Read Online Midnight City by J. Barton Mitchell - Free Book Online
Authors: J. Barton Mitchell
Tags: Speculative Fiction
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moment, she felt its cool, glass shape inside among all the other objects and artifacts, and breathed a sigh of relief. Good, he’d brought it with them. All wasn’t lost.
She rifled quickly through the other contents with her hand as it explored the pack’s interior.
After a moment, she found what she was looking for, recognized the cold, metallic, angular shape. She grabbed it, pulled it out—an aging, rusted Zippo lighter—and smiled at the sight.
With her hand, she closed the pack, then grabbed one of its straps. With what little leverage she had while tied to the tree, Mira threw the whole thing forward through the air. It landed even farther than where she had originally grabbed it from, closer to Holt’s cot.
She looked at the Zippo in her hand, closed her fist around it. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. He’d be sorry he ever saw her wanted poster.
10. ZOEY
THE SMOKE WAS THICK and everything was dark. Holt could barely see the end of the shotgun. Max shadowed him as he moved, a gray blue blur below him. He was just a dog, probably no match for whatever was waiting in the smoke … but it made Holt feel better having him there.
The ship’s interior, like its hull, was round. Hulking husks along the walls marked what probably had been control panels. Now they were singed beyond recognition. A few of them still clung to life, spraying the odd spark here and there.
Holt pushed farther in, sighting down the barrel, finger on the trigger.
The smoke was so thick, it was almost impossible to see. He coughed, dropped low, hoping the air was clearer closer to the floor. It was. He could see a little better, too, more of the ship’s insides.
More fried circuitry, more splits in the ship’s hull, some sort of fallen equipment rack, its contents in pieces all over the floor. But there was no sign of survivors, of whatever had made the noises he heard. He was running out of time. The Assembly would be here in minutes, maybe seconds. He should get out now, he told himself, it wasn’t worth—
Movement, a shuffling from just ahead. He heard coughing.
Coughing? Did the Assembly cough? Did they even have lungs?
Steeling himself, Holt crawled ahead, shotgun ready, pushing through the curtains of—
Something long and thin and metallic materialized from the smoke, wrapped around his leg, and started to pull.
“Son of a—!” Holt jumped in fright, scrambled back. Whatever it was withdrew, fading into the smoke and dark.
He fired his shotgun after it.
Sparks sprayed from the opposite wall. There was an electronic-sounding screech, like something crying out through a broken speaker.
And … whispers. Hissings. Something almost like language, but not. Holt couldn’t be sure if he was hearing it … or if it was in his head.
Shadows moved all around him, coming to life in the smoke. Max barked frantically, alarmed and ready to fight. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.…
Holt pushed himself back against the closest wall, raising the shotgun, trying to keep low enough to see anything advancing on him.
The shadows continued to pulse and move. The whispering grew louder in his head, harsher, more frightening. Was this what the Tone sounded like? Is this what the Succumbed heard in their heads?
Holt flinched as the horrible screech came again. Louder this time, grating, ripping his ears. Something sprung for him. Something big. The whispers again, louder, angry …
The Ithaca exploded to life. It was a combat shotgun—it could fire shells one after the other if he needed it to, and right now, he did.
The shotgun fired again and again, blasting the huge shadow backwards. It wailed its strange electronic cry … and then went silent, fading into the dark.
For a moment, there was no movement. No sound. Max whined next to him.
And then a shuddering. That was the only way Holt could describe it. As if the air all around him trembled. The sensation grew stronger, more
She rifled quickly through the other contents with her hand as it explored the pack’s interior.
After a moment, she found what she was looking for, recognized the cold, metallic, angular shape. She grabbed it, pulled it out—an aging, rusted Zippo lighter—and smiled at the sight.
With her hand, she closed the pack, then grabbed one of its straps. With what little leverage she had while tied to the tree, Mira threw the whole thing forward through the air. It landed even farther than where she had originally grabbed it from, closer to Holt’s cot.
She looked at the Zippo in her hand, closed her fist around it. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. He’d be sorry he ever saw her wanted poster.
10. ZOEY
THE SMOKE WAS THICK and everything was dark. Holt could barely see the end of the shotgun. Max shadowed him as he moved, a gray blue blur below him. He was just a dog, probably no match for whatever was waiting in the smoke … but it made Holt feel better having him there.
The ship’s interior, like its hull, was round. Hulking husks along the walls marked what probably had been control panels. Now they were singed beyond recognition. A few of them still clung to life, spraying the odd spark here and there.
Holt pushed farther in, sighting down the barrel, finger on the trigger.
The smoke was so thick, it was almost impossible to see. He coughed, dropped low, hoping the air was clearer closer to the floor. It was. He could see a little better, too, more of the ship’s insides.
More fried circuitry, more splits in the ship’s hull, some sort of fallen equipment rack, its contents in pieces all over the floor. But there was no sign of survivors, of whatever had made the noises he heard. He was running out of time. The Assembly would be here in minutes, maybe seconds. He should get out now, he told himself, it wasn’t worth—
Movement, a shuffling from just ahead. He heard coughing.
Coughing? Did the Assembly cough? Did they even have lungs?
Steeling himself, Holt crawled ahead, shotgun ready, pushing through the curtains of—
Something long and thin and metallic materialized from the smoke, wrapped around his leg, and started to pull.
“Son of a—!” Holt jumped in fright, scrambled back. Whatever it was withdrew, fading into the smoke and dark.
He fired his shotgun after it.
Sparks sprayed from the opposite wall. There was an electronic-sounding screech, like something crying out through a broken speaker.
And … whispers. Hissings. Something almost like language, but not. Holt couldn’t be sure if he was hearing it … or if it was in his head.
Shadows moved all around him, coming to life in the smoke. Max barked frantically, alarmed and ready to fight. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.…
Holt pushed himself back against the closest wall, raising the shotgun, trying to keep low enough to see anything advancing on him.
The shadows continued to pulse and move. The whispering grew louder in his head, harsher, more frightening. Was this what the Tone sounded like? Is this what the Succumbed heard in their heads?
Holt flinched as the horrible screech came again. Louder this time, grating, ripping his ears. Something sprung for him. Something big. The whispers again, louder, angry …
The Ithaca exploded to life. It was a combat shotgun—it could fire shells one after the other if he needed it to, and right now, he did.
The shotgun fired again and again, blasting the huge shadow backwards. It wailed its strange electronic cry … and then went silent, fading into the dark.
For a moment, there was no movement. No sound. Max whined next to him.
And then a shuddering. That was the only way Holt could describe it. As if the air all around him trembled. The sensation grew stronger, more
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