Read Online Grunt Traitor by Weston Ochse - Free Book Online Page B

batteries for my NVDs, so we didn’t have that advantage. But with the wide open roads and few trees, we could see for quite a good distance.
    We left Golden Hills and crossed a wide space that the map pegged as a gravel pit. On the other side was San Dimas Golf Canyon Course. This close to the mountain there seemed to be a lot of golf courses, which I didn’t mind a bit. Urban warfare was my least favorite type of combat, especially patrolling streets with high-rise buildings. Every doorway, every window held the potential for death. In Iraq, I’d developed an ache in the center of my shoulders from the sheer stress of waiting to be shot in the back.
    We walked side by side, carrying our rifles. I’d put my Leupold scope on mine. We were about halfway across the gravel pit when I saw the coyotes—three of them, their eyes catching the sheen of the moon. I raised my scope and with enough moonlight, was able to pull in their image. Something was off about them. Coyotes normally avoided humans, unless they were rabid. These began loping towards us.
    “Shit. Here they come.” The last thing I wanted to do was announce our presence with gunfire. “I’ll see if I can take them out, but if they get too close, open up on them.”
    I sighted in on the first and led it by about five feet as I pulled the trigger three times. The first two rounds caught it in the face and back, sending it tumbling to the ground. I fired twice at the one on the left as it juked and jived, and caught it. Must have broken its back; it was still alive, but couldn’t move its back legs. Still, it tried to claw towards us.
    Dupree caught the last one in a hail of full auto.
    I pulled my pistol and strode to the one with the broken back. I put two in its head, then backed away as fast as I could.
    “Hey, Dupree?”
    “I see it. Better stay away.”
    “Those are ascocarps, aren’t they?”
    What looked to be a dozen knife-shaped outcroppings were sticking from the coyotes’ chests and shoulders. The tips of each were dark, as if they’d been dipped in blood.
    “Look at those Cordyceps . I’ve seen this type on a tarantula. Looks almost like antlers. Only this is a mammal.”
    I heard the high-pitched whine of a motorcycle off to the south.
    I grabbed him. “Run!”
    I took off at a dead sprint.
    Dupree struggled to follow, his breath coming fast and furious. We made a rise in the gravel just as a motorbike skidded into the pit on the other side.
    I shoved Dupree to the ground as I fell sideways, desperate to get below the pit’s artificial horizon. Dupree landed face first and groaned as he slid another seven feet down the other side. I spun and put my aiming point on the bike rider’s chest.
    She was about twenty, thick in the waist and arms, and wore her hair in a Mohawk. She also had on night vision goggles and was surveying the area.
    I jerked my head down when she looked in my direction. Two other motorcycles joined her.
    I crabbed to where Dupree was struggling to roll over and helped him to his feet. We ran down an embankment, through several rows of trees, and onto the golf course. I sprinted across the fairway. Once I was in the opposite tree line, I found a low place and dropped my pack. I jerked the AN\PVS-7 free, turned it on, and slid it on my head, all before Dupree fell heavily beside me.
    “Put your back to that tree,” I said, pointing to where he wouldn’t make a silhouette.
    He scooted into position, then pulled out a rag, wetted it, and wiped blood from his face from where the gravel had lacerated him.
    Meanwhile, I had my rifle ready as I scanned an artificially illuminated night. The sky, the ground, the trees were all different shades of green. I listened for the sound of a motorcycle, but didn’t hear a thing.
    Had they gone?
    Had they decided to move on?
    This was exactly the thing I didn’t want—to be pinned down and lose time. I wanted us to be in and out, without interacting with the remnants of what had