Read Online Queen of the Dead by Ty Drago - Free Book Online Page B

Angels’ mission in any way at all. But he wasn’t. In fact, he looked resigned, maybe even grim, as he rose out of a chair in the back and trudged forward to stand beside Sharyn. Once there, the giant kid towered over the Boss Angel—at least half a foot taller and maybe a hundred pounds heavier.
    But I knew she could kick his ass.
    Fact was, we probably all could.
    Before he had gotten his Eyes, Dave Burger had been a force to be reckoned with in his neighborhood. A local fighter, even a bully. But here in this world of the walking dead with its very real dangers, he’d found out quickly that he lacked the speed and—sorry, Dave—the smarts to stand up against kids half his size who’d been trained in what Sharyn called “street karate.”
    But here he was, and I couldn’t help but wonder why.
    Eyeing the Burgermeister up, Sharyn hastily screwed the needle off the end of her syringe.
    â€œThere!” she announced, showing everyone her handiwork. “Harmless. Hot Dog, stand right there. Now turn a little so’s everyone can see your front. Cool! Just like that. Now…”
    The Boss Angel addressed us, “Last night, I had old Vader with me and used that to convince the Deader’s arms to be elsewhere. That made stickin’ him a whole lot easier. Y’all won’t have that advantage, so there’s a number of ways you can play it.
    â€œFirst, you can come up at ’em from the front. Hot Dog, I want you to do your best to tag me. Don’t hold back, dig?”
    â€œI guess,” he muttered. Then, as if reaching some internal decision, he came forward suddenly and swung his meaty fist at Sharyn’s head.
    She ducked smoothly under it.
    He swung the other fist, a sweeping haymaker that, if it had landed, would probably have knocked the girl’s head right off her shoulders.
    Sharyn moved as though made of liquid, weaving under the arcing arm, sidestepped, and, with Dave momentarily off balance, drove her fist—with the syringe in it—hard into the Burgermeister’s belly. Then she made a show of hammering down the plunger with her thumb.
    He gasped and doubled over as Sharyn jumped back about six feet.
    â€œKill!” she announced. “Stick, plunge, and back off. It’s that simple.”
    Dave straightened, more surprised than hurt by the blow.
    â€œThanks, Hot Dog. Y’all see where that hit? Right above the navel. Nothing behind there but soft stuff. Now let me show you the rear attack.” She motioned to Dave, twirling her finger.
    Sighing, he turned obediently around.
    â€œThis is trickier,” she admitted. “From the front, you got this whole section here…from the solar plexus to the pelvic bone. From the back, though, the sweet spot’s smaller and a little harder to nail. You want to hold the Ritter like this”—she flipped the syringe over in her hand so the business end, needleless, stuck out of the top of her fist instead of the bottom—“then it’s about quiet. Don’t count on a Corpse showing you his back in combat. The only way you’re likely to get a chance like this if you sneak up on his smelly butt.”
    She made a show of creeping up on Dave, who fidgeted nervously, knowing what was coming.
    â€œWhen you hit, use both hands—one to stick and one to plunge. Like this.”
    Sharyn rammed the syringe into Dave’s lower right side, making him wince. Then, shifting her weight, she hammered in the plunger with the heel of her other hand. A second later, she was six feet away again.
    â€œYou want to make the hit just above the kidney. Too high and you scrape a rib. Too low and you hit the hip bone. You can go for the butt, but Steve-O says the juice needs a lot longer to work in fat than it does in muscle or tissue.” She grinned. “Questions?”
    Chuck asked. “How many Deaders have you nailed this way?”
    â€œFour,”