Fear the Reaper: A Military Scifi Epic (The Last Reaper Book 2) by J.N. Chaney & Scott Moon

Author:J.N. Chaney & Scott Moon [Chaney, J.N.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Variant Publications
Published: 2019-03-24T00:00:00+00:00

16

Turning the wrong way on a one-way street, I met a very large bus. “Well, shit!”

Swerving onto the sidewalk, I learned my vehicle didn’t have the weight and mass to smash aside a bench that was bolted to the street. I hadn’t strapped in, so when the obstacle stopped my economy vehicle cold, the impact threw me at the dash, then the window.

The automatic safety foam deployed. Warnings sounded. The car advised me it was calling for an ambulance unless I advised I wasn’t hurt.

I opened the door and fell out, blood streaming from my nose and lips. Stars filled my vision that for once had nothing to do with my problematic Reaper nerve-ware, but sure as shit, that came down like a hammer as well. Static bloomed in my vision, twitches disabled my left hand, and pain went everywhere.

“Your biometrics are all over the place, Reaper Cain,” X-37 warned.

I staggered away from the vehicle, too hurt to get angry—which was a bad sign.

“You may be going into shock, Reaper Cain,” X-37 said, voice breaking up.

The magnification feature of my cybernetic eye zoomed in and out. Night vision flashed with the brightness of daytime, stabbing into my brain like a knife. When that was gone a second later, everything became a surreal blur of infrared and static pulses.

“Fuck.” I really needed to catch a break. “Please give me some good news, X.”

“I'll do what I can, but I would not expect any in the near future,” X-37 advised.

Crank’s van looked like a stepped-on beer can when it careened around the corner. Paint from at least three vehicle collisions stripped the side. One of its fenders dragged on the ground throwing up sparks. Smoke poured from under the hood.

I was too messed up to move. Facing death wasn’t new. Knowing I was going to fail Elise was what really sucked. Sure she was pissed at me for abandoning her on Greendale, but I still had an obligation to look after her.

Another hover van, this one black and orange, flashed through the intersection, striking Crank’s vehicle at a ninety-degree angle. Both vans smashed through a micro-park near a coffee bar. Tables, pedestrians, and decorative landscape items flew into the air.

Citizens ran screaming from the violent collision. Some only made it a few steps before falling down from injury or overwhelming psychological trauma. A crowd of onlookers gathered, taking pictures and chatting excitedly. It didn't seem like any of them were pointing at me, however.

I pulled up my coat collar and limped into the larger crowd, stalling for time, searching for options. Some of the citizens watched at me. One offered help. I waved him away and kept moving.

Crank kicked out his windshield and tried to climb over the hood but was tangled in his seatbelt. Stunned by the violent collision, it took him several seconds to realize why he couldn’t pull himself free of the wreck.

Michaels and Olathe emerged from the black and orange vehicle.

I paused, ready to shoot them both but hoping they wouldn’t do something stupid.

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