Archiwum
- Index
- Baum, L Frank Oz 30 Captain Salt in Oz
- Baum, L Frank Oz 38 The Shaggy Man of Oz
- Frank Herbert Hellstrom's Hive
- Alan Dean Foster The Damned 03 The Spoils of War (v1.0) (Undead)
- Janrae Frank Journey of Sacred King 01 My Sister's Keeper
- Forstchen, William R & Morrison, Greg Crystal Warriors 2 Crystal Sorcerers
- Browning Amanda Grecka przysić™ga
- Brenden Laila Hannah 08 Znak Ognia
- Cass
- 161. Harlequin Temptation Ross JoAnn Ten trzeci
- zanotowane.pl
- doc.pisz.pl
- pdf.pisz.pl
- marcelq.xlx.pl
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They bent over the body of Sergeant Mantell, the electrician.
He had been ripped almost in half; his throat bore so many bite-marks that the
Ylesgaires had nearly decapitated him and ripped wide gashes along his arms
and thighs. The vampires must still have been hungry because now they were
fighting over Mantell's organs and seemed quite prepared to tear each other
apart for the chance to feast on the heart.
Sinclair's presence changed matters. They looked up as soon as the captain hit
the ground, and regarded him with feral, hungry eyes and eager fangs. They
bounded towards him on all fours. There were no threats, no teasing of the
prey; they had no time to play with their food. All that mattered was the
feeding.
"GODS DAMN YOU, YOU FILTHY SLURP BASTARDS!"
roared Sinclair, venting his rage and the contents of his machine pistol at
the ticks. He sent a spray of nine-millimeter hollow-points in their
direction. They scattered at once; one
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
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266
tick leaping up onto the console and the other weaving towards Sinclair. It
closed with its prey in an instant, its mouth clamping onto Sinclair's
gun-arm, making him gasp with pain. Not wanting to share his subordinate's
fate, Sinclair reached with his left hand for his combat knife and stabbed as
hard as he could into his attacker's neck. The knife sank in up to the hilt,
cutting through skin and muscle and embedding itself in the Ylesgaire's
thorax. The creature expired quickly, but its jaws had locked on his arm and
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it would take Sinclair precious seconds to extricate himself. To add to his
despair, the other vampire came leaping around to attack him from the left.
Thanking his lucky stars that most lesser bloods were light and scrawny,
Sinclair wheeled clumsily around, and had just enough feeling in his right
hand to squeeze the trigger once again. More by luck than judgment, the
remaining fanged beast caught a tight grouping of hollow-points in the chest,
blowing its ribcage wide open, adding a further unwholesome note to the room's
malodorous scent. Sinclair was alone once again. Panting, he tried to free his
arm, but he could not prise the dead vampire's jaws apart. Cursing, the
captain flicked the safety catch back on, took the gun in his left hand, and
pistol-whipped the Ylesgaire about the jaw until he heard a loud snap. Each
strike served to drive the fangs deeper into his arm, eliciting another wince
and gasp from Sinclair, but after landing three such blows the slurp's mouth
hung uselessly open and he was free.
Staggering over to the console, Sinclair tried to make sense of the banks of
controls, before deciding to just pull the
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
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267
big levers and hope for the best. He breathed a sigh of relief as the main
generators came on-stream with a loud thrum, and lights started to flicker.
"Trence, this is Sinclair. Lights and elevators will be back up within a few
minutes. I'm on my way back, over."
Trence replied instantly. "Thanks, Sinclair. I really appreciate that."
"Should hope so! Bagged a couple of slurps down here."
"Ah, crap. What about, what's-his-name, Sergeant...?"
"Mantell?"
"Yeah."
"He didn't make it. Took some fangs to the arm myself."
"Shit! Get back up here, Sinclair. Tick bites go septic fast."
"Never woulda guessed that
. Heading back now. Out."
* * * *
Dwight Greene Hospital was a shadow of its former self;
the firefight had laid waste to its lower stories, smashing all the windows
and leaving its corridors scattered with rubbish.
Gurneys and cleaning trolleys sat unattended, pictures laid strewn on the
floor, jolted from their hooks by explosions, their frames twisted and
shattered, and any windows that had not been entirely smashed were at least
cracked and broken.
Only the upper floors had escaped, but even then they were scarcely untouched
by the ravages of war. All the signs of a hasty and recent evacuation
remained, giving the place the appearance of a deserted ship.
Only two people remained, moving from ward to ward with increasing
frustration. Their journey had left their black
Mother Damnation [The Blessed and the Damned I]
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268
leather greatcoats ragged, and each had lost their cap in the killing field.
Lesueur had lost his temper. Enraged, he flipped over one of the beds,
overturning the nightstand and a jug of water in the process. "Damnation!
Where is he? Where in the
Glistening One's name is he?"
"Language," chided Demanet. The other officer did not look up from the
clipboard he had found. "You shan't find him anywhere near here, no matter how
many beds you look under."
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Lesueur kicked at the overturned cabinet, splitting its door apart with his
booted foot. "What the Hell is up with you these days?"
"Hm?"
"Are you trying to piss me off or something? Is that it?"
Demanet rolled his eyes. "Hardly. Now calm down, will you? I'm thinking."
"Oh, do forgive me. I wouldn't want to stop the genius from thinking
, now would I?"
"Of course you wouldn't," sighed Demanet. "Now stop making a fool of yourself
and listen. The Fox was here.
These," he added, thrusting the clipboard into Lesueur's hands, "are his
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