favour and they both knew it. In order to reach the pod before the swarm hit, Gresh would have to beat a cross-country land speed record.
The buzzing of the swarm grew louder as Gresh ran, a noise only overwhelmed by Gresh's anguished breathing. They could both almost feel the swarm approaching. They could feel the distance closing between them as the seconds escaped them.
Then Gresh hucked Phlox at the open pod door just as the first fringes of the swarm reached them. With one final yell and a leap, he pushed himself through the same portal.
Phlox hit the 'close' button. The doors rang with the impact of hundreds of heavy, apparently bloodthirsty bugs.
"See?" panted Gresh. "Made it." He coughed, spitting out half a bug, that he reflexively smashed with one hand.
He needed oxygen on the way out.
[Photo by James Wainscoat on Unsplash]
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