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

or the gun had jammed. Zombie was still fixated on
her, even though I was behind him again. Jill looked
at me with a hurt-little-girl expression as if to say I
gave up a perfectly good metal chair for a gun that
doesn't fire?
The bad guy still had his cleaver, and he had plenty
of elbow room now, so he could swing the thing and
add Jill's head to his collection. It pissed me off that
all my heroics had only made Jill's situation worse. I
did what I could. The big hulk was standing with his
feet just far enough apart so that I was able to kick
him in the groin. I wished I had on my combat boots
instead of sneakers. I wished he were alive, as the
dead ones are only mildly bothered by that kind of
action. But it was the best I could manage.
The big bearded mother turned his head. That was
all Jill needed. She held the barrel in both hands and
swung the weapon so fair and true that it was worthy
of the World Series. The wooden stock cracked
against the zombie's neck. He was thrown off-balance.
As he tried to turn his head, I heard a snap: Jill had
done something bad to his old neck bone. Good girl!
The zombie fell to his knees. Before he could get
out of his crouch I karate-chopped the back of his
neck. No time to play George Foreman now. So far,
Jill and I had merely slowed him down. Time for
something more permanent.
Jill had the same idea. No sooner did I body-slam
the hulk into a prone position than she yanked the
cleaver away from him and started swinging it at his
head.
"Hey, watch it!" I shouted. "You almost hit me."
"Sorry," she said, almost as a gasp. But she kept
swinging that wicked blade at the peeling, rotten flesh
around the zombie's neck and head. I wasn't about to
tell her she didn't have the strength to finish the job.
The zombie wasn't getting up, and I intended to make
sure it stayed down.
As I retrieved the M1, I realized that no other
zombies were showing up to bother us. There was
something eerie about Doc Ackerman's head on the
floor, staring at us. (A marine isn't supposed to use a
word like "eerie," but it was freakin' eerie, man.)
I picked up the M1. So it had jammed for Jill. So
she'd used it as a club. It's not like she'd smashed it
against a tree. I cleared the bolt. What the hell, we'd
give it another try.
"Excuse me," I said to Jill, busily trying to return
the favor to the great decapitator. The meat cleaver
was a little dull. And Jill just didn't have the necessary