Excerpt from page 381...
The marching dead turned toward my voice. The ant-things did likewise, their mandibles gnashing, their loathsome eyes(loathsome but intelligent) glaring. Overhead, the sky began to tear open with a titanic ripping sound. An enormous black leg covered with tufts of spiny fur pushed through it. The leg ended in a vast claw made of human faces. Its owner wanted one thing and one thing only: to silence the voice of negation.
It was Mother.
(Kinda sounds like a spider leg?)
You have an opinion regarding the ants