Read Online SEAL Team 13 (SEAL Team 13 series) by Evan Currie - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Evan Currie
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already doing.
The shotgun roared, a full load of double-aught buck slamming into the man’s chest at point-blank range. The man barely even stumbled—he certainly didn’t fly backward like in the movies—and despite his apparent lack of balance, he didn’t fall. Leland’s eyes widened as the man reached out for him, stepping right into arm’s reach, his curled fingers actually grabbing the sheriff’s shoulder and throat.
Leland lifted the barrel of the Remington, resting it on his attacker’s clavicle so that it was pointed directly at the underside of his jaw, and squeezed the trigger a second time. The resulting explosion of blood, gore, bone, and brain fragments spattered across the curved wall of the machine shop like modern art while some blew back and sprayed across the near shell-shocked sheriff’s face and chest.
This time the man went down in a slump, right at Leland’s feet. A moment passed, one heartbeat and then two, and Leland slowly came to his senses again. He looked up from the source of the wet spatter covering his face and neck only to see dozens of eyes staring back at him from faces just like the one he’d blown to bits.
The machine shop was filled with them.
What in the Lord’s last lament is going on here?
He stared at them as they stared back, unable to quite believe what he was seeing. It was something out of a horror movie, not real life. They couldn’t be what they looked like—dead folk didn’t walk. The flesh looked like it was rotting, practically falling away from the bone in places, but still he couldn’t process it.
Finally, after the long silence, he locked onto the one idea that made some modicum of sense.
Poor bastards must have been exposed to some bad radiation. That’s the only thing that might do this and leave them walking for a time.
That sickening thought did little to ease his mind, however, as Leland lowered his weapon and began pawing the blood and gore from his face.
“Goddamn it! What the hell did you lot get exposed to? Is it safe in here?” he muttered, still trying to clean himself off.
No one spoke to him as he backed toward the door in an effort to put some distance between himself and the contamination that had to be filling the shop. He held up his hand as calmingly as he could, his strained brain missing the fact that he was the only one in the place who was panicking.
“Just remain where you are, and I’ll radio for help from town,” he said as he continued to edge himself backward.
“No,” said a dry and rasping yet distinctly female voice as a hand clamped onto his shoulder like iron. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Leland half turned, screamed again as he wondered how many more shocks he could take. How did she get behind me?
The woman at least looked marginally better than the rest, but her skin was still leathery dry, and it was pulled back on her face like she was the victim of a botched facelift. Her teeth were yellow and aged behind the rictus of her lips, looking like they’d been exposed to air for years. It made a bizarre bit of sense to him, however, as he didn’t suppose she could close her mouth with her skin pulled back so tightly.
He tried to wrest himself from her, but the iron grip just tightened, and he found that he couldn’t move at all. She looked from him to the corpse on the floor, one thin dark eyebrow lifting almost casually before she shook her head.
“Idiot. Couldn’t control the hunger.”
Leland blinked, finally taking in her accent. She wasn’t from Barrow, that was for sure, but in all fairness, there weren’t many who were. Still, he’d heard all sorts of accents over the years, from all places on the map, and hers wasn’t one he knew. It sounded foreign, ancient even, and it was the oddest he’d heard before.
He was still puzzling it out, trying to ignore the throbbing and stabbing pain from his left arm, when the woman turned her dark eyes on him with a casual, almost
The shotgun roared, a full load of double-aught buck slamming into the man’s chest at point-blank range. The man barely even stumbled—he certainly didn’t fly backward like in the movies—and despite his apparent lack of balance, he didn’t fall. Leland’s eyes widened as the man reached out for him, stepping right into arm’s reach, his curled fingers actually grabbing the sheriff’s shoulder and throat.
Leland lifted the barrel of the Remington, resting it on his attacker’s clavicle so that it was pointed directly at the underside of his jaw, and squeezed the trigger a second time. The resulting explosion of blood, gore, bone, and brain fragments spattered across the curved wall of the machine shop like modern art while some blew back and sprayed across the near shell-shocked sheriff’s face and chest.
This time the man went down in a slump, right at Leland’s feet. A moment passed, one heartbeat and then two, and Leland slowly came to his senses again. He looked up from the source of the wet spatter covering his face and neck only to see dozens of eyes staring back at him from faces just like the one he’d blown to bits.
The machine shop was filled with them.
What in the Lord’s last lament is going on here?
He stared at them as they stared back, unable to quite believe what he was seeing. It was something out of a horror movie, not real life. They couldn’t be what they looked like—dead folk didn’t walk. The flesh looked like it was rotting, practically falling away from the bone in places, but still he couldn’t process it.
Finally, after the long silence, he locked onto the one idea that made some modicum of sense.
Poor bastards must have been exposed to some bad radiation. That’s the only thing that might do this and leave them walking for a time.
That sickening thought did little to ease his mind, however, as Leland lowered his weapon and began pawing the blood and gore from his face.
“Goddamn it! What the hell did you lot get exposed to? Is it safe in here?” he muttered, still trying to clean himself off.
No one spoke to him as he backed toward the door in an effort to put some distance between himself and the contamination that had to be filling the shop. He held up his hand as calmingly as he could, his strained brain missing the fact that he was the only one in the place who was panicking.
“Just remain where you are, and I’ll radio for help from town,” he said as he continued to edge himself backward.
“No,” said a dry and rasping yet distinctly female voice as a hand clamped onto his shoulder like iron. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
Leland half turned, screamed again as he wondered how many more shocks he could take. How did she get behind me?
The woman at least looked marginally better than the rest, but her skin was still leathery dry, and it was pulled back on her face like she was the victim of a botched facelift. Her teeth were yellow and aged behind the rictus of her lips, looking like they’d been exposed to air for years. It made a bizarre bit of sense to him, however, as he didn’t suppose she could close her mouth with her skin pulled back so tightly.
He tried to wrest himself from her, but the iron grip just tightened, and he found that he couldn’t move at all. She looked from him to the corpse on the floor, one thin dark eyebrow lifting almost casually before she shook her head.
“Idiot. Couldn’t control the hunger.”
Leland blinked, finally taking in her accent. She wasn’t from Barrow, that was for sure, but in all fairness, there weren’t many who were. Still, he’d heard all sorts of accents over the years, from all places on the map, and hers wasn’t one he knew. It sounded foreign, ancient even, and it was the oddest he’d heard before.
He was still puzzling it out, trying to ignore the throbbing and stabbing pain from his left arm, when the woman turned her dark eyes on him with a casual, almost
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