twice cursed mage 05 - claimed (18 page)

Since I didn’t have another of the seven handy to throw into it, I leapt into the air with all the force my calf muscles could generate and tucked myself into my best dive. As I passed through the hole, sparks of current leapt from the edges, singeing my clothes. I ignored the biting and stinging sensation rippling across my body as best I could, but I couldn’t ignore the impact on the other side as easily. I hit the hard-packed earth on the other side hard on my forearms and tucked into a roll that skinned my knees, elbows, and shoulders.

As I came to my feet, a bullet tore through the space next to my ear. I came up onto my feet and spun toward it, unloading the Mossberg as the crack of another gunshot splintered my hearing. My shot caught a guy with a Tavor TAR-21 in the chest and threw him backward. He crashed to the ground a few feet away, but I didn’t have time to admire my handiwork.

The three guys a few steps behind him started firing while ducking for cover. Their automatic rifles cutting erratic arcs through the air around me. I dove sideways, firing my shotgun as I did. I didn’t hit anyone, but thankfully, neither did they because their anyone would have been me.

The impact of the asphalt on my shoulder made my teeth snap together, but I ignored it and scrambled behind what remained of a rusted through pickup truck. Bullets pinged off the metal frame as much as through it, and I dropped to my belly in an effort to keep from getting punched full of holes.

I’d seen three more guys, all clad in military spec gear coming forward, but from the amount of bullets hitting the old car it seemed like there had to have been more than three guys with Tavors. Then again, maybe I’d misjudged the weapons or maybe they’d switched to something else?

Either way, I couldn’t just lay here and hide. If they were any good, they were already moving to flank me while I was pinned down and I wasn’t even sure if my shotgun had taken out the first guy. After all, guys like that would be wearing body armor.

I reached back, pulling my Desert Eagle free from the waistband of my jeans and threw the Mossberg over my shoulder so it hung by its strap. Then I crept forward on my elbows while trying to keep myself down.

A twig snapped behind me, and as I rolled onto my back, finger on the trigger, the head of the guy who had been creeping up on me exploded. Warm spray hit me in the face as the sound of the high caliber rifle tore across the clearing. I wasn’t sure who had fired, but they’d saved me.

As the guy’s body slumped forward onto his knees, the Tavor TAR-21 slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground in front of him. So it was a Tavor. Interesting. The TAR-21 was an Israeli Special Forces’ weapon. If this guy was using one, well, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what his credentials were. If this guy was Special Forces, it stood to reason the others might be as well. Somehow, learning who my attackers were wasn’t as comforting a thought as it should have been. Go figure. Well, there was no time to worry about it now. Not with an unknown gunman putting potshots into people.

Since the sniper hadn’t put a bullet in my skull yet, I reached forward and grabbed the Tavor before scurrying back into my hiding place. It was a good thing too because no sooner had I reached the comfort of my tiny hidey-hole between the rear end of the pickup and a mound of misshapen shopping carts and old water heaters when another round shattered the spot where I’d just been. The report of the rifle was deafening, but I ignored it while trying to keep my heart from hammering its way out of my chest.

Okay, so there were still at least two guys on the other side of the truck lighting up the vehicle like it was their favorite pastime, and a sniper. That was assuming the guy who had taken a shotgun blast to the chest was down. Well, I’d had worse odds. All I needed was a distraction. That, I could do, especially because, you know, I had magic. I stuck the Desert Eagle back in my waistband and readied the Tavor because things were about to get hot in here.

“Tueri,” I said, rising to my feet. As I said the word, fire licked outward across my flesh, covering me in a shield of scarlet flame.

I’d stood for less than an eye blink when a bullet smacked into the side of my skull and sent me sprawling across the dirt. My head exploded in agony and my vision went blurry and far off. My chin rebounded off the ground, and I lay there unable to do anything as the distant sound of that same rifle let me know what had just happened. That sniper had gotten me good, but thanks to my shield, it took more than one headshot to stop Mac Brennan.

I crawled to my feet, shook my head to clear out the cobwebs, and dove across the hood of the pickup like TJ fucking Hooker while firing my Tavor at the guys who had been shooting at the car. Bullets smacked into me, but thanks to my shield, I didn’t die. The two guys firing at me were less lucky.

