I Kill Monsters: Fury (Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

better in a glass
with ice and Bacardi.
    Boone looked up and spied Stash on the corner
across from him. The apparition was just standing there like it
often did. Stash had a way of just showing up and hanging around.
No one but Boone could see Stash, a fact that didn’t bother Boone.
Stash had always been coming and going, as long as Boone could
remember.
    He’d wave but the ghost would ignore him.
    The little bell on the bodega door chimed and
Boone casually turned his head. The tall vamp was making its way
back across the street in the muted glow of the morning, through
the rain, which wasn’t as heavy now.
    Boone saw how Bowie was in line about five
people back from the RV’s rear door.
    He spat out a mouthful of the soda and
upended the bottle, pouring the amber liquid out onto a sidewalk
already darkened with rain. He looked across the street to the
corner but Stash was gone. Boone drew his M29 and held it straight
down by his side in his right arm where no one in the RV or on the
line could see it.
    The vamp disappeared through the front door
of the trailer and the lights of the Pontiac flashed twice.
    It was a go.
    Boone’s black work boots destroyed the red
and green reflection that the Christmas lights cast in a puddle as
he stepped from the sidewalk to the street and strode to the
RV.

 
6.
5:10 A.M.
     
    “It’s a go!” Gossitch repeated into the
radio, cranking the K-Car up and shifting it into drive.
    The Pontiac’s engine roared to life, its
tires squealing as it caught on the rain-soaked asphalt and darted
forward through the intersection.
    The front door to the RV opened and a black
woman, all skin and bones and kinky hair, stumbled out of it to the
street, stuffing a wad of greenbacks into the pocket of her daisy
dukes.
    Gossitch floored the accelerator, the rear
wheels slipping under him for a second and then he had it and the
car shot forward. The blue and white coffee cup tumbled from the
dash. He had both hands on the wheel, one at ten and one at
two.
    Santa Anna ratcheted back the pump on his
Ithaca, forgetting he had a live round chambered. The shell flipped
end over end from the underside ejector port, bouncing off the
dashboard and disappearing among the floor mats.
    The rear door to the RV opened before the
front door closed behind the kinky-haired woman.
    “Hey nigga, what the fu—”
    Bowie shouldered his way to the front of the
line, yanking a toothless man out of his way, the blanket falling
away from his frame, the 9mm Commando SMG on its sling coming out
and up, tracking on the door as he reached out and up and pulled
himself into the RV behind Boone.
    The kinky-headed woman yelped and ran, the
Pontiac almost swiping her as it screeched to a halt besides the
RV, its front end crashing into the RV’s front door, slamming it
shut violently. The Pontiac was pressed against the side of the
larger vehicle, cutting off exit through the front door.
    As Boone leveled the business end of the big
Smith & Wesson, Bowie behind him, eight pairs of eyes inside
the RV looked around in various states of shock, disbelief, and
confusion. Two were obviously locals, worn and haggard volunteers
hooked up to IVs, red flowing out of their veins into collection
bags. The other six had come with the trailer and all of these but
one wore smocks like nurses in a hospital. As Bowie passed Boone,
stepping further into the trailer, a couple of them took steps
back, startled at the site of the homeless man and the small
M-16-looking weapon he brandished. Another hissed at him, jaws
opening to reveal ivory fangs and a mouthful of ugly promises.
    The tall vamp in the hat and gloves stood
near the front of the RV, watching the scene unfold.
    The tinted windows were curtained and the
only light came from the florescent bulbs running along the
ceiling.
    “Down! All of you down! Down!” Bowie yelled
at them, waving the stubby barrel of the Colt menacingly.
“Down!”
    The two volunteers rolled off their gurneys
on