Read Online Death World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 5) by B. V. Larson - Free Book Online
Authors: B. V. Larson
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Harris before he could turn back around, but he must have heard me coming. He spun around and grinned with blood in his mouth.
“Why are we always meeting up like this, McGill?”
“At least this time it was my idea,” I replied.
“See you in Hell, boy!” he shouted, and threw his knife at me.
It was a surprise move and expertly executed. The blade flipped once and drove right toward my chest. Our knives are sharper than simple steel, and I knew that if that point hit dead-on with that much force, I was going to be taken down.
Twisting with all the speed I had left in me, I took it in the shoulder. My right arm was numb after that, but I managed to grip my knife in my left.
Advancing, it was my turn to grin. Harris had disarmed himself.
But Harris didn’t miss a beat. He stooped and grabbed Carlos’ knife out of his dead hand. How had he managed to find it in an instant under a foot of mud? I don’t know, but I’d always thought Harris was a man who could fight like the devil himself.
Around us, the wild roars and screams of battle had died down. Many of the combatants on both sides were dead or too injured to continue. Most of the survivors were busy dragging themselves out of the mud-pit. Only a few were still in the game.
Harris and I slashed and circled, shuffling awkwardly in the mud. I kept backing up, drawing him toward the deep section, which had been my original plan. To some degree, it worked. He snarled and fought to take me down quickly with lunges and thrusts, but I stayed in the fight.
My right arm hung, almost useless. My left was bleeding too, having picked up a slash somewhere along the line.
“You’re the one who will bleed out this time,” Harris said, grinning at me.
He was right, but I didn’t bother to reply. The last time we’d fought with knives, he’d had the upper hand, but he’d lost too much blood and passed out. This time, it looked like I would suffer the same fate.
But I had a plan, of sorts. I kept retreating, drawing him into the deepest mud. He followed with a greedy light in his eye. He wanted to see me fall.
When I figured it couldn’t get any deeper, I made my play. I reversed myself and came on hard, making wide, sweeping slashes. My arms are longer than an ape’s, according to every schoolmate I’d ever scuffled with, and those slashes were hard to avoid.
Now, you have to understand something about Harris: he doesn’t like to get hurt. He likes to win as cleanly as he can. His first instinct, therefore, was to fall back before my onslaught and look for an opening to dart into and finish me.
When he took his first backpedalling step the sucking mud pulled at his legs, locking him in, slowing him down. I switched tactics again, stopping the slashes. I made an my all-out lunge while he was off-balance, and I saw the shock in his eyes.
I’d planted my blade in his chest, stopping his heart. Even so, he got his knife around to stab me in the back. The move opened me up, but didn’t quite put me down. Harris sank, slowly.
Roaring and grinning, I lifted my knife and whirled around, looking for fresh challengers.
At first, I thought there wasn’t anyone left. About half the combatants were dead and floating. Most of the rest were lying on the shore around the pit, struggling to breathe.
Bio people had shown up from somewhere. They were like vultures when anyone died. They were tending to those who could easily be patched up and hauling the rest away to the recycling center.
Then I spotted a figure. She was relatively near, but I hadn’t noticed her because she was as motionless as a tiger in tall grass.
It was Della.
My heart sank, and I felt a little sick. In my rage and frustration, I’d forgotten that she was part of Harris’ squad.
She came toward me, realizing she’d been spotted. She watched me with predatory eyes and moved like a cat stalking prey. Somehow, even bare-breasted and covered in filth, she still managed to look graceful.
I let
“Why are we always meeting up like this, McGill?”
“At least this time it was my idea,” I replied.
“See you in Hell, boy!” he shouted, and threw his knife at me.
It was a surprise move and expertly executed. The blade flipped once and drove right toward my chest. Our knives are sharper than simple steel, and I knew that if that point hit dead-on with that much force, I was going to be taken down.
Twisting with all the speed I had left in me, I took it in the shoulder. My right arm was numb after that, but I managed to grip my knife in my left.
Advancing, it was my turn to grin. Harris had disarmed himself.
But Harris didn’t miss a beat. He stooped and grabbed Carlos’ knife out of his dead hand. How had he managed to find it in an instant under a foot of mud? I don’t know, but I’d always thought Harris was a man who could fight like the devil himself.
Around us, the wild roars and screams of battle had died down. Many of the combatants on both sides were dead or too injured to continue. Most of the survivors were busy dragging themselves out of the mud-pit. Only a few were still in the game.
Harris and I slashed and circled, shuffling awkwardly in the mud. I kept backing up, drawing him toward the deep section, which had been my original plan. To some degree, it worked. He snarled and fought to take me down quickly with lunges and thrusts, but I stayed in the fight.
My right arm hung, almost useless. My left was bleeding too, having picked up a slash somewhere along the line.
“You’re the one who will bleed out this time,” Harris said, grinning at me.
He was right, but I didn’t bother to reply. The last time we’d fought with knives, he’d had the upper hand, but he’d lost too much blood and passed out. This time, it looked like I would suffer the same fate.
But I had a plan, of sorts. I kept retreating, drawing him into the deepest mud. He followed with a greedy light in his eye. He wanted to see me fall.
When I figured it couldn’t get any deeper, I made my play. I reversed myself and came on hard, making wide, sweeping slashes. My arms are longer than an ape’s, according to every schoolmate I’d ever scuffled with, and those slashes were hard to avoid.
Now, you have to understand something about Harris: he doesn’t like to get hurt. He likes to win as cleanly as he can. His first instinct, therefore, was to fall back before my onslaught and look for an opening to dart into and finish me.
When he took his first backpedalling step the sucking mud pulled at his legs, locking him in, slowing him down. I switched tactics again, stopping the slashes. I made an my all-out lunge while he was off-balance, and I saw the shock in his eyes.
I’d planted my blade in his chest, stopping his heart. Even so, he got his knife around to stab me in the back. The move opened me up, but didn’t quite put me down. Harris sank, slowly.
Roaring and grinning, I lifted my knife and whirled around, looking for fresh challengers.
At first, I thought there wasn’t anyone left. About half the combatants were dead and floating. Most of the rest were lying on the shore around the pit, struggling to breathe.
Bio people had shown up from somewhere. They were like vultures when anyone died. They were tending to those who could easily be patched up and hauling the rest away to the recycling center.
Then I spotted a figure. She was relatively near, but I hadn’t noticed her because she was as motionless as a tiger in tall grass.
It was Della.
My heart sank, and I felt a little sick. In my rage and frustration, I’d forgotten that she was part of Harris’ squad.
She came toward me, realizing she’d been spotted. She watched me with predatory eyes and moved like a cat stalking prey. Somehow, even bare-breasted and covered in filth, she still managed to look graceful.
I let
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