My Tavor ripped into them, tearing holes through their body armor. I crashed into the ground on the other side of the pickup as they fell sprawling backward onto the ground. I had half a second to be glad it had worked when another rifle round punched through the space beside my ear.

It hurt even though it hadn’t hit me, and without meaning to do it, I let out a cry of pain before I managed to bite it down. Before the sniper could try again, I scrambled to my feet and ran toward the two downed soldiers intending to move past them and use the shack just behind them for cover.

As I reached them, I saw one wasn’t dead, and worse still, he’d popped the spoon on a grenade. I slid to a stop and tried to run back toward the sniper as the world around me exploded. I was flung forward in a hail of dirt and debris that hurt despite my shield. I hit the ground like a broken mannequin and rolled just as gracefully.

The Tavor slipped from my grip, but I ignored it because the flames surrounding me, and protecting me, winked out. The light of my crimson tattoos died, leaving me out in the open with a sniper I still hadn’t managed to locate. Sure, I was obscured by a cloud of dust, but it wouldn’t be long before I got shot, and if I got hit like this, I’d be toast.

“Fuck,” I said, getting slowly to my feet while trying to ignore the ringing in my ears. Everywhere I looked was obscured by dust, and unless I made the right choice, I was as good as dead.

“If that was you with the grenade, Mac. Go left,” Ricky cried in my head, and having no better plans, I did as she said.

As I sprinted as hard as I could, my lungs burning from effort and from inhaling a lungful of dirt, I realized Ricky was so close I could literally feel her presence. I couldn’t tell you why, but as soon as I’d heard her voice, I realized I knew exactly where she was. Well, that was certainly better than a tracking app, and you know, about ten times creepier because, you know, privacy. Still, I guess if I wanted anyone to be able to know where I was at any given time, I’d want it to be Ricky.

When I didn’t immediately have my skull blown apart like a watermelon at a Gallagher show by a sniper round, I drew my Desert Eagle and made my way down a narrow corridor of smashed cars piled twenty feet high. I glanced around the corner of an old, junked forklift, and found myself staring into the blackened faceplate of a soldier. His finger was already pressing down on the trigger of his Tavor as I threw myself backward while firing the Desert Eagle. Bullets bit into the steel forklift before ricocheting off, and for a moment following our brief skirmish it was quiet. Too quiet.

I lay there on my back, gun raised as I waited for the bastard to poke his head out. After a three count nothing had happened, so I slowly got to my feet. I took a deep breath and edged forward, but as I did, I got the distinct sense something was watching me from behind. I took a quick glance over my shoulder and nearly screamed.

A creature that sort of looked like one of those zombie Dobermans from Resident Evil watched me from the end of the corridor. As it made eye contact with me, it bared its fangs and growled. The sound made my hair stand on end.

“Um… nice zombie dog,” I said, trying to ignore the fear swelling in my gut because I didn’t want it to smell the stuff on me. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a nice zombie dog at all because it barreled toward me, jaws snapping.

As it leapt at me with frothy saliva flying from its gaping maw, I put two quick shots into its face. The dog’s head exploded into mist, but that didn’t stop the rest of the headless dog from crashing into me with the full force of its weight and momentum. It threw me backward and out into the crossroads where I’d seen the soldier.

I smacked into the ground as the guy let loose with a blast of his Tavor. The bullets punched through the still-kicking zombie dog, but it probably saved my life even though I was instantly covered with foul-smelling ichor that made my white chamois shirt stick to my body. I ignored it and took advantage of my luck at not being dead to point my Deagle at him and fire.

The .50 caliber rounds caught him in the throat and blew the back of his neck across the rusty Chevrolet behind him. His finger clamped down on the trigger of his Tavor as he collapsed backward, spraying a wild arc of bullets that ricocheted off the smashed cars. I threw my hands over my face as I tried to keep the still-kicking zombie dog between us.

A ricochet caught me in the thigh, and I let out an involuntary cry of pain, which, let me just say is a horrible idea when you’re under a thrashing, bleeding zombie corpse. Putrid slime filled my mouth, causing my stomach to revolt. It was like biting into a rotten egg rolled in ten-day-old fish heads. Everything in my stomach came rushing out, and the only thing I was thankful for was that I managed to make it onto my hands and knees before it burst through my teeth.

