James Axler – Zero City

There was no dissent.

“Okay,” he said, “We hit them hard and fast. Don’t give the baron a chance to plan or regroup. Keep him off balance. The sec men outnumber us, but we have automatic weapons and the Hummer. Firepower and mobility.”

A knife appeared from out of nowhere in Jak’s hand, spun on its pommel in his palm, then was slid smoothly back into his sleeve. “Dead meat,” the teenager stated confidently.

Off in a corner by itself, the string from upstairs jerked, making a spoon in a glass tinkle like a tiny bell. The sound startled everybody.

Slowly at first, then faster, Ryan started across the basement to tug back to see if it was a warning, or just Doc asking for a piss break, when there came the stitching zip of the HK G-12 caseless from overhead, followed by screams and the raging snarl of wolves.

“Dark night, they found us!” J.B. cursed, drawing his blaster.

“Already?” Mildred gasped, doing the same.

Weapons out, Ryan and Jak were heading for the door to the stairwell with Jak close behind.

Grabbing his bag of munitions, J.B. stopped at the stairs and turned. “Hey, Millie!” he shouted, and tossed over the M-4000 shotgun.

“Just in case,” the Armorer said softly.

The physician nodded, then reached into a pocket and tossed him a gren. “The last one. Don’t miss, John.”

J.B. tucked it away, threw her a smile and took off at a run.

Bursting out of the stairwell, the companions found Doc behind the reception desk firing the Heckler & Koch at a swarm of sec men climbing over the barricade of file cabinets. Ryan and the others opened fire, and the invaders fell back screaming and cursing. Two bleeding bodies stayed where they were, draped motionless on the metal banks.

Advancing to the barricade, Ryan rested his blaster on top of a cabinet between the dead men. They would give good cover. “Volley fire at the windows,” he ordered softly. “On my mark…now!”

A hellstorm of lead shattered the remaining panes of snowy glass, exposing thirty sec men armed with autofires standing in the sandy street.

“Chill them!” Ryan shouted, riding the bucking Steyr SSG-70 as he worked the bolt and fired steadily.

Their bodies dancing under the impacts, six sec men fell to the ground before the rest could scurry away. A snarling wolf leaped on top of the files, and Jak shot it in the face with his .357 Colt Python, the muzzle-flash igniting the fur as the head exploded and the body tumbled off. In seconds, the street before their building was clear of live targets.

As Ryan shoved in a fresh clip, he scowled at the garage directly across from them where the Hummer was hidden. So bloody close, but it might as well be on the moon for all the good it could do them now.

“Doc, cover fire from the roof and watch for jumpers,” he snapped. “Krysty, take the first floor in case somebody gets past us or tries a window.”

“On it,” the redhead answered.

“Godspeed all,” the oldster rumbled.

As the pair disappeared into the shadowy interior of the predark building, there came the sound of running boots, and a mob of yelling sec men charged into view carrying sheets of glass before them as shields. The companions coolly opened fire, but the rounds simply knocked the men back, becoming embedded in the soft clear material.

“What the… Shitfire! It’s that Plexiglas from the bank!”

Heartened by their apparent invulnerability, the troops rallied and charged again, firing their automatics around the sides of the resilient plastic.

“Shoes!” Ryan shouted, lowering the barrel.

The companions concentrated on the shuffling boots of the sec men. Leather toes erupted, spraying blood. A man fell and was trampled by the others. Another dropped, losing the shield, and his exposed comrades died. Then the rest were inside the building, shouting and whooping like madmen.

Maintaining steady fire, the companions fell back to the receptionist desk as the sec force tried to shove aside the cabinets. But filled with books and with every handle lashed together with spare barbed wire, the barrier was immovable.

“Gren,” Ryan ordered, dropping the rifle and drawing his handblaster, working the slide to chamber a round.

Pages: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *