Fireteam Delta J. Halpin (top 10 books of all time TXT) 📖

Asle made two more trips before she came out for a final time, empty handed. “It’s stuck!”

He could see the mask snagged on the butt of a rifle through the opening.

Summers looked at the fog. It was seconds away from the gates, and Asle was the only one without a mask. Son of a bitch.

He tore off his mask and jammed it on Asle’s head with probably a little more force than he needed to. “I’ll get it. Get on the roof!”

She was already running when he reached into the opening. He pulled with all his weight, and the gas mask came free with a tear. Screw it, these things had more than enough straps as it was. He pulled it onto his head, making sure that it was tight enough before he started climbing up the side of the longhouse after the others.

The fog hit them. It slammed silently into the town’s gates, pooling into the streets below. Like a tide, it flowed over the walls and through the gaps of the crudely built homes. Summers was already on the roof, but it was rising faster than he would have expected.

Cortez was helping Logan to a higher branch, and he looked to see Asle contemplating the jump. For Christ’s sake, they’d left the kid to try to clear the distance on her own. He sprinted across the roof, grabbing her by the waistband, and jumped. He landed awkwardly, Asle in one arm and the other wrapped for dear life around the largest branch he could find. He hefted the girl up to the higher branches of the tree. She took off like only someone in a state of panic could. He followed suit, climbing as if his life depended on it. It likely did. Asle was already almost halfway up. Damn, he thought. That kid could move.

He reached for the next branch and felt a cool wetness on his leg. The fog was already up to his waist by the time he noticed it. He moved faster, hoping against hope that the mask did its job.

The fog overtook him, and he realized then the mistake he’d made. Reaching a hand up to his head, he understood that it wasn’t just a strap he’d torn. It was the filter.

“Oh.”

He could taste the change in the air. Almost immediately, he felt something in his body seize, and his grip on the branch loosened.

As Summers fell, there was only one thought in his head:

This is such a stupid way to die.

Chapter 6: Side Effects

Summers’ eyes snapped open. He was breathing hard, the world around him an ocean of white.

“Where am I?”

His voice sounded off somehow.

He tore off the useless mask, letting it fall to the ground, and could feel a cold, burning sensation in his lungs. But somehow, that didn’t bother him. He could feel the adrenaline surge up inside him, hear his heart pounding in his chest. It felt . . . good.

He spun, eyes scanning through the fog. There was something there. Somehow, he knew it. His gun. He needed his gun.

It was in his hands . . . when did it get there?

He heard shouting, but it wasn’t important. He ignored it and started running.

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Summers was screaming, hitting something, slamming the butt of his rifle into its skull. Once. Twice.

The skull gave, leaving Summers gasping for air over its remains. He needed to kill it. He needed to . . .

To what?

It was a skeleton. He was in one of the homes somewhere in town. How did he get here?

It wasn’t important. He got up.

God, he was hungry.

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Time passed. Summers wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, but he could see more than just white. The air was clear, but he still couldn’t find what he searched for. He was sure it was out there, waiting for him. It would come for him if he rested. He could smell it. He needed to find it—to kill it, before it could kill him.

Wait, what was he looking for? He couldn’t remember.

He could smell something in the air, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Then he heard soft footsteps in the snow. He turned just as the first wolf lunged for him. Raising the barrel of his gun almost automatically, he held down the trigger, watching the spray of gunfire tear the wolf apart in an instant. It fell into a heap at his feet. Dead.

Two more came. He aimed, fired. His gun clicked uselessly, empty. He brought it up in front of him just as one wolf barreled into his chest, teeth scrambling for purchase.

Summers drew the knife at his thigh, slamming it into the neck of the wolf. Warm blood ran down his face. He pulled the knife free and stabbed again, over and over, until he felt the creature go slack in his arms.

Before he could stand, the other was lunging for his head. He stabbed forward, but the creature caught his arm in its mouth. Somehow, it didn’t hurt.

He pushed forward, straddling the wolf, wrapping his fingers around the jaw holding his arm in a vice grip. He pulled, ignoring the sound of wet flesh tearing as it came loose. Summers freed his arm and slammed the knife into the wolf’s skull. It twitched a few times before it lay still.

Summers got to his feet. It was silent. He could smell the hot blood in the snow around him.

He was so hungry.

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Summers heard shouting in the distance and straightened. Something was coming. An enemy?

He heard his name. What was his name?

Summers, right?

A girl appeared in front of him. He raised his rifle. Something in his head screamed at him to stop. Why?

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