Читать книгу Dorian Gray - John Garavaglia - Страница 69

“Cody’s down!” Yelled Henry, and then returned fire on his friend’s killers.

Dorian picked up Cody’s rifle and dropped down on one knee, firing through the one shade of cover that was available, nailing two enemy soldiers that were rushing at them. Eventually those guys were going to try flanking. And then, Dorian figured, he and his comrades were screwed.

As if the hostiles had heard him thinking, a group of them came from his left flank—three of them, one firing a shotgun nearly took Dorian’s head off.

As one, Dorian, Henry, and the rest of the team all swung left, firing as they did, all of them were ripping into the oncoming soldiers, making them dance with the impacts of the bullets, splashing the walls with fresh red blood. But there were always more where these came from. They were going to run out of ammo—and then what? Maybe scrounge weapons from the fallen.

The faction had taken casualties, heavy casualties, but they’d still managed to push what remained of the team into position two. And he wasn’t worried. Not just because of the snarling hostiles—who fought as if possessed—but due to the fact that something even more dangerous was prowling the battlefield.

“I don’t know about you, Dorian, but this is getting too hot for me.” Henry said, exchanging rounds to the shooters at the other side.

Dorian gave out a loud sigh. He wasn’t the kind of person who would cut and run, but this was getting too heavy.

JOHN GRAVAGLIA

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