Read Online This Mortal Coil by Logan Thomas Snyder - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Logan Thomas Snyder
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pity.
Theresa pulled herself upright using the pilot’s chair for leverage. Even over the rush of the wind, Willem could hear her screaming like a banshee. Whatever she said, it convinced the pilot to right the helicopter.
Scarcely more than a minute later, the pilot eased the helicopter down in the shadow of a large, featureless structure. His hand was barely off the stick before Theresa plunged her blade hilt-deep into his sternum, twisting the knife violently. A tortured growl escaped his lips, along with a bright red skein of blood. She twisted harder, undeterred. With no voice left to cry out, the pilot could only grimace. His face was ashen, a twisted mask of pain and betrayal.
“If ever you were going to shoot me, Will,” Theresa mused, “now would be the time, don’t you think?”
Willem just shook his head, watching as she carved up the pilot like a side of beef.
“So, you’re back on my side, then?”
“I’ve always been on your side. Things just got… complicated.”
“Complicated,” she sniffed, looking back to the ailing pilot. “You got that right.”
“What did you tell him?” Joss asked. “To make him land?”
“That I’d make it quick.” She yanked the knife free of the pilot’s torso, watching as he bled out. Her eyes practically glittered at the sight. Cleaning the blade on the leg of his uniform, she stood and shoved it into her belt. A delightfully mad smile tugged at her lips. “I lied.”
A wet, expectorating rattle announced the pilot’s expiration. Pinkish foam clung to his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. A thin stream of arterial blood dangled listlessly from his lower lip. His eyes, cold and empty, reflected everything, projected nothing.
Maybe it was the weight of what had just transpired—the transactional nature of life and death—but suddenly the air inside the cockpit felt heavier. Willem could feel it on his skin, taste it in his mouth like a fine gray grit. He started to swallow, then thought better of it.
“Guys,” Lucas said in a low voice from behind. “I think this is it. I think we’re here.”
Willem and Theresa pushed their way to the front, peering out over Lucas’s shoulders. “How can you tell?”
“Well, for starters, just look at it.”
He had a point. The edifice rising before them was so utterly nondescript—featureless, windowless, lifeless—as to be almost invisible despite its monolithic size. It was only as they disembarked the helicopter one after another that Lucas’s suspicions were confirmed by the presence of a twenty-foot wall topped with razor wire ringing the perimeter. Someone very much wanted to keep them out…
Or the occupants in.
Either way, the site merited further investigation.
“Rifles up,” Willem ordered. “Keep low. Move in teams, like the hunters.”
Theresa nodded. “We’ve got your back, Will.”
Willem hopped out of the helicopter and hustled forward, followed by Joss and Lucas. Theresa, Elam, and Marcus brought up the rear, swiveling their rifles this way and that despite the lack of targets to fix on. Indeed, the building appeared to be completely undefended. There were no towers or guards, nothing at all to indicate it was of any importance whatsoever.
“What now?” Theresa mouthed as they piled up on either side of the double doors that appeared to be its only point of entry.
Willem shrugged, reaching for one of the doors. “On three,” he mouthed back.
Theresa reached for the other door. “On three.”
“One… two…”
“ Three !”
Together, they yanked open the doors.
Just inside the space revealed, a man stood stiffly before them. He was middle aged and thickset with salt-and-pepper hair trimmed neatly against his temples and a powerful, jutting chin. Whatever he thought of the bedraggled, rifle-toting posse that greeted his beryl blue gaze, it was lost in the flatness of his features. It was as if the whole of his existence had been dedicated to
Theresa pulled herself upright using the pilot’s chair for leverage. Even over the rush of the wind, Willem could hear her screaming like a banshee. Whatever she said, it convinced the pilot to right the helicopter.
Scarcely more than a minute later, the pilot eased the helicopter down in the shadow of a large, featureless structure. His hand was barely off the stick before Theresa plunged her blade hilt-deep into his sternum, twisting the knife violently. A tortured growl escaped his lips, along with a bright red skein of blood. She twisted harder, undeterred. With no voice left to cry out, the pilot could only grimace. His face was ashen, a twisted mask of pain and betrayal.
“If ever you were going to shoot me, Will,” Theresa mused, “now would be the time, don’t you think?”
Willem just shook his head, watching as she carved up the pilot like a side of beef.
“So, you’re back on my side, then?”
“I’ve always been on your side. Things just got… complicated.”
“Complicated,” she sniffed, looking back to the ailing pilot. “You got that right.”
“What did you tell him?” Joss asked. “To make him land?”
“That I’d make it quick.” She yanked the knife free of the pilot’s torso, watching as he bled out. Her eyes practically glittered at the sight. Cleaning the blade on the leg of his uniform, she stood and shoved it into her belt. A delightfully mad smile tugged at her lips. “I lied.”
A wet, expectorating rattle announced the pilot’s expiration. Pinkish foam clung to his nostrils and the corners of his mouth. A thin stream of arterial blood dangled listlessly from his lower lip. His eyes, cold and empty, reflected everything, projected nothing.
Maybe it was the weight of what had just transpired—the transactional nature of life and death—but suddenly the air inside the cockpit felt heavier. Willem could feel it on his skin, taste it in his mouth like a fine gray grit. He started to swallow, then thought better of it.
“Guys,” Lucas said in a low voice from behind. “I think this is it. I think we’re here.”
Willem and Theresa pushed their way to the front, peering out over Lucas’s shoulders. “How can you tell?”
“Well, for starters, just look at it.”
He had a point. The edifice rising before them was so utterly nondescript—featureless, windowless, lifeless—as to be almost invisible despite its monolithic size. It was only as they disembarked the helicopter one after another that Lucas’s suspicions were confirmed by the presence of a twenty-foot wall topped with razor wire ringing the perimeter. Someone very much wanted to keep them out…
Or the occupants in.
Either way, the site merited further investigation.
“Rifles up,” Willem ordered. “Keep low. Move in teams, like the hunters.”
Theresa nodded. “We’ve got your back, Will.”
Willem hopped out of the helicopter and hustled forward, followed by Joss and Lucas. Theresa, Elam, and Marcus brought up the rear, swiveling their rifles this way and that despite the lack of targets to fix on. Indeed, the building appeared to be completely undefended. There were no towers or guards, nothing at all to indicate it was of any importance whatsoever.
“What now?” Theresa mouthed as they piled up on either side of the double doors that appeared to be its only point of entry.
Willem shrugged, reaching for one of the doors. “On three,” he mouthed back.
Theresa reached for the other door. “On three.”
“One… two…”
“ Three !”
Together, they yanked open the doors.
Just inside the space revealed, a man stood stiffly before them. He was middle aged and thickset with salt-and-pepper hair trimmed neatly against his temples and a powerful, jutting chin. Whatever he thought of the bedraggled, rifle-toting posse that greeted his beryl blue gaze, it was lost in the flatness of his features. It was as if the whole of his existence had been dedicated to
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