It's a good point; looking around, it's easy to see that he's right. No corpses, no bones, not even a particularly overgrown patch where something had decayed and fed the greenery.

"Stay sharp," She replies, after a moment, feeling the tenseness across her own shoulders, adrenaline rising, pulling everything into focus. Breathe.

The way it happens is like a stalking Varren. They're a little too far from the entrance to bolt, close enough to their goal to make it tempting, just within reach of any number of open-mouthed houses, doors half-ajar, left where they'd been when the inhabitants had shoved their way, fleeing like animals. Silent. And then, low, the warning sound— the rapid ticking of claw-feet on rooftiles, many legs scuttling in the underbrush. The former inhabitants come over the down in an abrupt wave and for a moment Shepard hesitates, appalled at their numbers, and their coordination; it's like a carpet of pale rats with far too many legs.

That's... that's a lot of spiders.

"Get the pods! Move!"