Read Online Ferine Apocalypse (Novella): 4 Hours by John F. Leonard - Free Book Online
Authors: John F. Leonard
Tags: Zombies
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wasn’t quite right.
Shock and fear was more accurate.
Chapter 11
Mask
The figure had a gun.
A rifle.
Maybe military issue. SA80 A2 was his first thought.
Lightweight and formidable. Powerful and deadly.
Maybe a fake, but Pearcey wasn’t about to chance that. The possibility was scary enough.
The rifle was vaguely pointed in their direction.
Wavering, floating. Not aimed directly at them, downward and off to the side, but a flex of the arm and twitch of a finger would make that irrelevant.
The man was wearing a gas mask, the hood of his coat over it.
If the gun was possibly military and current, the mask reminded Pearcey of something from an antique shop. The coat was a thigh length grey parka that belonged in an eighties indie music video.
The combination was unsettling.
Let’s hear it for understatement. A big round of applause please.
Pearcey was pretty much unnerved.
He was at a loss.
The world had gone surreal zombie horror with a twist. Creatures from the twilight zone prowling the streets. Now, into the bargain, some lunatic had managed to creep up on him. A lunatic that looked, for all the world, like some nightmare apocalypse cliché.
It was all getting to be too much. If Pearcey thought he was too old for this shit he was becoming surer by the second. He really didn’t need this latest dose of the bizarre. He had plenty to be going on with.
He slowly stood.
Hands loose at his side, once he was upright.
“I want to come with you. I’ll help do whatever you have to do. Yeah yeah, blah blah, whatever the fuck that is. What I really want is to get into the bunker. That will be uber cool.”
The man swung the rifle as he spoke.
The motion held an hypnotic appeal. The barrel seemed huge. The grip stupidly small, resting against the waxy cotton of the jacket.
Pearcey took a moment.
Breathed and tried to think.
If that rifle started blasting away, life was going to get short. If he pulled the pistol in his jacket and took the bastard out it was going to be noisy.
He could do it.
At least he thought he could.
Kill the fucker stone dead in an instant. But if he got it wrong it would be a disaster.
Even if he got it right, it would still be potentially disastrous.
So Pearcey went along with it.
Why not? The world had moved into a place that made crazy appear sane. What was one more shot of insanity in this churning mix of madness.
“The more the merrier my friend. Providing that you stop pointing that gun at me. I’m allergic to friendly fire.”
Pearcey smiled a broad smile and sat back down. Dazzling white teeth framed by a wide brown face. Motioned for the man to come over and join them. He may have been tenser at some point in his life, but he couldn’t recall the time.
And to his amazement, the man came closer and sat.
Laid the gun across his legs so that it was fractionally less threatening.
“Don’t worry about this.”
He indicated the rifle.
“I won’t hurt anyone who isn’t going to hurt me.”
Pearcey thought there might be some friendliness, humour even, in his tone, but it was hard to tell through the distortion of the mask.
<><><>
He seemed friendly enough. Began to talk without any prompting.
“My name’s Wayne. Wayne Raylens.”
He extended a hand and they shook. Pearcey hadn’t noticed up until that point, but the man was wearing surgical gloves. Flesh coloured. The touch of them was ambiguously disturbing.
Pearcey made introductions, but got the impression that Wayne Raylens was hardly listening. Had an ill-defined notion that the man wasn’t interested in other people.
The mask, the gloves, there was beginning to be a certain logic to it, given the circumstances. He wasn’t sure how much real sense it made.
“Where’s your shelter? Is it a full-on bunker thing? Hardened Cold War shit? Man, I have got to get myself inside there. I’m perfect for that.”
Pearcey nodded.
“Yeah, it’s government shelter. Just across the
Shock and fear was more accurate.
Chapter 11
Mask
The figure had a gun.
A rifle.
Maybe military issue. SA80 A2 was his first thought.
Lightweight and formidable. Powerful and deadly.
Maybe a fake, but Pearcey wasn’t about to chance that. The possibility was scary enough.
The rifle was vaguely pointed in their direction.
Wavering, floating. Not aimed directly at them, downward and off to the side, but a flex of the arm and twitch of a finger would make that irrelevant.
The man was wearing a gas mask, the hood of his coat over it.
If the gun was possibly military and current, the mask reminded Pearcey of something from an antique shop. The coat was a thigh length grey parka that belonged in an eighties indie music video.
The combination was unsettling.
Let’s hear it for understatement. A big round of applause please.
Pearcey was pretty much unnerved.
He was at a loss.
The world had gone surreal zombie horror with a twist. Creatures from the twilight zone prowling the streets. Now, into the bargain, some lunatic had managed to creep up on him. A lunatic that looked, for all the world, like some nightmare apocalypse cliché.
It was all getting to be too much. If Pearcey thought he was too old for this shit he was becoming surer by the second. He really didn’t need this latest dose of the bizarre. He had plenty to be going on with.
He slowly stood.
Hands loose at his side, once he was upright.
“I want to come with you. I’ll help do whatever you have to do. Yeah yeah, blah blah, whatever the fuck that is. What I really want is to get into the bunker. That will be uber cool.”
The man swung the rifle as he spoke.
The motion held an hypnotic appeal. The barrel seemed huge. The grip stupidly small, resting against the waxy cotton of the jacket.
Pearcey took a moment.
Breathed and tried to think.
If that rifle started blasting away, life was going to get short. If he pulled the pistol in his jacket and took the bastard out it was going to be noisy.
He could do it.
At least he thought he could.
Kill the fucker stone dead in an instant. But if he got it wrong it would be a disaster.
Even if he got it right, it would still be potentially disastrous.
So Pearcey went along with it.
Why not? The world had moved into a place that made crazy appear sane. What was one more shot of insanity in this churning mix of madness.
“The more the merrier my friend. Providing that you stop pointing that gun at me. I’m allergic to friendly fire.”
Pearcey smiled a broad smile and sat back down. Dazzling white teeth framed by a wide brown face. Motioned for the man to come over and join them. He may have been tenser at some point in his life, but he couldn’t recall the time.
And to his amazement, the man came closer and sat.
Laid the gun across his legs so that it was fractionally less threatening.
“Don’t worry about this.”
He indicated the rifle.
“I won’t hurt anyone who isn’t going to hurt me.”
Pearcey thought there might be some friendliness, humour even, in his tone, but it was hard to tell through the distortion of the mask.
<><><>
He seemed friendly enough. Began to talk without any prompting.
“My name’s Wayne. Wayne Raylens.”
He extended a hand and they shook. Pearcey hadn’t noticed up until that point, but the man was wearing surgical gloves. Flesh coloured. The touch of them was ambiguously disturbing.
Pearcey made introductions, but got the impression that Wayne Raylens was hardly listening. Had an ill-defined notion that the man wasn’t interested in other people.
The mask, the gloves, there was beginning to be a certain logic to it, given the circumstances. He wasn’t sure how much real sense it made.
“Where’s your shelter? Is it a full-on bunker thing? Hardened Cold War shit? Man, I have got to get myself inside there. I’m perfect for that.”
Pearcey nodded.
“Yeah, it’s government shelter. Just across the