Superbolan 81 A Dying Evil by Don Pendleton

Author:Don Pendleton
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE SCREAM, as it turned out, had issued from a narrow lane behind Moses Ushante's home. Its source, a young woman in her late teens or early twenties, streaked past Bolan and Gellar in a panting sprint, so frightened that she failed to note the two white men as she passed by.

"This way," Bolan said, retracing her steps. Gellar followed closely behind him, while the racket of what sounded like a lynch mob forming echoed from the next street over, keeping pace in the same general direction.

"This looks bad," Gellar suggested, as they hurried onward. "One good look at us, and that lot could decide that we're the monster."

"I don't plan on meeting them," the Executioner replied.

"I hope you're right," Gellar replied. "I'd rather that we didn't have to open fire on them ourselves."

Bolan was blotting out that ugly mental image when he came around a corner, found himself behind a long, low structure built from cinder blocks, with a roof of corrugated tin. A water tower loomed above it, at the north end, and he recognized the building as a public shower.

There, in the building's shadow that was darker than dark, screened from the meager light of the new moon, he made out two human figures. One lay crumpled on the ground; the other hulked above, stooped at first, recoiling and straightening to full height as the newcomers arrived. In one of the upright figure's hands, a long-bladed machete dripped crimson; in the other, a melon-shaped object did likewise, suspended by hair from the mute slayer's fist.

At the sight of them, the monster snarled—a low, almost inhuman sound—and pitched the severed head of his latest victim overhand. Bolan ducked, felt something wet and warm spatter his cheek in passing and couldn't suppress a fleeting thought about the prevalence of AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa. He had no time to brood upon the problem, though, because the panga-wielding hulk was charging at them now, blade raised high to deliver a death blow as soon as he came within range.

Bolan and Gellar fired together, five rounds, stopping the hulk in his tracks and dropping him onto his backside, a dazed expression written on his dying face. Both of their pistols were sound suppressed, which made the sudden echo of gunfire that much more startling.

It was automatic rifle fire, he recognized, and submachine guns.

A short block to the west, there were more shouts raised now, but the tone had radically altered. The would-be hunting party had been instantly diverted from its primary object, by the sound of things, and was lapsing rapidly from outrage into something more akin to panic.

"Can it be?" Jacob Gellar asked as they stood above the lifeless Monster of Moseto.

Bolan didn't have to ask what Gellar meant by "it." Short of an all-out civil war within the township proper, the echo of automatic weapons could only mean an attack from outside. And that, in turn, would most likely come from one source.

"The Iron Guard," Bolan said aloud, as if spoken words were required to make it real.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.