Cold Cuts by Payne Cabeen Robert

Author:Payne Cabeen, Robert [Payne Cabeen, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Omnium Gatherum
Published: 2017-08-25T21:00:00+00:00

Commando Combat

Light flickered in the stairwell as Ozzy backed up the stairs clenching a waterproof, Mini Maglite in his teeth. He hoisted Eaton’s corpse, a step at a time—with the mutilated leg tucked neatly under one arm. When he reached the top, Ozzy dropped Ben’s remains on the ice and scanned the ruins. A star, low on the horizon, shined brighter than the rest. It grew larger as a faint whirling sound grew louder. Ozzy sprinted to an open patch in the ruins. A colossal Cougar 100 helicopter approached—low and fast.

Holy shit, I’m going home.

Ozzy waved his flashlight. “Hey, over here.”

The chopper’s 20-mm guns opened fire and stitched a deadly seam of molten metal in the ice below.

Ozzy dove and rolled out of the line of fire.

The chopper banked for another pass.

What the fuck?

Ozzy ducked behind the scorched remnants of a cinderblock wall.

The chopper hovered and swept the ruins with a searchlight.

Ozzy peered through the twisted rebar. The helicopter landed in an open space amid the ruins. Several commandos leapt out—ninja-style. They spread out, brandishing side arms and tactical flashlights.

Ozzy immediately recognized the intruders’ white uniforms and the red wolf patches. They were identical to uniforms worn by the shooters who fired on him and blew up Earthwatch One.

Ozzy bounded inside the gutted lab. The acrid stench of scorched equipment and spilled chemicals seared his nose and burned his eyes.

Harsh LED beams streamed through gaping fissures in the crumbling walls, casting horrific silhouettes on what remained of the lab’s blackened interior.

Ozzy wanted to cough, but feared it would betray his location, so he clenched his teeth and cowered behind an incinerated section of the lab’s geodesic roof.

When the commandos passed, the only light that remained was the helicopter’s searchlight. Its wide beam provided enough ambient light for Ozzy to survey his surroundings.

Everything was in pieces—and those pieces were in pieces. He spied a scattered trail of laptop keyboard keys.

Shit, looks like drunk Scrabble players got in a fight over a seven-letter word challenge.

The trail of keys led to Ozzy’s mangled laptop. The half-melted display glib-globbed over eviscerated green circuitry. He knew it was his laptop because of the Misfits sticker on the case. He used to like the way the grinning skull lit up from the glowing apple underneath.

As Ozzy scanned the senseless destruction surrounding him, his fear turned to anger—then to rage.

Who do these assholes think they are? If they want to take me out, I’m not going to make it easy for them.

Ozzy searched the rubble for something he could use to defend himself.

He crawled over to where the equipment shelving unit should have been. All he could salvage was a dented aluminum case surrounded by twisted Metro shelving that looked like a junk-art sculpture. He popped the latches and found two undamaged, Motorola T80 walkie-talkies inside.

Not much, weapon-wise, but they’ll have to do.

He pried one from its black, foam niche.

C’mon, c’mon, work you fucker.

He turned the volume knob—Click—The display flashed on.

Yes!

Ozzy turned on the other walkie-talkie and shoved it under a pile of debris in the center of the lab.

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