Outlanders 04 - Omega Path by James Axler

Author:James Axler [Axler, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780373638178
Publisher: Gold Eagle
Published: 2017-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Moving to his side, she opened the medical kit. Grant shifted his gaze to the electricity generator at the

foot of the bench. As he figured, they’d been dosing Lakesh with “Old Sparky,” as the portable

generators were called. He tried to keep his face averted from Pollard without being too obvious about

it.Pollard’s blunt features compressed in a scowl, due either to exasperation or suspicion.

“Took your fucking time about getting down here,” he said in the booming, aggressive voice Grant knew

so well and despised. “Where’s Salvo?”

“Business with the baron,” DeFore answered distractedly.

Pollard’s low brow acquired new creases. He looked toward Grant, and his eyes narrowed.“Seems like

I ought to know you. Do I?”

Grant shrugged. “Do you?”

Despite his nonchalant tone, he carefully watched the play of thoughts and emotions on Pollard’s face as

the man tried to place his bearing, voice and jaw-line.

Grant saw the microsecond when Pollard found the match. His burly body stiffened, his small eyes

widened, his nostrils flared.

Grant brought up his right leg, fast and straight, the boot slamming into Pollard’s groin. The man grunted,

folding in the direction of the sudden, sickening pain. Grant rammed his head forward, hearing teeth and

cartilage break against the forepart of his helmet.

Before Pollard began to fall, Grant dropped his right fist, weighted by the holstered Sin Eater, like a pile

driver on the back of his exposed neck. Pollard went down, striking the corner of the bench with his

head, lacerating his eyebrow.

“This is for Mesa Verde,” Grant grated between clenched teeth,then slammed the metal-reinforced toe

of his boot into Pollard’s side. He heard the crunching of ribs.

Pollard’s beefy hand fluttered on the floor like a butterfly too fat to take flight. Grant stomped on the

back of it, crushing the delicate metacarpal bones. “This is for Lakesh.”

He slammed the heel of his left boot into the side of Pollard’s head. The man gave a deep, groaning sigh

as if he were drifting off to sleep. The sigh turned into a gurgling rattle. “And this is because I feel like it.”

DeFore asked, “Did you chill him?”

Grant turned toward her. “Does it matter?”

“Not to me.”

Once Grant got a good look at Lakesh, he understood the woman’s callous tone. He was ashen and

gaunt, his bodysuit ripped and soiled with his own wastes. Red abrasions showed bright on his skin. His

eyes, puffed and bloodshot, held no recognition of the woman leaning over him. From his open mouth

came a wordless gargle, either a plea or an inquiry.

Grant choked back the curse forcing its way past his lips. He drew the combat knife from his boot

sheath and slashed through the restraining straps.

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