"Dafydd ab Hugh, Brad Linaweawer DOOM: Infernal Sky (english)" - читать интересную книгу автора

risks. But whatever had gone wrong, it was now a job
for people like Arlene and me.
She'd already picked up the piece from the floor, a
.38 caliber revolver. I liked the idea of acquiring more
artillery as quickly as possible.
A scream from the other side of the door brought us
back to immediate reality. Reconnoitering was a
luxury, and going to the armory was a vacation from
the job.
We went through the door together, me coming in
low and Arlene braced, pointing the gun ahead of
us—a beacon of truth with its own special kind of
flame. But she didn't fire right away. She was afraid of
hitting the woman that the zombie in the lab coat was
carving up like a Christmas turkey.
The victim stared at us without seeing what was in
front of her. The broken beaker in the zombie's hand
occupied the woman's full attention. Zombie Girl had
already cut her victim around her breasts and arms.
The angle made it impossible for us to alter the events
of the next few seconds. That was all the time the
zombie needed.
She drew her makeshift knife in a slashing move-
ment across the white throat of the victim. The throat
didn't stay white very long. The lifeblood spurted out
so fast that it covered the hand holding the broken
glass, and it looked as if the zombie had spilled a
bucket of red paint over itself.
Arlene took a few lithe dancer's steps into the
room and placed her gun right up against the Zombie
Girl's head. This walking dead might be fast, but the
jig was up. Arlene squeezed off a round. Blood,
brains, and gore splattered back over the victim,
but the poor woman was past caring. She was still
twitching, but that didn't count. We couldn't save
her.
"Too bad none of the scientists are around to
observe that," I said, pointing. A piece of zombie
brain continued to flop around on the floor with a life
of its own. I'd noticed this phenomenon before. It
seemed to apply only to the better rank of zombies,
the ones with a shred of initiative left.
"She was a fast one," said Arlene, nodding at the
woman we didn't save. "If I were wearing my boots,
I'd grind this to pulp," she sneered at the blue-green
brain matter that seemed to be trying to crawl away.
She didn't step on it. Instead, she wasted ammo.
I could relate. Quick as that, we were both back in
killing mode. Then we heard another scream—one
we both recognized right away. Jill!