Shoot the Dead by Steve Wetherell

Author:Steve Wetherell [Wetherell, Steve]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: DeadPixel Publications
Published: 2014-10-28T07:00:00+00:00

*

Billy was not a clever man, as he would have happily admitted. There were different types of intelligence, and while Billy knew he was an artist with his fists, a scientist with a gun and a proper laureate when it came to being an absolute bastard, he also knew that he was at the back of the class when it came to Thinking Things Through.

Planning was Jack’s game, and that was something Billy had learned to live with. At their best the Thatcher brothers operated with an unspoken trust that even the most professional of outfits would have a hard time matching, and sometimes this meant that Billy went along with Jack even when he wasn’t sure Jack didn’t have his head entirely up his own arse.

This was one of those times.

‘Split up?’ Billy paced the room, hands entangled in his greasy hair. ‘“Split up” he says. Wanker.’

Billy had seen horror movies. You didn’t split up. That was silly. When faced with uncertain odds, you didn’t suddenly cut your man-power in half, get rid of the guy watching your back, go it alone in unfamiliar territory. He knew that Jack had an idea of how this would play out, but Billy couldn’t for the life of him imagine the benefit of–

He was interrupted from his spiralling thoughts by a low throaty growl.

Billy was not a clever man, and like many men who weren’t clever his bafflement had a way of turning into anger, and for Billy anger was only ever a short walk away from blind rage.

The second bag-head shuffled into view through the doorway. It was dressed in a ripped denim jacket, its grey flesh bulging through the button holes, the material strapped down to its body with lengths of frayed rope, like it might burst open if not constrained. A heavy, rusted pitch fork hung in its hand. It looked over at Billy, the shape of its head tracking him underneath the hessian sacking.

‘And what the fuck are you looking at?’ Billy said, spittle flying through clenched teeth.

The bag head growled. It brandished the pitchfork, holding it easily in one meaty fist. There was a bang, a spark, and suddenly the bag head was looking at its empty hand, the pitchfork tumbled across the floor.

Billy stood with a smoking pistol levelled before him. ‘Not so clever now, are we?’ he said. ‘Only a nob-head brings a pitchfork to a gun fight,’ he added.

The monster considered its empty hand for a moment, and then growled again, advancing.

The broiling circus that was Billy’s adrenaline geared up for a show. Without thinking he threw his gun aside and struggled out of his jacket, throwing it against the wall. Veins stood out on his neck and arms, his eyes bulged, his mouth twisted into a skeleton’s grin.

There is a legend about viking berserker warriors. If they’d ever seen Billy squaring up they would have called in sick.

‘You fucking want some, you ugly bag-head wanker?’ He shouted, and the words were more spit

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.