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

into the battlesuit’s elbow as hard as he could. Metal squealed under his knuckles. At least one servo sparked and blew out.

The steel fingers released him. Cerberus tried to shake him off but he drove two more punches up into the joint of the arm. The second one got even more sparks. The third one made it go limp and sag at a wrong angle.

The hero grabbed the forearm with one hand, the dead M2 with the other, and wrenched the whole thing away. The elbow joint cracked and some ball bearings sprayed out onto the street like steel raindrops. A half-dozen cables yanked free. An armor plate broke off and clattered on the ground. The M2’s ammo belt twisted until some of the links bent and it snapped apart.

The battlesuit took a few heavy steps back. Gibbs raised the remains of the arm. St. George thought he could see the man’s own fingertips exposed in the twisted remains of the elbow.

The titan roared and the mangled hand—the pincer—swung around and caught the hero in the side of the head. It slammed him across the road and into the corner of Four hard enough to break cinder blocks. He tumbled across the building and spun out onto Avenue R. He hit the ground face-first, and a spray of rubble pattered around him.

He raised his head and saw people running toward him. Billie Carter was in the lead—alive and well, her face grim under her spiky hair—with Ilya just a few steps behind her and two more past that. He could hear Cerberus stomping after him, getting close.

St. George rolled onto his back just as Cerberus brought a foot up to crush him. The hero drove his heel into the battlesuit’s other ankle. He felt it dent under the blow, but it didn’t break. It was enough that the foot came down to regain balance rather than do damage. The titan wobbled for a moment as it compensated for the damage.

“We never trusted you,” roared Gibbs over the speakers. “Any of you!”

A fireworks display of small-arms fire sparked and pinged off the armor. The scavengers emptied their weapons at the battlesuit. Some of the rounds ricocheted down to slap St. George in the thighs and chest. After the M2s, they felt like bug bites.

It didn’t hurt the titan, either, but it distracted Gibbs for a moment. “Traitors,” he bellowed at them. The battlesuit pulled its foot back and kicked St. George in the ribs, hurling him at the scavengers.

His ribs tore at his insides, but he managed to twist in the air and miss Billie and one of the others. His hand smacked against Ilya’s arm and he was pretty sure he felt one of the other man’s bones crack. He hit another building—he wasn’t sure which one—shoulder first and left a crater in the wall.

St. George took a breath and his ribs howled. He forced another breath and pushed himself out of the wall. Grit and rubble dropped off him.

Billie and the others were reloading on the move. Cerberus stalked after them. She was shouting something at the battlesuit, but it sounded muffled and echo-y in his ears. He shook his head and the world became a little clearer.

The hero launched himself at Cerberus again. Gibbs saw him coming, the pincer hand came around again, and St. George landed inside the blow. He blocked it with his own forearm and slammed three punches into the titan’s stomach—an array of overlapping armored plates. He heard the impacts echo inside the battlesuit. One of the plates cracked under his knuckles.

Gibbs roared again. The titan’s arm pulled in tight and crushed St. George against its chest. One of the small open hatches scraped on his cheek. Cerberus looked up at the sky, then brought its steel head down onto the hero’s skull with a crack. St. George reeled for a moment, spots swirling in his vision, and Gibbs battered him with the stump of the damaged arm.

St. George stretched his arms out and hammered his fists into the titan’s sides. He did it again and again, at least half a dozen times before the arm pinning him against the battlesuit released him. They stumbled apart, he shook his head clear, and then Cerberus lunged forward again, the pincer fingers stretched out.

He threw himself into the air and soared above the titan. It reached after him and he grabbed it by the wrist. He dropped back to the ground, pulled, and threw Cerberus over his shoulder. He didn’t let go of the broken hand, and the battlesuit’s own momentum tore it loose at the wrist with a crack of metal and electricity.

The titan smashed into the corner of a warehouse. Cracks raced up the wall. Large swaths of plaster and concrete broke free and tipped out over the street. A landslide of rubble raced down the side of the building.

St. George hurled the hand aside and threw himself forward, snatching Billie and a bald man out of the way just before the remains of the warehouse wall smashed into the ground. “Get lost,” he said. “You guys can’t stop it.”

Billie glared at him. “Can you?”

He set them down. “Just stay clear and keep everyone else out of the way.” He looked around for Danielle. She’d vanished. He was sure she hadn’t been near the wall when it collapsed. She’d either run for cover or couldn’t stand to watch the suit get ripped apart.

The rubble shifted around Cerberus. The titan pushed itself to its feet again. It stood with its back to St. George, as if it was gathering strength.

“Gibbs,” he said, “There’s enough holes in the armor. I know you can hear me. We can still work this out. I know this isn’t your fault. Stop now and shut the suit down.”

The handless arm swung around and hit him like a wrecking ball.

St. George hit a wall, scraped across it, and slammed into Four again. Momentum bounced him off the corner and threw him