James Axler Earthblood 01 Earthblood

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lot up, and I reckon I could just about manage it."
They got a fire going in the grate, against the bitter cold that was riding
down around them on the teeth of a raging blue norther.
The logs crackled, bright and dry.
"Guess there isn't any more green wood left anywhere in the country," said
Mac.
"Maybe none in the world. Remember that all the tundra and forests across
Russia had gone from green to red."
Neither of them heard a sound outside the isolated house.
The first clue that they had intruders was when the door of the living room
swung silently back. Framed in the doorway were two figures. Both looked to be
in their late teens, wearing plaid jackets and jeans.
Peter had discovered a supply of candles on a top shelf in the kitchen and had
stuck them around the room on plates and saucers. In the wavering light the
uninvited visitors looked like Halloween goblins. But Mac had a feeling that
the trick-or-treating might turn nasty and mean.
Mac's hand found its way toward the hilt of the knife in an instinctive
reaction that vaguely surprised him.
The taller of the two spoke. He was holding a short-hafted ax. McGill noticed
that
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right wrist, but he was in shadow and Mac couldn't make out what it was.
"Who the hell are you? You got any food? Any liquor? No guns? That your
chopper out back in the garage?"
"Lot of questions, son." Mac stood up slowly, feeling a sense of vulpine
threat seeping from the pair.
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Pete also stood, flexing his fingers so that the knuckles cracked. "We got no
food.
No liquor. No guns. And the motorbike belongs to us. Now you got your answers
and you can leave the same way you came in. Right?"
"Wrong."
"We're hungry, mister." The other intruder had a slight hesitation in his
voice that wasn't quite a full-blown stammer. But it didn't make him seem
mild-mannered or timid.
Pete took a step toward them. "We just ate a tin of dog food, squid. Only
thing left in the whole house. Now get out. Before& "
"Before what?" He lifted the axe in a threatening gesture.
"Before I break you both across my knee. You understand me, kid?"
"Don't fucking call me 'kid,' you dripping old prick!"
"That's a good fire, m-mister. We're sort of cold, as well."
"Hell, let 'em stay, Pete," said Mac. "Where's the harm?"
"The harm is that they came in with their axe and& and whatever the other
one's trying to hide behind his back. Come in here and try to threaten us and
steal from us. Well, if they aren't out of here in five seconds, I'm going to
forget all about my
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0-%20Earthblood.html pacifist training and throw them clean through that
window."
"You an' whose army, you old prick?"
Pete took three slow, hissing breaths. Clenching his fists and squaring his
shoulders, placing one foot a little in front of the other, he adopted the
classical martial-arts threatening posture.
Mac was impressed.
"Five seconds," said Pete.
The shorter one stepped farther into the room. He held out his right wrist,
and
Mac had a moment to realize that he was wearing a small gunmetal crossbow
strapped to it.
There was a dull thunking sound, and something hissed through the air,
followed by a strange, wet thud, like a hammer striking a side of beef.
Pete seemed to sag for a moment, as if he'd been kicked behind the knees. His
hands went to his head, where he appeared to have sprouted a small, feathered
horn.
"He's hit me with an arrow, Mac," he said quietly, wonderingly.
"Are you " Henderson McGill stopped, realizing what an utterly stupid and
pointless question it would be.
"He's& he's killed me, Mac. With a fucking arrow& "
Three pairs of eyes watched as Peter Turner's hands dropped away, hanging
limply at his sides. His head half turned toward the door, the shadows playing
over the stubby shaft of the crossbow quarrel that protruded from his temple.
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