Zombie Fallout 21 by Mark Tufo

Author:Mark Tufo [Tufo, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mark Tufo

9

AZILE

For more than an hour, the two ships had thrown punches, none of them landing.

“How big is his lenticalum?” Azile sighed; she was becoming exhausted from the constant battle. Another hour of shooting and deflecting and she would need to rest, there would be no help for it. Azile and Grundholm both knew that defending with powerful woven shields took greater amounts of energy than producing and hurling the fireballs, and Grundholm was relentless with his assault, barely giving Azile enough time to deflect his shots. At first, her weaves had been strong enough to stop upwards of four fireballs, giving her the time to respond in kind, but as she tired, so did the strength of her spells. Her weaves now failed on first contact. Soon the fireballs would begin to bleed through, and finally, their ship would be ablaze. She would not be disappointed when Grundholm offered no quarter, as this fight had always been a duel to the death.

Explosions rocked the boat from side to side as bright yellow, fiery red, and brilliant orange orbs struck Azile’s shield and cascaded down in a shower of sparks. A gray Mac had finally made it to the bridge, his stomach had doubled down on itself, going from minor irritation to full nausea. He gripped at any handhold he could in an effort to keep himself and his agony-producing stomach still. Elam, on the other hand, appeared as if he’d been born on the deck of a ship, rocking in place and leaning into Wilkes’ violent maneuvering, she had spun the wheel so the boat was heading back the way they’d come, she took it as a bad sign when the witch didn’t acknowledge the turn other than to face the enemy.

“Elam! Take the wheel!” Wilkes shouted over the deafening roar of the fires overhead.

“I don’t know how to drive. I never obtained a license; I would hate to be in trouble with the coastal guard for improper sea vessel operation.”

“Elam, take this wheel or you won’t have to worry about the coastal guard,” Wilkes growled.

“When you put it so eloquently, how can I refuse?”

Wilkes was as confident in her ability as anyone could be in something they’d mastered and used to defend and sustain themselves most of their life, but even she had a worm of doubt about being able to hit a target from one crazily bobbing surface to another.

“Do not shoot!” Wilkes made sure Azile heard her.

“What are you doing?” Azile finally asked.

“What I can.” Wilkes tied a piece of rope around her waist and tied herself to the railing right outside the bridge. The ocean was roiling, some from nature’s storm, the majority from the unnatural. As Grundholm’s fire shells slammed and erupted off of the shields, the fragments struck the water and boiled, as if made from white phosphorous. Wilkes was continually rocked back into the wall of the bridge and then off the railing in front of her. The boats were fast approaching in a broadside manner.

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