Stars Gods Wolves by Dan Kirshtein (good books for 8th graders .TXT) 📗

Company, he found himself hopping from one paycheck—which meant one explosion—to the next. And as much as he enjoyed the paychecks and their uses, nothing thrilled him quite like the noise, fury, and artistry of a good explosion. With a satisfied smile, he resumed paying attention to what he was physically doing, and realized he’d been tossing the tube into the air and then catching it. In fact, he was quite good at it.

Adding this to the list of things he considered an art form, he flicked his wrist and watched the tube spin through the air. He caught it lengthwise, consistently avoiding the detonation buttons at the top: one red and one green.

This continued for some time before a crash startled him. It wasn’t a loud crash, or a large one, but it [was the kind of crash that] came from something stirring from within the buildings. His jump occurred mid-catch, unfortunately, and the detonation tube bounced in his open palm as he looked to the source of the noise.

The gravity of the situation finally occurred to the demolitions expert, and, rather than investigate the noise, his priorities shifted to trying not to explode. He stumbled, trying to catch the tube once again in an upward motion. The grab was successful, placing the tube upright, standing in his palm between his thumb and fingers.

He let out a victorious whimper as he looked over the tube, but an ominous beeping soon ended any pride. His brow dropped as he examined the tube, realizing the detonation buttons were pressed against his palm. Luckily, the instant detonation button hadn’t been pressed, only the timed one. Even so, his eyelid twitched.

His throw was panicked and shoddy, but it worked. The beeping tube was sent spiraling into the gray distance, and the demolitions expert turned and dove before he heard a loud explosion, followed by the splash of snow.

A slight mad giggle emerged from him as he rolled onto his back. When he sat up, the giggling died off as a thought occurred to him. His eyes darted to the ruins and he heard more shifting, more stirring from the carcasses of the buildings. The realization of what made the initial crash turned his legs to jelly. A grim sneer appeared across Boomer’s face before he stumbled to his feet.

The Carrion emerged from the ruins in groups. They were slow, inquisitive. And while they approached the site of the explosion, one group stepped out and locked eyes with him. He wasn’t used to standoffs, this being only his second since joining the company. The kind of combat to which he was accustomed was less tension-oriented and more excited counting down. Fuses and timers were easy and predictable, readable. Not like these things. The demolitions expert quickened his backward walking pace.

More of them poured from the windows of the black and half-eaten buildings. Their blue bodies emerged, one by one, until Boomer could no longer count them. They had food that was less combative, but they didn’t approach him like food. They approached him like a cat would a mouse, with a playful curiosity that would turn deadly. “Aw, please, fuck off,” he whined as they stalked him. Slowly, he drew another detonation tube from his belt and slid his thumb onto the green button on the rectangular device. It gave three beeps before Boomer tossed it. Quickly spinning on one heel, he bolted back to the rest of the team.

Back at the downed ship, Josie had just finished packing. She gave a look to Gally, who was going from person to person, too eager to get the crew back on their feet. The lieutenant already missed Ox, who—if Gally had even dared to ‘help’ him pack—would have roared loud enough for her to drop it. But instead, the others begrudgingly let her help load equipment she had no experience carrying. When she finally got to Nitro, Josie watched eagerly. Finally, someone was going to tell her to go to hell; finally, someone was going to make her stop. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply raised a hand to her, said he could handle it, and she let him be. It was the most anti-climactic thing Josie had witnessed. She plopped her hands on one of the containers, wondering what could have made her captain so docile.

Just then, an explosion caught the attention of the crew. They all looked to the east of the ship, and there was a distant sound of hollering. The explosion was a dead giveaway, but Nitro stepped forward to see a man, strapped with equipment, waving his arms as he ran toward them: it was indeed Boomer.

His shouting was muffled in the distance; they strained to hear him. By the time he was back in coms range, he was screaming at the top of his lungs, causing distortion. “Run, goddamnit!”

Most of the crew didn’t hesitate. They grabbed what equipment they could and sprinted past the Atticus. Josie, however, didn’t take orders from Boomer, and looked to her captain, who was assessing the situation. When Nitro nodded, she sprinted.

The doctors, their assistant, the pilot, and Gally stampeded into the city as the Company brought up the rear. Josie would occasionally pirouette like a ballerina cowboy, firing off several shots from her sidearms to slow the monsters down. Boomer dropped some grenades as he moved, his running keeping time with his counting before each boom that gave them space. Doctor Lee pointed to a large complex with an open door that seemed defendable, and the crew ran toward it.

When they arrived at the building, they leapt through windows and doors, over countertops, and around desks. Josie and the rest of Purple Company instinctively stopped at the entrance and held their position there. She loaded a plasma rifle with a full battery and threw it to Nitro, only moments after coming to a halt. She’d anticipated him switching it to live rounds. It was a slower fire, but it was effective.

Instead, Nitro kept