I wasn’t sure how long I lay there vomiting, but everything inside my stomach had long since come out. Hell, it was long enough for me to know I could skip ab day. As I wiped the back of my hand with the sleeve of my disgusting cowboy shirt, I shot a quick glance in both directions of the junction.

No one had come, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. It had sure felt like a while, but I doubted the whole episode from start to finish had lasted longer than a minute or two. Still, as I stared at the corpse of the soldier I’d killed, a realization hit me like a jackhammer to the balls. They were all wearing dark clothing and dark helmets.

“Why, that’s a mighty nice uniform you have there. Mind if I borrow it?” A smirk crossed my lips as I stuck the pistol back into my waistband and approached the dead soldier. I mean, hey, if you can’t beat ‘em?

Chapter 23

I’d just finished suiting up in the dead man’s uniform and body armor when he kicked me in the junk. I staggered backward, eyes bugging out of my skull. It felt like everything inside of me had been twisted into a knot. My chest heaved as nausea swept over me. The dead-eyed corpse’s head snapped toward me, regarding me with milky, unseeing eyes before lashing out again. His heel caught me in the ankle, knocking my feet out from under me.

I threw my arm out as I hit the ground, trying to keep from smashing my face into the pavement. I wound up scuffing my new if somewhat bloody clothes, but was immediately less concerned by that because the corpse swung itself around and bit down on my arm.

Its teeth ground against the thick, cotton fabric hard enough for me to feel him gnawing on my bones, but thankfully, it kept him from taking a chunk out of me. I jerked my arm free and scrambled backward while bringing the Tavor up. I fired, holding down the trigger. Bullets slammed into the naked corpse, shredding his chest into hamburger. Unfortunately, he leapt on me anyway.

The full force of his weight slammed into my chest, knocking me flat on my back. My helmet struck the ground with an audible crack, and even as stars flashed across my vision, I had enough sense to swing my head to the side as his fist came down. The sound of the bones in his hand shattering as he hit the asphalt beside my skull was audible in that stomach churning, “Oh my God, he nearly hit me that hard” sort of way.

As I rolled away while kicking him off of me, he leapt to his feet like something out of a kung fu movie and bared his teeth at me. Slime the color of mildew and ecto cooler dribbled from between his teeth as his nostrils flared like he smelled fresh meat. His eyes had gone as black as coal and green slime dripped from his jaws. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but if I had to guess, I’d say he was a zombie of the “21 Days Later” variety instead of the slow, lumbering kind. Either way, I was just hoping he wasn’t based on the George Romero mythos. If he were, there’d be no way to kill him, and worse still, his dismembered hand would come after me.

“You know why I hate zombie movies?” I asked, unloading the rest of the Tavor’s thirty-round magazine into his skull because evidently gaping chest wounds didn’t fucking bother him and well, zombie movies. Thankfully, the 5.56×45mm NATO rounds painted the scenery behind him scarlet and reduced his face to a distant memory. “It’s because they’re so fucking hopeless. You can’t win against zombies, and they infect the planet. Well, you know what, fuck that. You can kill anything with enough bullets.”

The headless corpse of the zombie crashed backward still twitching. His arms and legs bucked and withered like a chicken with its head cut off in much the same way the zombie Doberman still kicked, giving me the impression it wasn’t dead. Thankfully, it couldn’t see me. So, you know, points for that. Part of me wanted to burn the both of them, but I didn’t because I didn’t want to create a cloud of zombie dust that might wake up a local graveyard. If these things were this difficult to kill, I wanted to deal with as few of them as possible.

With one last glance at the still-moving corpses, I made my way forward, and as I did, I saw a group of soldiers coming toward me. They stopped when they spotted me, but instead of shooting me on sight, the leader moved past me to look at the corpse of his friend. It made me instantly grateful the former soldier turned zombie had no face because otherwise maybe they’d have recognized him.

“I fucking hate zombies. I told Rodney not to release them, but he never fucking listens,” the leader said, shaking his head. “Did this one go rogue too?” He glanced at me, and I nodded. He shook his head again. “Figures.” He moved past me, Tavor at the ready. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a perp to kill and then we get paid.”