Read Online The Down Home Zombie Blues by Linnea Sinclair - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Linnea Sinclair
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populace, getting another agent in place.”
That meant more dark, stinking, humid alleys. And, given the conditions, a damned tactical headache. “Understood, sir.”
Pietr leaned forward. “Let me throw this into the equation. How old are you, Commander?”
Jorie tried not to frown. It never was a good idea to frown at one of Pietr’s questions, no matter how digressive they seemed at the moment. “Thirty-nine, sir.”
“Would you like to make the rank of captain before you turn forty?”
She sat very still. Would she like to make captain? Did a graknox like to roll in the mud? Did a fermarl like to copulate in
liaso
hedges?
“Yes, sir.”
Pietr held up his index finger. “Find out how this herd managed to get so large without fracturing.” He held up a second finger. “And then terminate it. Every one. And that captaincy will be yours.”
So. All she had to do was ascertain why zombies were now capable of actions that were scientifically impossible and then conduct a ground war with small, less-than-optimally equipped teams in a nil-tech locale where the populace more than likely would consider those same Guardians their enemy. Definitely a tactical headache if she ever saw one.
But the bliss, oh, the bliss, if she pulled it off!
Theo sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Anger, frustration, and exhaustion vied for control of his body. After twenty minutes of prying and poking into every corner of the cabin and moving what furniture wasn’t bolted to the floor, he was unable to find any means of escape. Three armed guards and that curly-haired woman who seemed to be Mikkalah’s subordinate had escorted him here, produced a tray of food from a dispenser set into the far wall, and left. He had no doubt that at least one of those guards was still outside his door. He could take one on, probably. Two would be difficult, but he was more than willing to make the effort, if he could just get the damned door open!
But he couldn’t get the damned door open. And he couldn’t find any other way out of the cabin. Which was, if he was in the mood to admit it, actually nicer than the room he’d stayed in at that new Holiday Inn Express in the Keys last year.
He rubbed his eyes. He had a raging headache. He was hungry. There was a tray and a pitcher of water waiting for him on the small table. He didn’t know if those yellow apple-looking things really were apples. Or what the pale mushy stuff in the covered container was.
And he was too spent to cross the short distance to the table to find out. It was almost three in the morning, his body’s time. So he sat, damning himself for walking out of his back door without his gun.
That would have changed things. He wasn’t totally sure how or why, with his mind fuzzy and aching. He just knew it had been a stupid bonehead mistake a seasoned cop like himself should never have made.
Ta ekanes skata.
In the back of his mind, he could hear his Uncle Stavros telling him that he’d screwed up.
His second mistake was not using Mikkalah’s own weapon on her, just before she’d sent them up to her ship. But he hadn’t perceived her as the enemy then. He’d just wanted answers. He didn’t want to hurt her, let alone kill her.
He wasn’t even sure he could kill her now. He’d seen a zombie. He understood, with sickening clarity, what she had to do and why. But if the opportunity came…well, it would feel mighty good to give it a try. That he was physically capable of overpowering her he had no doubt. But he’d have to catch her off guard first, and that was no easy thing to accomplish. Her training was impressive. Maybe she had eyes in the back of her head. Hell, she was an alien. She probably did. She was probably as bad as those zombies she hunted….
All women, he decided sagely as he rubbed at a knot between his brows, were zombies. Especially the beautiful ones. Like Camille. Like this Jorie
That meant more dark, stinking, humid alleys. And, given the conditions, a damned tactical headache. “Understood, sir.”
Pietr leaned forward. “Let me throw this into the equation. How old are you, Commander?”
Jorie tried not to frown. It never was a good idea to frown at one of Pietr’s questions, no matter how digressive they seemed at the moment. “Thirty-nine, sir.”
“Would you like to make the rank of captain before you turn forty?”
She sat very still. Would she like to make captain? Did a graknox like to roll in the mud? Did a fermarl like to copulate in
liaso
hedges?
“Yes, sir.”
Pietr held up his index finger. “Find out how this herd managed to get so large without fracturing.” He held up a second finger. “And then terminate it. Every one. And that captaincy will be yours.”
So. All she had to do was ascertain why zombies were now capable of actions that were scientifically impossible and then conduct a ground war with small, less-than-optimally equipped teams in a nil-tech locale where the populace more than likely would consider those same Guardians their enemy. Definitely a tactical headache if she ever saw one.
But the bliss, oh, the bliss, if she pulled it off!
Theo sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. Anger, frustration, and exhaustion vied for control of his body. After twenty minutes of prying and poking into every corner of the cabin and moving what furniture wasn’t bolted to the floor, he was unable to find any means of escape. Three armed guards and that curly-haired woman who seemed to be Mikkalah’s subordinate had escorted him here, produced a tray of food from a dispenser set into the far wall, and left. He had no doubt that at least one of those guards was still outside his door. He could take one on, probably. Two would be difficult, but he was more than willing to make the effort, if he could just get the damned door open!
But he couldn’t get the damned door open. And he couldn’t find any other way out of the cabin. Which was, if he was in the mood to admit it, actually nicer than the room he’d stayed in at that new Holiday Inn Express in the Keys last year.
He rubbed his eyes. He had a raging headache. He was hungry. There was a tray and a pitcher of water waiting for him on the small table. He didn’t know if those yellow apple-looking things really were apples. Or what the pale mushy stuff in the covered container was.
And he was too spent to cross the short distance to the table to find out. It was almost three in the morning, his body’s time. So he sat, damning himself for walking out of his back door without his gun.
That would have changed things. He wasn’t totally sure how or why, with his mind fuzzy and aching. He just knew it had been a stupid bonehead mistake a seasoned cop like himself should never have made.
Ta ekanes skata.
In the back of his mind, he could hear his Uncle Stavros telling him that he’d screwed up.
His second mistake was not using Mikkalah’s own weapon on her, just before she’d sent them up to her ship. But he hadn’t perceived her as the enemy then. He’d just wanted answers. He didn’t want to hurt her, let alone kill her.
He wasn’t even sure he could kill her now. He’d seen a zombie. He understood, with sickening clarity, what she had to do and why. But if the opportunity came…well, it would feel mighty good to give it a try. That he was physically capable of overpowering her he had no doubt. But he’d have to catch her off guard first, and that was no easy thing to accomplish. Her training was impressive. Maybe she had eyes in the back of her head. Hell, she was an alien. She probably did. She was probably as bad as those zombies she hunted….
All women, he decided sagely as he rubbed at a knot between his brows, were zombies. Especially the beautiful ones. Like Camille. Like this Jorie
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