Apocalypse - Keith R. A. DeCandido [48]
Henderson shot that cop a look that almost scared L.J. more than he was already scared. “What the fuck is Guthrie doing there?”
The cop shrugged. “Said he wanted to practice his shooting.”
Before Henderson could start talkin’ shit about this Guthrie asshole, the big dude hefted the rocket launcher and blew up the building he was shooting at.
Looking at Halloran, who was takin’ his sweet fuckin’ time with the shutters, Henderson yelled, “Hurry it up!”
L.J. was still in shock. “Holy shit—look at that big motherfucker.”
The last shutter came crashing down like those gates on those old fuckin’ castles they had in Europe and shit.
“No way that son of a bitch is getting in here,” Halloran said.
What, were these cops all fuckin’ stupid? “He got himself a rocket launcher, dog! We ’bout to explode up in here!”
“Take cover, dammit!” Henderson yelled.
All the cops took up positions behind displays and counters.
L.J. realized he was standing alone in the middle of the store, and he did not like that. He ran behind the counter where Henderson was. When in doubt, stay with the motherfucker in charge.
The sound that came next was so fuckin’ loud L.J. had to drop his Uzis in order to cover his ears. The big dude was using the helicopter gun on the front of the store.
Then silence. L.J.’s ears were still ringing—shit, they’d probably be ringing for an hour—but the big dude was done shooting.
Now there was a big-ass hole in the front, just about the size of the big dude. It was like when some cartoon character went through a fuckin’ wall and the hole was shaped just like the character.
L.J. picked up his Uzi and aimed it at the door. No motherfuckin’ big white dude with a rocket launcher was gettin’ the drop on L.J. Wayne, no fuckin’ way!
He waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Where the fuck was that thing?
Then he heard a big fuckin’ crash, and he started coughing.
The big dude came through the fuckin’ ceiling, and L.J. was eating fuckin’ plaster dust. The dude started firing the helicopter gun, even as the cops returned fire.
L.J. just sat behind the counter, frozen like a fuckin’ ice cream cone. No fuckin’ way he was movin’. He was too busy praying, and hoping hell wouldn’t be as bad as Momma always said it would be.
One of the cops came running in from the back. He had an MP5K, and he fired it on full fuckin’ automatic.
The big dude didn’t even fuckin’ flinch. He just swung around and fired the rail gun right at the cop.
L.J. looked to his right and saw that Henderson had more holes in him than fuckin’ Swiss cheese. He looked around and saw that the other cops were dead, too.
Sheeeeeeee-it!
The only other person in Mostly Colt still alive besides L.J. and the big dude was Halloran.
He stood up from behind the counter with his shotgun.
And did that white motherfucker look pissed!
“Fuck you!” he screamed as he pumped his shotgun and fired it right into the big dude’s stomach.
Nothin’. The big dude didn’t even really react. Just nothin’.
Until he raised up the helicopter gun and fired on Halloran.
L.J. was nobody’s bitch, and he sure as shit knew better than to pull a gun on a ten-foot-tall motherfucker who’d just killed a room full of cops.
He dropped his Uzis.
“Respect,” he said quickly, and closed his eyes, waiting for the big dude to blow his black ass to hell. “Peace, dog—peace.”
The only thing L.J. was sorry about was that he’d never apologized to Momma for getting her involved in that pyramid scheme. Took her years to pay off the fine, too. He’d have helped, but he had his own problems.
After several seconds, L.J. still wasn’t dead.
He opened his eyes.
The big dude was walking out of the shop through the big-ass cartoon character hole in the shutters.
Sheeeee-it.
Maybe wearing the ring was enough good luck.
Twenty-One
Jill Valentine watched as the woman named Alice stripped down her weaponry.
At first glance, Alice wasn’t anything great to look at. Oh, sure, she had a supermodel’s good looks, but she had an ordinary physique—in decent shape,