The Dead Lands : A Post Apocalyptic Thriller by Dylan J. Morgan

Author:Dylan J. Morgan [Morgan, Dylan J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DJM Entertainment
Published: 2014-07-30T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Water droplets fell like stars discarded by the arrival of early morning sunlight. The downpour had lasted all night, not unusual in this place, and had only drained itself about an hour after dawn. The clouds overhead were almost certainly churning and regrouping, gathering again to unleash another deluge, but the jungle’s thick, interwoven canopy hid nature’s congregation.

He sat amid throngs of Life Leaves, the most common form of vegetation in this vast jungle, his uniform bedecked in matching foliage. Motionless, Lane ignored the numbness in his butt and legs and overlooked the discomfort of clothes glued to his skin by ten hours of torrential rain. Propped on its stand, the Death Finder Bazooka rested subtly against his shoulder.

After twenty four hours in this same position, four of those hours spent in a dozing state of heightened awareness, the time for action had arrived.

The whispers of Lieutenant Johan’s newest order faded from his earpiece. There were five of them approaching from the west, keeping to the gulley where the stream would hide their footprints. They had no idea—exactly as it should be.

Lane controlled his breathing, rested his cheek gently against the soaked body of the bazooka, and pressed his eye against the scope. The jungle spoke with nature’s voice: birds issuing an early morning call and raindrops tapping an unsynchronized rhythm across ground level foliage. The enemy arrived silently, as he knew they would. The constant babble of the brook disguised their footsteps.

He counted them as they entered the circle of his scope. One, two, three; the fourth entered his viewfinder as the first soldier passed through the crosshairs. He identified their uniforms immediately, the camouflage’s intricate design synonymous with that of his enemy.

When the tail stepped into view, Lane squeezed the trigger.

Emotionless, he knew his job had been executed to perfection even before the missile left the bazooka.

Lane kept his eye to the scope. He saw them, the targets, and the tail turned to face up the slope, alerted to the incoming missile by the sound of its ejection from the weapon. There would be no time for escape. The enemy’s face drew his attention—not an unknown countenance but one Lane had seen numerous times before. A friendly expression distorted into horrified shock. As Reese evaporated in the exploding fireball, Lane shuddered to wakefulness in the darkness of the hotel lobby, panting like an exhausted animal.

He blinked, and swallowed hard, for a moment disorientated and unaware of where he was. Recent memories tumbled into his mind, and relief that Reese’s demise had only been manufactured by his subconscious flooding through him. Lane pushed himself up, onto his elbows, and gazed across the hotel foyer.

Dawn had yet to arrive, and darkness settled thickly in the room’s furthest corners. The squadron had spread out across the floor, giving each other space. He saw her, and she was sleeping soundlessly. A slice of regret cut through him. Had he been too tough on her last night? Had he allowed his anger

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