Читать книгу Darkmouth - Shane Hegarty, Shane Hegarty - Страница 9

Naturally, Finn fled.

As he did, several thoughts went through his head, mainly to do with whether he should turn and shoot, or find a hiding spot, or whether he had time to stop and fling aside his clattering armour.

For its part, as it chased him, the Minotaur had only a single thought in its head. Finn was better off not knowing just how many times the word ‘gouge’ featured in it.

Finn ran down the laneway as fast as his rattling fighting suit would allow, his breath hot inside the helmet, his weapon flailing from a strap round his wrist. He spotted a gap and turned into it just before the Minotaur reached him. The creature smashed into a dead end, throwing up a cloud of brick, dust and drool.

Finn pushed on, darting across alleys, stumbling round corners, squeezing through gaps, until it occurred to him that the only sound he could hear above the noise of his suit was that of his own panting.

With some effort, he persuaded his legs to stop running.

Crouching at a corner, he looked around for any sign of the Minotaur. There was none. He sank down, feeling the rivulets of sweat running down his cheeks, the itchiness of the suit and the thump of his heart in his chest.

There was a rustle close by. The briefest flicker of a shadow.

“Dad?”

The Minotaur burst through a wall in front of Finn, collapsing with dreadful force into the laneway, its horns scraping and sparking off the concrete, before righting itself and looming over him. Finn raised his Desiccator, but the Minotaur reached out a huge arm and swiped it from his hands.

Backed up against the brick, Finn could taste the deathly sourness of the Minotaur’s breath and see the deep blackness of its mouth. He was briefly mesmerised by the radiance of that fat diamond ring lodged in the Legend’s nose.

Finn tried to think of a way out, of a fighting move his father had taught him, a plan, an escape route, anything other than just giving in to the inevitable pounding thought that he was about to die.

As it poised to strike, the Minotaur still had just one thought in its head, although it had evolved to include repeated use of the word ‘maim’.

If this Legend had been a little less single-minded, however, it might have realised that the sliver of time it took to move in for the kill was long enough for a shadow to pass above it and the boy; for that shadow to grow larger, darker; for it to become solid as it bounded across the creature’s great shoulders and landed behind it.

The Minotaur turned. The armour on this new human shimmered; it was hard to focus on. He seemed to be there yet not there. The figure carried a weapon similar to the boy’s, but larger. And the Minotaur knew instantly who it now faced.

This was not a Legend Hunter. This was the Legend Hunter.

The Minotaur had moved barely a centimetre in attack before it was struck by the glowing net of the Legend Hunter’s weapon. For the briefest of moments, it was frozen in an all-enveloping web of sparkling blue. Then, with a stifled whooop, the Minotaur imploded. All that was left was a solid, hairy sphere no bigger than a tennis ball.

The Legend Hunter remained steady, a thin wisp of blue smoke drifting from the barrel of his weapon. “Bullseye,” he said, popping open his visor to reveal a face as solid as the helmet and an obvious delight at his quip.

Finn picked himself up off the ground and glared at him. “Where were you, Dad?”