Echo Dominion by Anna Durand

Author:Anna Durand [Durand, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal romance, urban fantasy romance, romantic suspense, magic, parallel worlds, apocalypse
ISBN: 9781934631676
Publisher: Jacobsville Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Erin

Grant glances back at Will whose eyes are bulging, and he's hugging himself too. Yeah, Sefton Stainthorpe's Echo has no balls, not in the metaphorical sense. But I guess being created by a madman probably scarred him, and I imagine Sefton bullied the guy too. I mean, he wasn't expecting to create a duplicate of himself, only of everyone else on earth. From what I've heard about Dax's brother, the guy did not like competition. That's why he turned Dax into a part-Echo beast of a man and threw him into the nightmare world he'd manufactured.

"Better try a grenade," I say to Grant.

"Might just wind up deaf but still trapped here."

I smirk. "You're starting to sound like me."

"No, I'm sounding like Dax. You got it from him too."

I roll my eyes. "Please. I have my own style that doesn't come from anyone else."

"Yeah, that's for sure."

Whump.

The thunderous noise seems to emanate from outside the building, though it makes the floor beneath us shudder.

"It's the creature you brought here," Will calls out to us. "I can sense him."

Okay, I didn't expect that. But it makes sense, I guess, considering that Sefton created both Will and the beast.

Grant digs half a dozen grenades out of my backpack and offers me three of them. "Let's try it your way."

About damn time. My way might be louder and more dangerous, but it usually gets the job done.

We jog back to Will.

"Plug your ears," Grant instructs him. "Then shut your eyes and brace for impact."

Will shoves his fingers into his ears and huddles against the wall with his lids tightly sealed.

Good enough, I suppose. Grant could have been more specific and told the guy to assume the tornado warning position with his ass in the air and his head on the floor. But this way will probably do.

"Throw your grenades toward the left wall," Grant tells me. "Then plug your ears. I'll throw mine toward the right. Pitch them as far as you can."

"I played softball in high school. You don't need to coach me on how to throw."

"Good. Then we'll do it on the count of three. That means three, two, one, throw."

I give him an oh-please look, but then palm my grenades and face the end of the hall.

Grant bends his knees slightly, holding two grenades in his left hand and the remaining one in his right, ready to lob his first pitch. "Three, two, one, go!"

The two of us hurl our first grenades at the same time, then quickly throw the rest. They land close to the walls. We both plug our ears and turn our backs to that end of the hallway, huddling near the wall as we squeeze our eyes shut. The explosions reverberate through the air, the concussions rattling my bones as the floor shudders hard enough to make Grant stumble sideways into me. Once the dust has settled, literally, I peel my lids apart and shuffle around to see what damage we've done. Grant does the same.

Chunks of drywall or whatever these walls are made of have crumbled away to reveal metal underneath.

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