Deathlands 070: Vengeance Trail by James Axler

Author:James Axler
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 0373625804
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 2005-06-01T04:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Sixteen

Hole roared, a sound so horrible and huge it seemed as if it would crush Krysty’s skull. His vast booted feet seemed to have shrunk to a cone point, as if he were being transformed into a giant blacktop. He raised his tree trunk arms over his head. His hands were great claws of intolerable agony. His bellow went on and on.

Skeeze’s eyes bulged. As the distortion waves emanating from the floor seemed to intensify, as if the air itself were somehow becoming solid, his squat little body began to distort, to be drawn back and down toward the point from which the waves originated. Hole was half swallowed, arms flailing now, screaming as if he had no need to inhale.

“What—what’s happening?” Skeeze’s words soared in volume and velocity, as if played on a tape that suddenly speeded up. As they ended in a hideous shriek, his body seemed to shred and be sucked toward the point in rags of black and red. His larger eyeball stretched and distorted into a banana shape before it popped like a water balloon.

Implo gren! Krysty thought. They were as rare as their effects were horrible, but she’d seen them before. The comforter over the door whipped the legs of the scabbie, who held her pinned as air whistled toward the tiny singularity created by the gren. Watching his leader’s unimaginable painful demise in horrified incomprehension, the scabbie had slackened his grip. Krysty managed to grab the M-16 with both hands and pull down hard as she whipped her upper body forward and down.

The scabbie went flying, leaving the longblaster in her hands, and cartwheeled over the late unzipped Baron Mike into the gren’s distortion ripples, which were already subsiding. He shrieked fit to bust glass as his very atoms were stripped one from another and sucked in a maelstrom, right out of this world.

With a final pop of air rushing to replace vanished matter, the gren’s implo effect died away.

The moldy mutie on the floor had also lost his grip on the redheaded woman. She kicked a boot backward to free it up, then snapped it forward as if to launch all the terror and fury that filled her right out of her silver-chased toe. The mutie’s neck snapped with a sound like a broomstick breaking.

Paul rose slowly from the crouch he’d folded himself into at some point in the proceedings. He goggled at the doorway to the kitchen, which was now a rough semicircle. “What on earth did that?”

“Implo gren. Don’t ask me how, because I don’t know.”

She was quickly working up a mighty head of anger toward the cowardly Rail Ghost. Before she could say anything more a tall figure strode through what had been the kitchen doorway, followed at once by a second.

Krysty had already shifted her right hand to the longblaster’s pistol grip. Now she let her forefinger rest lightly on the trigger. She didn’t aim the blaster at the interlopers. Somebody had bowled that gren between Hole’s feet.

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