Jack Yeovil Dark Future 2 Krokodil Tears

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She had had big, sad, green eyes. Two of them, then.
"No, Susie. You're right. She's never had a chance."
0156.
The Argies were coming for him, bloody buggering bastards of dagoes that they
were. He could hear the grease on their hair frying from ten miles away.
Sarn't Major Biggleswade signalled for his troops to follow, and made a dash
across the burning street.
"Forever England," he shouted, "the Falklands are Forever England."
Teddy-bear shaped Argies rushed at him, firing ineptly. He was over the top
like PC Dixon taking out a French terrorist cell.
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"Come on lads, we can whip 'em. Corned beefeaters! Pansy Sanchos! Gaucho
gauleiters!"
He was hit in the legs, but he backed out of the line of fire. Where was the
Union Jack? Someone was supposed to be carrying it.
"For England, God and St George!"
0134.
Jessamyn fell to a crouch, and clambered across the square on all fours,
recalling her sandrat days. She was a good animal again.
A soldier loomed over her, and she rolled, firing upwards in an arc. The suit
punctured and bled, the faceplate cracking.
Wriggling her shoulders and pushing with her feet, she covered the last ten
yards. Her karate jacket ripped, but the skin of her back was unabraded.
She got to the command ve-hickle, and spread herself against its treads,
firing across the square at some stray killers.
0086.
Simon Threadneedle was almost burned out now. His eyes had popped, but the
sensors inside his skull fed him heat patterns that were clearer than any
visual input. Most of the tissue was gone, but the bio-implants still
functioned. And he still had his greymass.
Magda ze Schluderpacheru was dead, had died near the beginning of it. That
was a shame. She had been soft and warm, the last of his meatform's
attachments.
Curtius Kenne was dead too, and most of the other citizens. He hadn't kept
track, but he thought he had sensed Jitters going down.
Where was Jessamyn? She should survive. She had been a walking ruin when she
came to him, and he had made her better.
Better than anyone. Better, even, than he had made himself.
Should he have told her, he wondered? Should he have mentioned the strange
symptoms and side-effects he had been observing in his own case?
The detachment. The languor. His feelings were heightened, but his drives had
been running down. He could barely relate to people. Before Jessamyn had come
to him, he had sometimes spent days at a time sitting in front of the windows
in his bedroom, looking at the unchanging, unmoving desert as the sun and the
moon did their daily dance.
The moon...
0050. Manolo belched, and excused himself. 0049. 0048. 0047. 0045. 0043.
0039.
"Ma'am," said Danny Riegert, "we've got a weird reading, close to the
ve-hickle."
Susie Terhune slipped the lase to automatic, and let it continue slicing up
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the rooftops.
"Specify."
"Down low, by the treads, in actual contact with the module."
"Our girl?"
"Hard to say. The heartbeat doesn't match, but it also keeps changing. I
think it's some kind of systems error."
"Idiot, don't you read Guns and Killing? She's had a heartsponge implant. Let
me think, let me think..."
Terhune's fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling a close-range weapons menu
out of the memory.
1:MINISCREAMER
2: CLOSE-RANGE SMARTGUN
3: ELECTROCHARGE
4: GAS GRENADE
She punched in a Code 3, and a Confirm.
The ve-hickle buzzed, as it discharged.
"See how you like that, hag witch!"
0036.
Jessamyn felt her body arch as the electricity hit. She sucked in a
double-lungful of air and screamed, but not in pain. It was her predator's
howl of triumph.
She remembered Doc Threadneedle suggesting she try sucking her finger and
sticking it in an electric socket.
Every nerve in her body came alive. She had never felt stronger. How long
would this last?
She scrambled up onto the top of the ve-hickle, still feeling the hyperbuzz.
Sex could not be better than this.
She came to the smartgun mounting, and ripped the multi-barrelled weapon out
at the roots. It came away as easily as a dead treebranch. Metal tore. Wires
shorted out.
The screamers started again, and she let the durium shields up inside her
ears.
There was a battened hatch on top of the ve-hickle. This was going to be like
opening a can.
0029.
Biggleswade saw the British heroine climb up onto the Argie tank, and
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cheered. He dragged his dead legs behind him, and pulled himself towards the
battle. The girl was bloody buggering Victoria Cross material, and he wanted
to be there to see her run the Union Jack up the flagpole at Port Stanley.
Puerto bloody buggering Galtieri in-bloody-buggering-deed! The girl got a good
grip on the hatch, and pulled it away, tossing it across the square like a
dustbin lid.
0027.
The girl-thing was in the command centre. Susie Terhune scrabbled under her
seat for the handgun stashed there.
Riegert was gone, out the hatch, screaming. He had made a dash when the
quarry had dropped through.
Terhune got a shot off, but the quarry leaned to one side and the slug
missed. It ricocheted off a bulkhead, impossibly loud in the confined space,
and buried itself in the fleshy part of Terhune's thigh.
Blood filled her lap. She was strapped into her seat. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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