Read Online Geekomancy by Michael R. Underwood - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael R. Underwood
Ads: Link
looked more fake a second ago. It was tall, tall enough that she didn’t have a reach advantage with her kicks. Infighting would be stupid, since, y’know, claws and teeth. To prove her point, the weresuit’s claws tore at her blouse, leaving three gashes just under the bust.
Eastwood better pay to have this shit replaced.
Ree circled back and around, trying to get clear enough to make a break for it. The beast’s next dive was telegraphed Western Union, so she was able to grab its left arm with both hands, step aside, and swing it into the side of a Dumpster, headfirst. There was a most gratifying thud, but no crack or crunch that would have signaled a serious blow.
In fact, her attacker pushed the Dumpster aside with ease—disconcerting, given the fact that it was full and should have weighed the better portion of a ton.
When the weresuit howled this time, the sound was pure wolfman. Ree’s skin broke out in goose bumps, riding a wave of real fear. The thing snapped at her, jaws throwing more spittle than her retriever. Also, Booster never tried to bite her head off, though he did occasionally seem to be trying to lick her face to the bone.
She caught the weresuit across the temple with an elbow as she zigged, then wrapped up its near arm, trying for an arm bar while guiding the creature’s forward momentum into a downward spin; she needed to end the fight or get herself the lead time to run. The weresuit pawed at her, but with her leverage on its arm, she didn’t take anything more than a few shallow scratches.
“Down, boy!” she said through gritted teeth, adjusting the hold as the furry beast squirmed and huffed. She cranked the arm even farther and heard a satisfying crack. There. The weresuit yowled in pain, and Ree slammed it into the ground to compound said pain, then sprang up to run.
Sweet Muppety Hermes, please grant me speed so I can run the hell away.
In the third of the five long paces it took to get out of the alley, Ree lost her other shoe, but she turned to head home, banking that the calluses on her feet from martial arts would protect her enough from the nasty street detritus and any potential tetanus. If she were lucky, a broken arm would be enough of a deterrent to make Weresuit-man-thing reconsider its ambush.
Adam Baldwin’s line echoed in her mind. I’m smelling a lotta “if” coming off this plan .
Not now, Jayne, she told the voice.
Not that she knew why it had attacked her to begin with, or how exactly a guy in a wolfman outfit could climb walls or make a rubber suit strong enough to cut through silk. It had looked more real at the end of the fight than the start, not the other way around. What the hell kind of magic would do that? This being-in-the-dark thing is getting tired really fast.
Ree bolted down the street, thankful now for the sparseness of the traffic, fewer people to slow her down. Would the wolfsuit follow her if she ducked into a store? An apartment? She wracked her brain trying to remember what exactly Eastwood had said about the Doubt, what she’d need to do to be safe. Ree didn’t hear anything chasing her, so she ducked her head back to check.
No one on the street, on the walls, or atop roofs—as far as she could tell.
She kept running.
She ran until her side threatened to secede and start its own sovereign abdominal nation. Checking over her shoulder again—and satisfied with the lack of weresuits—she slowed and ducked into the nearest store, which turned out to be McDonald’s.
She went straight for the bathroom to get a sense of how preposterous she looked. Her shirt hadn’t frayed any more, thanks to the tight weave of the silk. She had scrapes and cuts over her torso and arms but nothing on the face. And she didn’t have any bite marks, which was a relief in case the world was so insane that getting bitten by a guy in a wolfman suit could spread Lycanthrubbery.
Ree did what she could to fix her hair, then found a stall and called
Eastwood better pay to have this shit replaced.
Ree circled back and around, trying to get clear enough to make a break for it. The beast’s next dive was telegraphed Western Union, so she was able to grab its left arm with both hands, step aside, and swing it into the side of a Dumpster, headfirst. There was a most gratifying thud, but no crack or crunch that would have signaled a serious blow.
In fact, her attacker pushed the Dumpster aside with ease—disconcerting, given the fact that it was full and should have weighed the better portion of a ton.
When the weresuit howled this time, the sound was pure wolfman. Ree’s skin broke out in goose bumps, riding a wave of real fear. The thing snapped at her, jaws throwing more spittle than her retriever. Also, Booster never tried to bite her head off, though he did occasionally seem to be trying to lick her face to the bone.
She caught the weresuit across the temple with an elbow as she zigged, then wrapped up its near arm, trying for an arm bar while guiding the creature’s forward momentum into a downward spin; she needed to end the fight or get herself the lead time to run. The weresuit pawed at her, but with her leverage on its arm, she didn’t take anything more than a few shallow scratches.
“Down, boy!” she said through gritted teeth, adjusting the hold as the furry beast squirmed and huffed. She cranked the arm even farther and heard a satisfying crack. There. The weresuit yowled in pain, and Ree slammed it into the ground to compound said pain, then sprang up to run.
Sweet Muppety Hermes, please grant me speed so I can run the hell away.
In the third of the five long paces it took to get out of the alley, Ree lost her other shoe, but she turned to head home, banking that the calluses on her feet from martial arts would protect her enough from the nasty street detritus and any potential tetanus. If she were lucky, a broken arm would be enough of a deterrent to make Weresuit-man-thing reconsider its ambush.
Adam Baldwin’s line echoed in her mind. I’m smelling a lotta “if” coming off this plan .
Not now, Jayne, she told the voice.
Not that she knew why it had attacked her to begin with, or how exactly a guy in a wolfman outfit could climb walls or make a rubber suit strong enough to cut through silk. It had looked more real at the end of the fight than the start, not the other way around. What the hell kind of magic would do that? This being-in-the-dark thing is getting tired really fast.
Ree bolted down the street, thankful now for the sparseness of the traffic, fewer people to slow her down. Would the wolfsuit follow her if she ducked into a store? An apartment? She wracked her brain trying to remember what exactly Eastwood had said about the Doubt, what she’d need to do to be safe. Ree didn’t hear anything chasing her, so she ducked her head back to check.
No one on the street, on the walls, or atop roofs—as far as she could tell.
She kept running.
She ran until her side threatened to secede and start its own sovereign abdominal nation. Checking over her shoulder again—and satisfied with the lack of weresuits—she slowed and ducked into the nearest store, which turned out to be McDonald’s.
She went straight for the bathroom to get a sense of how preposterous she looked. Her shirt hadn’t frayed any more, thanks to the tight weave of the silk. She had scrapes and cuts over her torso and arms but nothing on the face. And she didn’t have any bite marks, which was a relief in case the world was so insane that getting bitten by a guy in a wolfman suit could spread Lycanthrubbery.
Ree did what she could to fix her hair, then found a stall and called
Similar Books
