Read Online Biting the Bullet by Jennifer Rardin - Free Book Online
Authors: Jennifer Rardin
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its puppetlike efforts to take off my head such a welcome relief to point-blank murder I actually giggled. I know. Inappropriate. That’s pretty much how it happens with me.
The zombie’s weight left me as Vayl picked it up and threw it at least twenty feet. I took the hand Vayl offered and remembered to grab the SAW as he jerked me upright. Ahead of us Cole lifted Terrence onto his shoulder. Two reavers came at him, one living, one dead. Somehow the zombie missed our guys and clawed the living reaver instead, taking out most of his face. When he turned toward us I took out his legs with my machine gun.
“What is it with these zombies?” I asked Vayl. “Not that I’m complaining. But you’d think they’d come from two-thousand-year-old corpses the way they’re behaving.”
“Maybe their master is new to the art.”
“Huh.”
“Aaaah!” I spun at the sound. The zombie behind me clutched at the gaping hole in his chest. A living reaver had circled back to the farmhouse door. Had taken a bead on me. Somehow the zombie had gotten between us.
I took aim at the zombie. Hesitated. Moved my sites to the reaver. It yelled at the zombie. Gestured for it to clear the line of fire.
Instead the zombie shambled straight toward the living reaver.
What the hell?
I glanced over my shoulder, hoping for some confirmation from Vayl that he’d witnessed this bizarre event as well. He was with Otto, lifting him off the ground. Grace and Ashley were already limping away ahead of them.
I looked back. The zombie had reached the living reaver. Grabbed the gun. Moved clear. I took the shot. The reaver fell dead. I waited for the zombie to make its next move. It hesitated. Appeared to study the gun as if it wasn’t sure what to do with it and, in the process, managed to blow its own head off.
“Jasmine!”
“Coming!”
I ran to join Vayl and Otto, guarding them the rest of the way to the truck. I had to take out three more zombies. More a matter of immobilizing them with leg shots than actually destroying them, since you can only turn them off by distracting or killing the necromancer whose spirit moved them in the first place.
Multiple hands reached out and helped us into the back of the semi.
“Jet,” Dave said, “you ride with Mehdi for now.”
With a sharp nod, Jet jumped out. “Everybody set?” he asked grimly.
“Yeah, close the doors,” Dave told him.
Moments later we were sealed inside, speeding away from a battle that really had been my responsibility. Maybe I should’ve aborted the mission when I woke inside that Chinook with the taste of hell still fresh on my tongue. But I just couldn’t see the Department of Defense saying, “No, really, Ms. Parks, we don’t mind taking it up the wazoo because you were disturbed by something you saw in a dream.”
Unfortunately not all of my truckmates saw it that way. As soon as Dave lit the lantern, I encountered the blood-stained glare of Amazon Grace. She clearly wanted to slam me against the wall and pound me purple. I gave her a courtroom stare — no emotion whatsoever — and moved my gaze onward.
Most of the group was busy with the wounded. Special Ops folks cross-train like elite athletes, so while each has his or her specialty, they can also back each other up in a pinch. Cam and Natchez took turns laboring over Otto and Ashley, Cam with a couple of syringes that I assumed held painkiller, Natch with antibacterial spray, gauze, and tape.
Dave crouched beside Ricardo, who’d been shot in the arm and — “I know,” he muttered. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
“I keep telling you to keep your ass down,” Dave said. The bullet had gone clear through his right butt cheek, leaving his pants soaked with blood.
Dave glanced over at the medic. “Adela,” he said, “how’s Terrence?” The native New Yorker was by far the worst of the wounded. His ankle had nearly been torn off by a close-range shot. She’d tied a tourniquet
The zombie’s weight left me as Vayl picked it up and threw it at least twenty feet. I took the hand Vayl offered and remembered to grab the SAW as he jerked me upright. Ahead of us Cole lifted Terrence onto his shoulder. Two reavers came at him, one living, one dead. Somehow the zombie missed our guys and clawed the living reaver instead, taking out most of his face. When he turned toward us I took out his legs with my machine gun.
“What is it with these zombies?” I asked Vayl. “Not that I’m complaining. But you’d think they’d come from two-thousand-year-old corpses the way they’re behaving.”
“Maybe their master is new to the art.”
“Huh.”
“Aaaah!” I spun at the sound. The zombie behind me clutched at the gaping hole in his chest. A living reaver had circled back to the farmhouse door. Had taken a bead on me. Somehow the zombie had gotten between us.
I took aim at the zombie. Hesitated. Moved my sites to the reaver. It yelled at the zombie. Gestured for it to clear the line of fire.
Instead the zombie shambled straight toward the living reaver.
What the hell?
I glanced over my shoulder, hoping for some confirmation from Vayl that he’d witnessed this bizarre event as well. He was with Otto, lifting him off the ground. Grace and Ashley were already limping away ahead of them.
I looked back. The zombie had reached the living reaver. Grabbed the gun. Moved clear. I took the shot. The reaver fell dead. I waited for the zombie to make its next move. It hesitated. Appeared to study the gun as if it wasn’t sure what to do with it and, in the process, managed to blow its own head off.
“Jasmine!”
“Coming!”
I ran to join Vayl and Otto, guarding them the rest of the way to the truck. I had to take out three more zombies. More a matter of immobilizing them with leg shots than actually destroying them, since you can only turn them off by distracting or killing the necromancer whose spirit moved them in the first place.
Multiple hands reached out and helped us into the back of the semi.
“Jet,” Dave said, “you ride with Mehdi for now.”
With a sharp nod, Jet jumped out. “Everybody set?” he asked grimly.
“Yeah, close the doors,” Dave told him.
Moments later we were sealed inside, speeding away from a battle that really had been my responsibility. Maybe I should’ve aborted the mission when I woke inside that Chinook with the taste of hell still fresh on my tongue. But I just couldn’t see the Department of Defense saying, “No, really, Ms. Parks, we don’t mind taking it up the wazoo because you were disturbed by something you saw in a dream.”
Unfortunately not all of my truckmates saw it that way. As soon as Dave lit the lantern, I encountered the blood-stained glare of Amazon Grace. She clearly wanted to slam me against the wall and pound me purple. I gave her a courtroom stare — no emotion whatsoever — and moved my gaze onward.
Most of the group was busy with the wounded. Special Ops folks cross-train like elite athletes, so while each has his or her specialty, they can also back each other up in a pinch. Cam and Natchez took turns laboring over Otto and Ashley, Cam with a couple of syringes that I assumed held painkiller, Natch with antibacterial spray, gauze, and tape.
Dave crouched beside Ricardo, who’d been shot in the arm and — “I know,” he muttered. “I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
“I keep telling you to keep your ass down,” Dave said. The bullet had gone clear through his right butt cheek, leaving his pants soaked with blood.
Dave glanced over at the medic. “Adela,” he said, “how’s Terrence?” The native New Yorker was by far the worst of the wounded. His ankle had nearly been torn off by a close-range shot. She’d tied a tourniquet
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