Read Online Scenes from an Unholy War by Hideyuki Kikuchi - Free Book Online Page B

intended to seat two would be filled by Gil alone. Only D could sit in the armchairs.
    “This will be fine,” D said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
    “Wow,” said Josh, a ridiculously large, recoilless antitank rifle slung across his back and an expression of surprise on his face as he followed suit. “Now here’s a deputy who knows how to act.”
    “First, a drink,” Gil said, taking the cup that hung from his combat vest and setting it down in front of D, then filling it with an amber-colored liquid. An eye-popping stench filled the room. It definitely wasn’t the smell of alcohol. “This whiskey’s got a wild cobra head in it. Pretty cool, eh?” Though his tone was amiable, his eyes weren’t laughing.
    Starting with a drink—it was something of an anachronism, but a good way to size somebody up.
    Without a word, D took the cup and drained it in one gulp.
    “You might . . .” Josh began to say. From the way he started to reach out to stop the Hunter, it was apparent he was the most conscientious of the three, but he was too late.
    Whiskey with a wild cobra head in it was used to anesthetize monsters and supernatural creatures in the five-ton-and-over class—things like armored serpents or temblor rhinos. It was more of a drug than a drink, and almost more of a poison than a drug, and even the most seasoned alcoholic would be knocked on his ass with the first sip. Together, the three of these guys might be able to drain the cup in two or three minutes. Palau’s face seemed to say, This clown doesn’t have any idea what he’s doing!
    Saying nothing, D set down the empty cup. There was no sign of the kind of reaction the trio expected. The Hunter’s complexion didn’t change a bit. He wasn’t even breathing hard.
    After exchanging glances, it was Josh that spoke for them, asking, “How was it?” He looked apprehensive.
    “That’s no way to handle this,” Gil said, casually taking hold of the grip of an enormous revolver, while the other two reached for blades tucked through their belts. Though Josh’s was just an oversized knife, Palau’s was a machete that could lop the head off a steer.
    Sometimes this whiskey gave people nightmarish hallucinations. Apparently pursued by unimaginable visions, they would scream “No!” and “Help!” as they waved around a sword or fired wildly with a gun. It was utter madness. The men thought this was a precursor to such an incident.
    D pushed the cup in front of Gil. “Aren’t you going to have a drink?”
    Over forty years old, with a stubbly beard on his red face, the man grinned and said, “You’re damned straight I am!” Grabbing the bottle, he filled the cup to the brim.
    “Hey!” Josh called out anxiously, and this seemed to be Gil’s signal to drain the cup. As soon as he did, his body lifted a foot off the floor, as if the ground had tossed him up. It was the result of his muscles gone mad. There was a loud thud. It was the sound of Gil’s heart beating. In midair, his massive form doubled over at the waist. Then he fell. There was another thud. His face was crimson, but it wasn’t flushed from the alcohol coursing through his blood. He was bleeding. Blood gushed from every pore in his face.
    “Hey!”
    “ Gil? ”
    The other two grabbed hold of his shoulders.
    “Shut your yaps,” the bloodied mercenary replied.
    “Are you okay?”
    “See if you can say, ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.’”
    He told his boisterous colleagues, “Shut up, or else!” Suddenly, he pulled a pair of automatic handguns from the plastic shoulder holsters under either arm and waved them at the other two. Taking his eyes off his now-silenced friends, he asked the Hunter, “How was that?”
    “I’d call it a draw,” said D.
    “All right. Now we can get down to brass tacks!” Gil said, cup still in hand. “The truth is, during the day I came and proposed this to the good sheriff, and he kicked my ass right out, but . . .” Gil went