Read Online Death 07 - For the Love of Death by Tamara Rose Blodgett - Free Book Online
Authors: Tamara Rose Blodgett
Tags: Science-Fiction, Literature & Fiction, Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Genetic engineering, dark fantasy, High Tech, Dystopian, Hard Science Fiction
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into this type before.
“Two: what in the hell are you doing here and why?”
I put my hands on my hips.
“That’s three questions,” Arrogant replies.
I can hear only the sounds of vehicles whizzing over our heads at one hundred fifty-five miles per hour. It’s just loud enough to drown out the small noises of mandatory greenbelts and the wildlife that lives there.
I give Gramps a full look, one he can interpret without any paranormal talent whatsoever.
Gramps doesn’t hesitate. He flicks the cigarette toward the asswipe, and Arrogant reacts instantly, batting the flaming cancer stick away.
Gramps hammers him in the shoulder with the butt of the shotgun.
Arrogant staggers back.
Their telekinetic comes out of hiding and slams Gramps on the road with a palm swipe in the air.
Gramps cracks his head, and I engage.
It’s actually more a matter of my power breathing a sigh of relief to be out of its cage. First, I give old AFTD suit a love tap that parks him on his ass, hard.
Raw satisfaction washes through me.
The undead summons falls over the five miles over which I have complete control. The dead cut a path to me like a beam from a lighthouse.
It’s always been a flaw of mine, the lack of preparedness. If I’d been thinking (and who the hell is when your kids are in parts unknown, with government skulkers milling around), I’d have realized that geographically, I’m closer to Gramps than to my house.
The Skopamish rise in a tide of feathers, leather, and war paint.
Oops.
They disrupt the road’s built-in pulse magnetization instantly, and cars spin above us. The other rails instantly reform intersects to stabilize the little disaster I conjure.
Sorry guys, just having a little zombie soiree here in the middle of the highway.
My kids are missing, we have a situation , Gramps is on the ground, and I’ve called the dead. Yet the urge for inappropriate laughter boils inside. Some things never change.
I give in to a chuckle as the chief emerges just a meter or two in front of me. He never ages, plumping out before my eyes the same way every time, as he did when I was a teen. The dead don’t grow older. Whatever age they are at death is what they’ll be forever.
I work for a company that relocates the dead. Land’s at a premium in 2049. Can’t have those pesky gravesites in the way of progress.
Did I mention I hate my job?
The chief’s gaze fills with my energy, plumping to grapes from the shriveled raisins of seconds before.
“Master.” His headdress moves as he talks.
“Chief,” I reply. I tear my gaze away. Arrogant looks less so now, trying to rouse his AFTD cohort I put into a fugue a minute ago.
Good luck with that.
“How may I serve you?”
“Injuns again, Caleb?” Gramps chirps from his back. I spare him a glance, smiling despite the grim circumstance.
“You okay?” I yell.
He gives a little smile. “I'll live, got my bell rung.”
I nod at Gramps even as I swing my head to look at the government guys. Maybe time for a little clean up.
The Skopamish track my gaze.
Arrogant’s eyes widen, his hand falling away from the shoulder Gramps whacked.
No words are uttered, but tomahawks are loosened from their bindings. Metal makes a distinct sound as it escapes its moorings.
The Skopamish shuffle forward, dropping the undead awkwardness with each step.
Becoming more alive.
Just more.
CHAPTER TEN
Pax
I’m playing hop-along and it ain’t no picnic as Gramps would say. Nausea churns, and cold sweat collects on my feverish flesh.
My arm’s a numb horror, and I can’t think for it.
I stay in the greenbelts where the bots don’t roam.
Like buffalo.
I cackle. And that’s when it hits me: I’m touched in the head.
I haven’t eaten in hours, my arm’s a pretzel, and Paxton is just a little giddy from shock and exhaustion, so excuse his delirium.
And I can’t leave this fucked up world until I find my sister .
I stumble and fall to my knees. I left my
“Two: what in the hell are you doing here and why?”
I put my hands on my hips.
“That’s three questions,” Arrogant replies.
I can hear only the sounds of vehicles whizzing over our heads at one hundred fifty-five miles per hour. It’s just loud enough to drown out the small noises of mandatory greenbelts and the wildlife that lives there.
I give Gramps a full look, one he can interpret without any paranormal talent whatsoever.
Gramps doesn’t hesitate. He flicks the cigarette toward the asswipe, and Arrogant reacts instantly, batting the flaming cancer stick away.
Gramps hammers him in the shoulder with the butt of the shotgun.
Arrogant staggers back.
Their telekinetic comes out of hiding and slams Gramps on the road with a palm swipe in the air.
Gramps cracks his head, and I engage.
It’s actually more a matter of my power breathing a sigh of relief to be out of its cage. First, I give old AFTD suit a love tap that parks him on his ass, hard.
Raw satisfaction washes through me.
The undead summons falls over the five miles over which I have complete control. The dead cut a path to me like a beam from a lighthouse.
It’s always been a flaw of mine, the lack of preparedness. If I’d been thinking (and who the hell is when your kids are in parts unknown, with government skulkers milling around), I’d have realized that geographically, I’m closer to Gramps than to my house.
The Skopamish rise in a tide of feathers, leather, and war paint.
Oops.
They disrupt the road’s built-in pulse magnetization instantly, and cars spin above us. The other rails instantly reform intersects to stabilize the little disaster I conjure.
Sorry guys, just having a little zombie soiree here in the middle of the highway.
My kids are missing, we have a situation , Gramps is on the ground, and I’ve called the dead. Yet the urge for inappropriate laughter boils inside. Some things never change.
I give in to a chuckle as the chief emerges just a meter or two in front of me. He never ages, plumping out before my eyes the same way every time, as he did when I was a teen. The dead don’t grow older. Whatever age they are at death is what they’ll be forever.
I work for a company that relocates the dead. Land’s at a premium in 2049. Can’t have those pesky gravesites in the way of progress.
Did I mention I hate my job?
The chief’s gaze fills with my energy, plumping to grapes from the shriveled raisins of seconds before.
“Master.” His headdress moves as he talks.
“Chief,” I reply. I tear my gaze away. Arrogant looks less so now, trying to rouse his AFTD cohort I put into a fugue a minute ago.
Good luck with that.
“How may I serve you?”
“Injuns again, Caleb?” Gramps chirps from his back. I spare him a glance, smiling despite the grim circumstance.
“You okay?” I yell.
He gives a little smile. “I'll live, got my bell rung.”
I nod at Gramps even as I swing my head to look at the government guys. Maybe time for a little clean up.
The Skopamish track my gaze.
Arrogant’s eyes widen, his hand falling away from the shoulder Gramps whacked.
No words are uttered, but tomahawks are loosened from their bindings. Metal makes a distinct sound as it escapes its moorings.
The Skopamish shuffle forward, dropping the undead awkwardness with each step.
Becoming more alive.
Just more.
CHAPTER TEN
Pax
I’m playing hop-along and it ain’t no picnic as Gramps would say. Nausea churns, and cold sweat collects on my feverish flesh.
My arm’s a numb horror, and I can’t think for it.
I stay in the greenbelts where the bots don’t roam.
Like buffalo.
I cackle. And that’s when it hits me: I’m touched in the head.
I haven’t eaten in hours, my arm’s a pretzel, and Paxton is just a little giddy from shock and exhaustion, so excuse his delirium.
And I can’t leave this fucked up world until I find my sister .
I stumble and fall to my knees. I left my
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