Read Online Revolution by Shawn Davis, Robert Moore - Free Book Online
Authors: Shawn Davis, Robert Moore
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protesters. Some sort of bizarre sixth sense was telling him that something was wrong and he couldn’t shake the feeling of doom that had suddenly overcome him.
Peter turned away from his friend and began pushing his way past the spectators on the sidewalk, as he moved in the direction of the limousine. He found a clear strip of sidewalk and began sprinting after it.
“Hey, where are you going? Wait up!” Billy shouted as he pushed his way past some spectators and ran after his friend.
Peter sprinted down the sidewalk as if his life depended on it, dodging groups of spectators as he encountered them. Billy followed for a short while and then gave up, coughing. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.
After thirty seconds of sprinting, Peter reached the vanguard of the parade at the same time as the limo. He slowed his pace and began walking alongside the marchers at the forefront as the limo drove past them and continued down the street. Halfway down the block, the limousine stopped and began a smooth, mid-air, one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. It remained stationary, hovering next to the left-hand sidewalk as the front line of protestors approached it from a hundred feet away.
“What’s that limo doing?” Peter whispered as he joined the protesters at the edge of the parade as they marched toward the hovering limousine.
A cold shiver crawled slowly up his spine like an icy-legged spider, as he observed the tinted back window of the limousine slide open. He spotted a gleam from a metal object in the limo’s interior and began to back away from the crowd.
Metallic thunder blasted through the air like a sudden storm as white sparks exploded from the open window of the limousine. Peter dove into a group of spectators on the sidewalk to avoid a bullet storm ripping into the street. His body smashed into the body of another spectator, taking them both down. Hitting the ground, he instinctively covered his head.
Peter glanced up to see the crowd of protestors at the front of the parade being torn apart by machine gun fire. Bloody red bullet-holes appeared like black magic in convulsing bodies. Glancing left toward the limousine, he saw machine gun lightning flashing from the back window. He could barely make out the shadowy silhouette of a person firing from the interior. The firing seemed to last for hours as the panicked crowd screamed with pain and fear, rushing to escape the onslaught. Peter watched them get cut down like wheat by a reaper’s scythe.
Peter was too stunned to think clearly as he watched the limo’s back door suddenly fly open and a human silhouette drop to the street from the rear compartment. The firing ceased as the limo initiated another smooth 180-degree turn until it was facing the opposite direction.
The jet engines roared like thunder as the limo raced down the street at top speed. A lone human silhouette remained lying on the street in its wake, crumpled in the road in front of the bloody massacre. Peter stared in horror at the blood-spattered bodies stretched across the road like piles of human debris.
The remaining protesters broke apart and ran screaming in panic in all directions. Peter got to his feet when he realized he was going to get trampled in the mad stampede. He ran over to the closest run-down apartment building and ducked into the adjacent alleyway, watching the protestors scrambling madly in various directions like a herd of gazelles being attacked by a rampaging lion.
When he realized most of the spectators had scrambled for cover in nearby doorways and alleyways, Peter stepped cautiously out from his place of cover and moved toward the slaughtered bodies. He stopped next to the body of the man who Ryder had identified earlier as the famous Civil Rights Activist, Martin Prince.
Glancing down at the man’s body, Peter noticed he was holding a
Peter turned away from his friend and began pushing his way past the spectators on the sidewalk, as he moved in the direction of the limousine. He found a clear strip of sidewalk and began sprinting after it.
“Hey, where are you going? Wait up!” Billy shouted as he pushed his way past some spectators and ran after his friend.
Peter sprinted down the sidewalk as if his life depended on it, dodging groups of spectators as he encountered them. Billy followed for a short while and then gave up, coughing. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one up.
After thirty seconds of sprinting, Peter reached the vanguard of the parade at the same time as the limo. He slowed his pace and began walking alongside the marchers at the forefront as the limo drove past them and continued down the street. Halfway down the block, the limousine stopped and began a smooth, mid-air, one-hundred-eighty-degree turn. It remained stationary, hovering next to the left-hand sidewalk as the front line of protestors approached it from a hundred feet away.
“What’s that limo doing?” Peter whispered as he joined the protesters at the edge of the parade as they marched toward the hovering limousine.
A cold shiver crawled slowly up his spine like an icy-legged spider, as he observed the tinted back window of the limousine slide open. He spotted a gleam from a metal object in the limo’s interior and began to back away from the crowd.
Metallic thunder blasted through the air like a sudden storm as white sparks exploded from the open window of the limousine. Peter dove into a group of spectators on the sidewalk to avoid a bullet storm ripping into the street. His body smashed into the body of another spectator, taking them both down. Hitting the ground, he instinctively covered his head.
Peter glanced up to see the crowd of protestors at the front of the parade being torn apart by machine gun fire. Bloody red bullet-holes appeared like black magic in convulsing bodies. Glancing left toward the limousine, he saw machine gun lightning flashing from the back window. He could barely make out the shadowy silhouette of a person firing from the interior. The firing seemed to last for hours as the panicked crowd screamed with pain and fear, rushing to escape the onslaught. Peter watched them get cut down like wheat by a reaper’s scythe.
Peter was too stunned to think clearly as he watched the limo’s back door suddenly fly open and a human silhouette drop to the street from the rear compartment. The firing ceased as the limo initiated another smooth 180-degree turn until it was facing the opposite direction.
The jet engines roared like thunder as the limo raced down the street at top speed. A lone human silhouette remained lying on the street in its wake, crumpled in the road in front of the bloody massacre. Peter stared in horror at the blood-spattered bodies stretched across the road like piles of human debris.
The remaining protesters broke apart and ran screaming in panic in all directions. Peter got to his feet when he realized he was going to get trampled in the mad stampede. He ran over to the closest run-down apartment building and ducked into the adjacent alleyway, watching the protestors scrambling madly in various directions like a herd of gazelles being attacked by a rampaging lion.
When he realized most of the spectators had scrambled for cover in nearby doorways and alleyways, Peter stepped cautiously out from his place of cover and moved toward the slaughtered bodies. He stopped next to the body of the man who Ryder had identified earlier as the famous Civil Rights Activist, Martin Prince.
Glancing down at the man’s body, Peter noticed he was holding a
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