Read Online Absolute Zero (The Shadow Wars Book 4) by S. A. Lusher - Free Book Online
Authors: S. A. Lusher
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he crouched by it, hunting for the killing blow. There were no gunshot wounds, though the suit had been shredded in a few places by what might have been knives...or claws. Trent reached over, placed a hand on the body's shoulder and pulled it onto its stomach.
“Shit,” he whispered as he was given a full view of the head.
“Oh my God...that's fucking sick,” Drake said from behind him.
The back of the man's head, just above the neck, had been ripped open by what appeared to be brute force. Trent tried to peer into the hole, but the lighting was too poor and it just seemed like a black space. He activated the flashlight on the end of his rifle and pointed it towards the hole in the back of the poor bastard's head.
“Now that is creepy,” Tristan said softly.
The man's head had been hollowed out. His brain was missing entirely.
“Got something to tell us?” Trent asked.
Sharpe said nothing. She simply stood and moved further down the corridor, kneeling by another corpse. They joined her, abandoning the blue-suited corpse. This one was obviously some kind of security personnel. He wore a red uniform with black combat armor over it. His head had been hollowed out as well.
“Come on,” Sharpe said, straightening up.
She set off down the corridor again, stepping over a third body. Trent's mind raced as he and the others followed her. What could possibly be doing this? In all his time, he'd never heard rumors of hollowed out skulls. Of course, he hadn't heard all the rumors and scary stories mercenaries passed among themselves like the STDs of the old world. What the fuck could possibly be doing this? Something that wanted human brains?
They reached the end of the corridor, turned and came to another door. Sharpe opened it and went in gun-first. Trent was right behind her. They'd come to a mess hall, through which they'd have to pass through to get to the corresponding corridor on the other side. The room was cavernous, studded with support pillars and bolted-down tables with benches placed with mathematical precision across the smooth steel floor.
It was a war zone, coated in an aftermath that spoke of slaughter.
Several of the benches had been physically ripped free of their moorings and tossed aside like so many toys. Silverware, shattered plates and cups and bowls and several bodies, each with their own, personal pools of blood littered the floor. The lights, high overhead, flickered, making the shadows around the edges of the room swell and shrink.
“Whoa...” Trent said as his eyes fell on something new. He approached it and gently touched it with his foot. “What the fuck do you make of this ?”
The others came over and stared down. A guy with his skull cracked open and scooped out was one thing, but a skeletal, detached arm was quite another. Trent knelt and decided that yes, there was literally nothing left of the arm but the skeleton. It had fallen into several pieces, as there was nothing left to hold the bones together.
No flesh, no meat, no muscles, nothing.
The bone was practically bleached.
“So...what do the brains and this have in common?” Drake murmured.
“Nothing,” Tristan replied after a moment.
“It can't be nothing,” Trent said.
“Keep it moving,” Sharpe said suddenly.
Trent glanced up from pile of bones. She wasn't looking at them, she was eying the edges of the room, the shadows, the vents. Anywhere that might hold hostiles...whatever those hostiles might be. She began to make her way across the mess hall. Trent and the others followed her after lingering for a reluctant moment.
They all stopped as a low clicking sound cut loose across the area. Everyone whirled, weapons raised, at the origin of the sound. Trent blinked in shock as he spied something, a vague outline of a shape, lingering in the deeper shadows at the edge of the room. How could he have possibly missed that? And what was it?
An anticipation built up inside of him. He was finally going to get to
“Shit,” he whispered as he was given a full view of the head.
“Oh my God...that's fucking sick,” Drake said from behind him.
The back of the man's head, just above the neck, had been ripped open by what appeared to be brute force. Trent tried to peer into the hole, but the lighting was too poor and it just seemed like a black space. He activated the flashlight on the end of his rifle and pointed it towards the hole in the back of the poor bastard's head.
“Now that is creepy,” Tristan said softly.
The man's head had been hollowed out. His brain was missing entirely.
“Got something to tell us?” Trent asked.
Sharpe said nothing. She simply stood and moved further down the corridor, kneeling by another corpse. They joined her, abandoning the blue-suited corpse. This one was obviously some kind of security personnel. He wore a red uniform with black combat armor over it. His head had been hollowed out as well.
“Come on,” Sharpe said, straightening up.
She set off down the corridor again, stepping over a third body. Trent's mind raced as he and the others followed her. What could possibly be doing this? In all his time, he'd never heard rumors of hollowed out skulls. Of course, he hadn't heard all the rumors and scary stories mercenaries passed among themselves like the STDs of the old world. What the fuck could possibly be doing this? Something that wanted human brains?
They reached the end of the corridor, turned and came to another door. Sharpe opened it and went in gun-first. Trent was right behind her. They'd come to a mess hall, through which they'd have to pass through to get to the corresponding corridor on the other side. The room was cavernous, studded with support pillars and bolted-down tables with benches placed with mathematical precision across the smooth steel floor.
It was a war zone, coated in an aftermath that spoke of slaughter.
Several of the benches had been physically ripped free of their moorings and tossed aside like so many toys. Silverware, shattered plates and cups and bowls and several bodies, each with their own, personal pools of blood littered the floor. The lights, high overhead, flickered, making the shadows around the edges of the room swell and shrink.
“Whoa...” Trent said as his eyes fell on something new. He approached it and gently touched it with his foot. “What the fuck do you make of this ?”
The others came over and stared down. A guy with his skull cracked open and scooped out was one thing, but a skeletal, detached arm was quite another. Trent knelt and decided that yes, there was literally nothing left of the arm but the skeleton. It had fallen into several pieces, as there was nothing left to hold the bones together.
No flesh, no meat, no muscles, nothing.
The bone was practically bleached.
“So...what do the brains and this have in common?” Drake murmured.
“Nothing,” Tristan replied after a moment.
“It can't be nothing,” Trent said.
“Keep it moving,” Sharpe said suddenly.
Trent glanced up from pile of bones. She wasn't looking at them, she was eying the edges of the room, the shadows, the vents. Anywhere that might hold hostiles...whatever those hostiles might be. She began to make her way across the mess hall. Trent and the others followed her after lingering for a reluctant moment.
They all stopped as a low clicking sound cut loose across the area. Everyone whirled, weapons raised, at the origin of the sound. Trent blinked in shock as he spied something, a vague outline of a shape, lingering in the deeper shadows at the edge of the room. How could he have possibly missed that? And what was it?
An anticipation built up inside of him. He was finally going to get to
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