"Fuck if I know," Amos pants, as he slogs again to a quick jog. "Other'n too damn dangerous to stick around in."

The longer they're in these tunnels, the higher chance they will be lunch. Amos is no statistician, but he knows that much. He grimaces and shakes head head a little as the fight behind them escalates into a feeding frenzy: it's a little like being physically hit in the head, between the mild disorientation and the 'overwlemed' feeling inside his skull.

It also makes it harder to pick out the quieter insect minds, those not so excited. He stops at an intersection and shakes his head again.