Read Online The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 1: American Nightmares (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #1) by Michael Panush - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Panush
tumbled down from the trees above us, as bullets cut grooves in jungle wood. The gunshots kicked up dirt as we tried to get to cover. I figured we could wait them out, get them to reload while I doubled back and put some hurt on them. But that’s when I saw them wheeling in a heavy machine gun, a goddamn .50 cal they must use to keep Batista’s planes off of them.
I swore. This mission had just gone and got fouled up in a big way. There was no sign of Baum’s boy, and now it looked like we were gonna be torn to shreds by the guerillas, without even getting a chance to begin negotiations. I fumbled for my second grenade. Staying to fight was out of the question. It was time to make some tracks.
“We split up!” I shouted. “Try and lose them in the jungle! Reconvene back at the beach, and then maybe we can pick some of them off! You all got that?” A bullet made a new hole in the brim of my fedora, and I tried to keep my head down. I saw them pointing the .50 cal our way, threading in the ammo belt and preparing the weapon. We didn’t have much time. I didn’t wait for my pals to agree to my plan.
I popped the pin, cooked it for three long seconds and then hurled it forward. The grenade landed in the center of the sandbags, and the guerillas started running away, scattering into their camp just before an explosion tore into the dirt and shook the trees around them.
Even before the dust had settled, I was up and running. I didn’t have time to look out for Miss Rosa or Belasco, as I pounded down the slope towards the wide blue sea. I weaved through the trees, hearing the whine and crack of bullets behind me like the snarls of angry beasts. Every second, I imagined one sliding between my ribs or erupting out of the back of my skull. I sucked in air as I tried to reach the beach.
I remembered doing this before, with mortar strikes screaming down around me and fellow soldiers dying like rats in the snow from withering machine gun fire. At least I didn’t have the Third Reich to contend with this time. But that was small comfort when I reached the beach and stopped running at the water’s edge, stepping back to avoid the incoming surf.
I looked over my shoulder. “Miss Rosa?” I asked. “Belasco?” There was no response. I wondered if the Commies had nabbed them. I sighed as I looked back at the ocean. It was pale green in the afternoon sun, stretching out over rocks gone smooth from the pounding waves. I kicked at the sand. “Hell,” I muttered.
I heard footsteps behind me and turned around. Weatherby Stein had made it at least. He sank to his knees, struggling to catch his breath and then looked up at me. “Did Miss Rosa and Mr. Belasco make it out?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” I said. “And I don’t exactly want to go back.” I started thinking about a way out of this jam, but nothing popped up. I put my hands in the pockets of my trench coat and turned around, kicking up another spray of sand on the surf.
Then something moved under the sand. I stepped back, reaching for my pistol as I saw a withered hand gone gray from rot reach out from the yellow sand. Another hand followed it, and then a torso with a head on it. Half of that head was missing.
“Zombies!” I cursed. “Stand back, kid. I’ll send this dead chucklehead back to the grave.”
“Wait!” Weatherby stepped in front of me, ruining my shot. I would have slugged him and taken the shot, but he knew more about the occult than anything else, so I peeled back my ears and listened. “It has yet to attack!” he explained. “If that was its purpose, it would have grabbed your leg and sunk its decaying teeth into your flesh, but it has not done so!”
We both looked down at the zombie. It had burrowed out of the sand, and slowly came to its feet. All he had to wear were rags. I had no idea what the zombie had been in life. But like Weatherby said, it didn’t attack. Instead, it turned on its heel and waved a hand with two fingers
I swore. This mission had just gone and got fouled up in a big way. There was no sign of Baum’s boy, and now it looked like we were gonna be torn to shreds by the guerillas, without even getting a chance to begin negotiations. I fumbled for my second grenade. Staying to fight was out of the question. It was time to make some tracks.
“We split up!” I shouted. “Try and lose them in the jungle! Reconvene back at the beach, and then maybe we can pick some of them off! You all got that?” A bullet made a new hole in the brim of my fedora, and I tried to keep my head down. I saw them pointing the .50 cal our way, threading in the ammo belt and preparing the weapon. We didn’t have much time. I didn’t wait for my pals to agree to my plan.
I popped the pin, cooked it for three long seconds and then hurled it forward. The grenade landed in the center of the sandbags, and the guerillas started running away, scattering into their camp just before an explosion tore into the dirt and shook the trees around them.
Even before the dust had settled, I was up and running. I didn’t have time to look out for Miss Rosa or Belasco, as I pounded down the slope towards the wide blue sea. I weaved through the trees, hearing the whine and crack of bullets behind me like the snarls of angry beasts. Every second, I imagined one sliding between my ribs or erupting out of the back of my skull. I sucked in air as I tried to reach the beach.
I remembered doing this before, with mortar strikes screaming down around me and fellow soldiers dying like rats in the snow from withering machine gun fire. At least I didn’t have the Third Reich to contend with this time. But that was small comfort when I reached the beach and stopped running at the water’s edge, stepping back to avoid the incoming surf.
I looked over my shoulder. “Miss Rosa?” I asked. “Belasco?” There was no response. I wondered if the Commies had nabbed them. I sighed as I looked back at the ocean. It was pale green in the afternoon sun, stretching out over rocks gone smooth from the pounding waves. I kicked at the sand. “Hell,” I muttered.
I heard footsteps behind me and turned around. Weatherby Stein had made it at least. He sank to his knees, struggling to catch his breath and then looked up at me. “Did Miss Rosa and Mr. Belasco make it out?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” I said. “And I don’t exactly want to go back.” I started thinking about a way out of this jam, but nothing popped up. I put my hands in the pockets of my trench coat and turned around, kicking up another spray of sand on the surf.
Then something moved under the sand. I stepped back, reaching for my pistol as I saw a withered hand gone gray from rot reach out from the yellow sand. Another hand followed it, and then a torso with a head on it. Half of that head was missing.
“Zombies!” I cursed. “Stand back, kid. I’ll send this dead chucklehead back to the grave.”
“Wait!” Weatherby stepped in front of me, ruining my shot. I would have slugged him and taken the shot, but he knew more about the occult than anything else, so I peeled back my ears and listened. “It has yet to attack!” he explained. “If that was its purpose, it would have grabbed your leg and sunk its decaying teeth into your flesh, but it has not done so!”
We both looked down at the zombie. It had burrowed out of the sand, and slowly came to its feet. All he had to wear were rags. I had no idea what the zombie had been in life. But like Weatherby said, it didn’t attack. Instead, it turned on its heel and waved a hand with two fingers
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