Ex-Purgatory, Peter Clines [top ten books of all time .txt] 📗

back out into the street. He hit the pavement and tumbled another two yards.

The street shook under him. He tried to focus, to throw himself into the air, but his head was spinning and the titan’s foot caught him in the side before he was even a few inches off the ground. He crashed into another wall and fell. He heard people shouting, but wasn’t sure if it was inside the building or somewhere in the distance.

Cerberus stomped over and glared down at him. A Y-shaped crack ran through one of the eye lenses. Servos hummed as the battlesuit raised its foot over St. George’s face and blotted out the sun.

Then the sun leaned to the left and dropped down to light up the street. The foot started to fall and the brilliant wraith struck like lightning, shooting through the raised leg just below the knee. There was a deafening hiss, Gibbs howled in pain, and the two sounds mixed and echoed across the lot.

The half-fused foot clanged on the ground next to St. George’s head. Molten metal splashed over it. A few drops hit his arm and burned what was left of his shirt. He swiped them away.

One of the thick toes twitched a few times and then grew still.

Cerberus tried to keep its balance on one leg. St. George reached up, grabbed the still-glowing stump in both hands, and shoved. The titan tipped over and hit the pavement.

Zzzap hung in the air a few yards away, shaking. Gahhhhh, he said. He waved his arms. I hate doing that. I think I’m going to puke.

“Thanks,” said St. George.

You’re welcome. Didn’t want to risk hitting you with a blast, and I figured we didn’t want to incinerate whoever’s in there. Gibbs?

“Yeah.”

What’s up with him?

“Smith.”

Figures. Does Danielle know you had to—

“Yeah.”

Zzzap made a static-y noise that might have been a sigh.

St. George limped over to the fallen titan. It was like a wounded turtle, stuck on its back with no limbs left to push itself over. The stump pounded on the ground. The handless arm swung at him again but couldn’t reach him. Billie, Ilya, and the others approached from the north, reloading as they closed in.

St. George hooked his fingers under the helmet’s chin. He braced his foot against the armored shoulders and pulled.

The battlesuit groaned, metal squealed, and Cerberus’s armored skull ripped free of the body. Shrapnel sprayed like blood. A tangle of cables dragged loose from the armored collar. Each one snapped, sparked, and popped apart. The thrashing limbs went limp.

The large eyes flared for a moment, one after the other, and then died.

Lieutenant Gibbs’s head looked small on top of the huge torso. He had a bruise over one eye. “God damn you,” he snarled at them. “You’re traitors. No one will ever trust you again. No one!”

So where’s Danielle and Stealth?

“Smith’s got Stealth,” said St. George. “I’m not sure where Danielle slipped off to.”

Zzzap floated a few feet higher in the air. Did Smith get her, too?

“Not sure. I’m going to head toward Gower. Can you do a perimeter check?”

On it. The gleaming wraith shot into the air and vanished.

St. George dropped the armored skull on the ground and hurled himself up over the buildings.

Christian Smith guided Stealth along Avenue C. They’d run into two or three people, but a few words from the mayor had sent them on their way. They could see the cross street up ahead.

“Not long now,” said Smith. “I was happy to let you all starve to death peacefully, you know. I really wanted to avoid anything big and showy like this. I’m not big on direct confrontation. Still, I think you’ll protect me from any potential threats, won’t you?”

Stealth said nothing, but her head jerked up and down once.

Smith smiled. “And you’d warn me if you knew of any trouble up ahead, right?”

“Yes.” The cloaked woman stumbled, just for a moment, as if her foot had caught on something. “There is no trouble up ahead.”

“Wait, what?” Smith stopped walking. “Why did you … What are you hiding?”

“Many things,” said Stealth. “Perhaps most important is that someone has been following us for half a block now.”

Smith spun around and the gunshot echoed on the street. The bullet whizzed past her, close enough that she flinched away.

Danielle lined up the Glock with both hands and fired again. Her aim wasn’t great, but the round hit Christian Smith in the calf, just under the kneecap. The Asian woman howled and dropped to the ground.

The redhead walked forward. The pistol stayed on Smith the whole time. “You fucking son of a bitch,” she snarled. “George had to destroy Cerberus because of you.”

Smith tried to speak, but all she could manage was a few angry whimpers as her hands flailed at her ruined leg.

Voices were shouting down the street. Danielle recognized Madelyn’s pale figure running toward them. A few guards were behind her, their own weapons up and ready. Captain Freedom loomed behind them, looking groggy but keeping pace.

Danielle aimed the Glock and fired one more time. This time the round took two fingers off a flailing hand and smashed into the other kneecap. Smith screamed and fell backward. Her hand twitched and splashed blood over her shirt.

“Hold the barrel of the pistol in your hand,” said Stealth.

“What?” Danielle glanced at her.

“Hold the barrel of the pistol in your right hand. It will be warm to the touch from firing, but will not harm you. Raise the pistol to shoulder height and swing so the tip of the magazine connects with the side of the skull. Your target should be the temple just above the cheekbone.”

Danielle looked down at the thrashing woman. Smith was trying to gasp out words, but couldn’t focus.

She turned the Glock around in her hand. She swung and cracked it into Smith’s head. The woman went limp and slumped to the ground.

Danielle let out a long breath.

“Thank you,” said Stealth.

“You couldn’t’ve done that yourself?”

“Semantics.”

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