Outlanders 17 Purgatory road by James Axler

Author:James Axler
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The deck was awash with looping liquid ribbons of scarlet, adding to its already slick quality. Several Magistrates sprawled across it, their black polycarbonate exoskeletons sliced open, fluids leaking from the splits and gashes.

On his knees behind a tumble of stone, Ramirez watched in incredulous horror as one of the armored boarders hacked off a Mag's right arm at the elbow with a lightning-fast sword stroke. The man opened his mouth to scream, but the sword blade lifted, fell and cleaved his helmet and the skull beneath it nearly in two. He realized now why they were called Tigers, but they seemed to spring from Hell not from Heaven.

Other Magistrates screamed in soul-deep tenor as blades far sharper than razors licked out, inflicting deep wounds in their bodies. Ramirez saw one of the swordsmen make a whirling movement, and his sword cut wheels through the streamers of smoke. The edge of his blade sank into the junction of a man's jaw and the Magistrate's throat opened in a jetting of crimson.

The same Tiger caught sight of Ramirez and scuttled close, sword held at a right angle to his body, positioning himself for a decapitation. He laughed; an animal, guttural sound like a throaty gargle. The cruiser lurched on a swell, staggering the Tiger sideways for an instant.

Ramirez drew up his knees in a protective gesture, fumbled with a Copperhead he had picked up from the deck and put the targeting pipper on the figure. The red kill dot bloomed on the breastplate like a tiny pinhead of blood. The Tiger made a derisive snort and brushed at it contemptuously as if it were a piece of lint. Rage replaced Ramirez's fear, at least for a moment. With a howl of fury, he depressed the subgun's trigger and a triburst stitched holes in the Tiger's upper chest, knocking him backward and down.

Realizing the armored killers were mortal, Ramirez rose to his feet, his training finally kicking in. He shifted the Copperhead's barrel, retargeted and fired again, the pipper flicking across a brass-colored back. The burst twisted the Tiger's legs beneath his body in midstride, sending him flying headlong over the side.

"To me! Regroup! Regroup!" he shouted.

Turning at the sound of his voice, a masked and armored figure bounded toward him, sword held aloft. The pipper from Ramirez's auto-targeter touched the molded visor of the helmet. He stroked the Copperhead's trigger, and the burst of 4 85 mm steel-jacketed rounds pounded into the visor. The man struck a bulkhead wall, bounced off and fell heavily to the deck, almost atop Ramirez.

As Ramirez lifted himself above the corpse, he risked a swift glance over the heaped rocks. He saw a confusing turmoil of running shapes and smears of orange flame from weapons. From out of the shifting planes of dust and smoke plunged a howling mob of crazed Magistrates, shrieking bloodthirsty cries. They fired their blasters as they came.

The samurai swarmed to meet them like slinking shadows, moving with blurring speed in great leaps and bounds.

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