Infernal Sky (Doom Book 3) by Dafydd ab Hugh & Brad Linaweaver

Author:Dafydd ab Hugh & Brad Linaweaver [ab Hugh, Dafydd]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2016-08-08T00:00:00+00:00

17

“Back on Phobos again—where a zombie once was a man!”

“What the hell are you doing?” asked Arlene.

“I’m singing,” I said.

“That’s not singing,” she disagreed.

“It’s official Flynn Taggart caterwauling,” I said.

“No, it’s singing,” said Albert, venturing where angels feared to tread.

“Are you making a wise move?” Arlene asked her would-be fiancé.

“Probably not,” he agreed wisely. “But I recognize the song Fly has made his own. He’s doing a zombie version of ‘Back in the Saddle Again.’ ”

“Thank you, Albert,” I said. “When I invited you to join the Fabulous Four, I knew I was selecting a man of exquisite judgment.”

“That’s not exactly how I remember our little adventure in Salt Lake City,” Arlene corrected me.

I had the perfect answer for her: “Back on Phobos again . . .”

“Cease and desist, Flynn Taggart,” she said, putting her hands over her ears. “We’re not even on Phobos yet. Can’t you wait and sing it there, preferably without your space helmet?”

“You can’t fool me.” I was firm. Besides, I’d already waited close to a month and a half—a lot longer than I’d originally planned on spending in this rust bucket. That had something to do with the fact that fuel was in short supply these days, thanks to the aliens, and something to do with the kind of orbit we were using, which made the usual one-week jaunt to Mars six times longer, which had driven me to singing. “We did not leave Phobos in shambles, like Deimos. There may still be air in the pressurized areas.”

Arlene interrupted: “Along with pinkies, spinies, ghosts—”

“And a partridge in a pear tree.” I wouldn’t let her change the subject. “The point is that if the air’s on, I can sing.”

“The one weapon we didn’t think of,” Arlene agreed at last.

“Do we have any idea what the Phobos situation is like?” asked Albert, real serious all of a sudden.

“No,” I said, ready to postpone my performance. “But whatever it is, it will be more interesting than one more second inside this . . .” I stopped, stumped for a good obscenity.

“In the belly of the whale,” Arlene finished for me. She was getting biblical on me.

“I’m ready for battle,” Albert admitted, almost sadly.

I took inventory of our section of the deluxe space cruiser, letting my eyes come to rest on my last candy bar. I’d used up my quota of Eco bars, the ones with the best nuts.

“Know how you feel, marine,” I said to Albert. “We’re all getting antsy. That may be the secret of preparing a warrior to do his best. Drag ass while delivering him to the war and he’ll be ready to kill anything.”

“With a song if need be,” contributed Arlene. I’d found a new Achilles’ heel in my best buddy: my singing voice. Maybe she had a point. I could just see a pumpkin deliberately smashing itself against a wall to escape from my perfect pitch. An army of imps would blow up a barrel of sludge themselves and die in glop and slop rather than let me start a second verse.

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