Read Online Wild Cards 14 - Marked Cards by George R.R. Martin - Free Book Online
Authors: George R.R. Martin
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head.
Jerry figured there was nothing to be gained talking to either of these two. He pulled a glove out of his pocket and shoved it deep into the mouth of his conscious captive. Having cuffed him first, Jerry did the same to the one who was out. Whatever other reason Battle had for using these men, it wasn't for their personal hygiene. They smelled like a garbage dump on an August afternoon.
There was a soft voice behind him. "Now, Bobby Joe."
Something closed around Jerry's wrist. His bones ground together and he stifled a scream. The gun clattered to the linoleum floor. Jerry twisted his head around and saw the giant form in the dim light. He'd seen this guy before - smelled him too. It hadn't been the Cubans. If only he'd remembered!
Booby Joe, aka the Crypt Kicker, was dead. He looked worse than the last time Jerry had seen him, under the Rox. The Crypt Kicker was dressed in jet black, with a half-hood over one side of his face. The hood draped so that Jerry could tell a sizable portion of his skull was missing underneath it. There was a crimson cross over one eye, and the dead man looked like someone had used him for flamethrower practice. Jerry's jacket began to smoke where the Crypt Kicker was holding it. He tried to whip-kick the dead giant, but his foot glanced off without getting so much as a grunt.
"Make it look like an accident if you can, Bobby Joe. Keep it quiet. I'll be down the hall." Battle patted Jerry on me cheek and smiled. "Enjoy it."
A huge hand clamped over Jerry's mouth, searing his flesh with noxious chemicals. He started to change. As afraid as he was of being inhuman, he was a lot more scared of being dead. Lon Chaney Jr.'s wolfman was a sentimental favorite, but he'd seen The Howling recently, and that lycanthrope looked considerably more lethal. Jerry elongated his mouth into a snout and filled it with sharp teeth. Claws formed at the ends of his fingers and toes. He bit down on his enemy's wrist and began worrying at the dead flesh. Bits came off in his mouth, acid-sour and putrid.
Crypt Kicker tossed him in the air. Jerry brought his legs underneath him and landed on all fours. A coat of thick hair now covered him from head to foot. He could see better, too. His blood was pounding, and Jerry wanted the kill, wanted to feel his enemy's throat in his mouth and tear the life from it. He growled and charged.
The lumbering giant brought his fists down as Jerry leapt in, catching him on the shoulder and knocking him aside. Jerry pounced up on one of the lab tables and bared his teeth. Crypt Kicker lurched forward, arms outstretched. Jerry scrambled out of the way and launched himself onto the corpse-thing's back. He tore through the clothing and into the muscles in the dead monstrosity's back and shoulders, the flesh burning his lips and mouth. The giant, moving quicker than Jerry had anticipated, pushed himself over backwards and landed on top of Jerry. He felt a rib give way under the weight.
Jerry crawled away and looked around the room. This was a losing battle. There was no way he could kill someone who was already dead. He saw a freezer in the corner and ran for it. Jerry opened the door with a clawed hand, and turned to make sure Crypt Kicker was following him. He was. Jerry dodged into the freezer and crouched in the back, among cases of pharmaceuticals. The room was about twelve feet deep and half as wide. Crypt Kicker appeared in the doorway, ducking to get inside. He seemed unable to locate his enemy in the darkness. Jerry picked up a case with clawed hands and tossed it at Crypt Kicker, then darted out between the giant's legs. He slammed the door shut and brought down the heavy metal handle. A slow, heavy pounding began on the door. Jerry figured it would keep him there, for awhile anyway.
Jerry crept out into the hall and sniffed. Battle was still there, and close. He hunched down and walked down the hall, claws clicking on the cold floor. There was a different smell now. Fear.
Jerry figured there was nothing to be gained talking to either of these two. He pulled a glove out of his pocket and shoved it deep into the mouth of his conscious captive. Having cuffed him first, Jerry did the same to the one who was out. Whatever other reason Battle had for using these men, it wasn't for their personal hygiene. They smelled like a garbage dump on an August afternoon.
There was a soft voice behind him. "Now, Bobby Joe."
Something closed around Jerry's wrist. His bones ground together and he stifled a scream. The gun clattered to the linoleum floor. Jerry twisted his head around and saw the giant form in the dim light. He'd seen this guy before - smelled him too. It hadn't been the Cubans. If only he'd remembered!
Booby Joe, aka the Crypt Kicker, was dead. He looked worse than the last time Jerry had seen him, under the Rox. The Crypt Kicker was dressed in jet black, with a half-hood over one side of his face. The hood draped so that Jerry could tell a sizable portion of his skull was missing underneath it. There was a crimson cross over one eye, and the dead man looked like someone had used him for flamethrower practice. Jerry's jacket began to smoke where the Crypt Kicker was holding it. He tried to whip-kick the dead giant, but his foot glanced off without getting so much as a grunt.
"Make it look like an accident if you can, Bobby Joe. Keep it quiet. I'll be down the hall." Battle patted Jerry on me cheek and smiled. "Enjoy it."
A huge hand clamped over Jerry's mouth, searing his flesh with noxious chemicals. He started to change. As afraid as he was of being inhuman, he was a lot more scared of being dead. Lon Chaney Jr.'s wolfman was a sentimental favorite, but he'd seen The Howling recently, and that lycanthrope looked considerably more lethal. Jerry elongated his mouth into a snout and filled it with sharp teeth. Claws formed at the ends of his fingers and toes. He bit down on his enemy's wrist and began worrying at the dead flesh. Bits came off in his mouth, acid-sour and putrid.
Crypt Kicker tossed him in the air. Jerry brought his legs underneath him and landed on all fours. A coat of thick hair now covered him from head to foot. He could see better, too. His blood was pounding, and Jerry wanted the kill, wanted to feel his enemy's throat in his mouth and tear the life from it. He growled and charged.
The lumbering giant brought his fists down as Jerry leapt in, catching him on the shoulder and knocking him aside. Jerry pounced up on one of the lab tables and bared his teeth. Crypt Kicker lurched forward, arms outstretched. Jerry scrambled out of the way and launched himself onto the corpse-thing's back. He tore through the clothing and into the muscles in the dead monstrosity's back and shoulders, the flesh burning his lips and mouth. The giant, moving quicker than Jerry had anticipated, pushed himself over backwards and landed on top of Jerry. He felt a rib give way under the weight.
Jerry crawled away and looked around the room. This was a losing battle. There was no way he could kill someone who was already dead. He saw a freezer in the corner and ran for it. Jerry opened the door with a clawed hand, and turned to make sure Crypt Kicker was following him. He was. Jerry dodged into the freezer and crouched in the back, among cases of pharmaceuticals. The room was about twelve feet deep and half as wide. Crypt Kicker appeared in the doorway, ducking to get inside. He seemed unable to locate his enemy in the darkness. Jerry picked up a case with clawed hands and tossed it at Crypt Kicker, then darted out between the giant's legs. He slammed the door shut and brought down the heavy metal handle. A slow, heavy pounding began on the door. Jerry figured it would keep him there, for awhile anyway.
Jerry crept out into the hall and sniffed. Battle was still there, and close. He hunched down and walked down the hall, claws clicking on the cold floor. There was a different smell now. Fear.
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