Dead Surround - The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles by Celis T. Rono Page A
Authors: Celis T. Rono
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bullets nearly decimated his head. His height and build were distinct bulls-eye signs for the opposition. Shots continued sporadically at the once popular meadow that had brimmed with park visitors.
“What’s happening?” he asked Poe who seemed to be locked in a trance. When he didn’t get an answer, Maclemar nudged the girl with his shoulder.
“Trying to figure out where the shots are coming from,” Poe answered with exasperation.
“And?”
“And I think two of them are firing from the clump of cypresses ahead. Three are hiding near the ranger cottage. A couple of vamps are zigzagging super-fast by the stubs near the pond. You can see their blurry images against the water at the edges of 91
Rono/DEAD SURROUND
the pond. And there are at least two more crack shots in Jorge and Romulo’s side of the clearing.”
“You got all that from listening?”
“Don’t be annoying,” Poe gritted her teeth.
“Maple drew them out. We’ll need to take down the goons up those trees. They’re closest, and their vantage is bad for the five of us. I’m gonna run real fast to that fat tree over there.” She pointed at a thick redwood that must have been a few hundred years old. “Get to that boulder near the redwood and cover me. Don’t run! Crawl on your belly ’cause you don’t camouflage.”
She handed him two clips and quickly scrambled from tree to tree, barely dodging bullets. Maclemar blew out a breath and followed her lead, throwing himself on the floor when needed and crawling like a Marine under barbed wire.
From the other side of the clearing, a furious Romulo announced his location to the world by hurling a string of curses per shot fired.
“Fucking turds!” he yelled as he squeezed the trigger. “Ball lickers!”
Stupid asshole , thought Poe at hearing the commotion he was making. They’re going to plow him down because of his potty mouth! And he might just take poor Jorge with him. In her book the cycling fanatic was more than alright.
Her eyes darted to the crop of diverse tree species only a few hops away. In the center were pretty cypress trees familiar to her from her dad’s collection of colorful California crate labels from the 1920s.
Poe paused behind an overturned picnic table to better gauge where the bullets were coming from, 92
Rono/DEAD SURROUND
usurping a hare that dug its hole alongside the crumbling artifact of days gone by.
Know how I know that you two are up there?
‘Cause you’re firing at my ass and you’re not even changing trees! She leapt behind the nearest redwood. Bullets grazing the earth exploded into dust as they pursued Poe’s heels. Despite the peril, the dog and pig doggedly continued to trail their leader.
She crouched inside the elbow of an especially leaden tree root and waited for Maclemar who made every effort to hide his broad body from the snipers perching on the tree.
“The unfortunate chump looks like he’s going to need a defibrillator,” she muttered under her breath as she recalled the oft used term in medical dramas she’d ingested over the years. “He can’t be more than forty. He hardly has any white hairs,” she said.
“C’mon, Welshman. I need to get to where that squirrel is,” Poe complained. “Duck for fucksake!
That tree won’t cover your hand!”
Maclemar reached the boulder near enough to take a good shot at the dubious trees, and Poe took off running in a crisscross manner.
Never run in a straight line under fire, or you’ll be road kill, Sister Ann had inculcated in her brain .
Maclemar shot at the tree tops, drawing fire his way. Poe bit the bullet and dropped and rolled to the nearest tree that provided an improved underside view. “Close enough,” she said in a whisper and waited.
Within seconds she spotted movement from a lanky cypress. She fired twice. A distended body fell with a wound around the shoulder and neck, and an 93
Rono/DEAD SURROUND
obese daywalker in fatigues lay permanently dead not
“What’s happening?” he asked Poe who seemed to be locked in a trance. When he didn’t get an answer, Maclemar nudged the girl with his shoulder.
“Trying to figure out where the shots are coming from,” Poe answered with exasperation.
“And?”
“And I think two of them are firing from the clump of cypresses ahead. Three are hiding near the ranger cottage. A couple of vamps are zigzagging super-fast by the stubs near the pond. You can see their blurry images against the water at the edges of 91
Rono/DEAD SURROUND
the pond. And there are at least two more crack shots in Jorge and Romulo’s side of the clearing.”
“You got all that from listening?”
“Don’t be annoying,” Poe gritted her teeth.
“Maple drew them out. We’ll need to take down the goons up those trees. They’re closest, and their vantage is bad for the five of us. I’m gonna run real fast to that fat tree over there.” She pointed at a thick redwood that must have been a few hundred years old. “Get to that boulder near the redwood and cover me. Don’t run! Crawl on your belly ’cause you don’t camouflage.”
She handed him two clips and quickly scrambled from tree to tree, barely dodging bullets. Maclemar blew out a breath and followed her lead, throwing himself on the floor when needed and crawling like a Marine under barbed wire.
From the other side of the clearing, a furious Romulo announced his location to the world by hurling a string of curses per shot fired.
“Fucking turds!” he yelled as he squeezed the trigger. “Ball lickers!”
Stupid asshole , thought Poe at hearing the commotion he was making. They’re going to plow him down because of his potty mouth! And he might just take poor Jorge with him. In her book the cycling fanatic was more than alright.
Her eyes darted to the crop of diverse tree species only a few hops away. In the center were pretty cypress trees familiar to her from her dad’s collection of colorful California crate labels from the 1920s.
Poe paused behind an overturned picnic table to better gauge where the bullets were coming from, 92
Rono/DEAD SURROUND
usurping a hare that dug its hole alongside the crumbling artifact of days gone by.
Know how I know that you two are up there?
‘Cause you’re firing at my ass and you’re not even changing trees! She leapt behind the nearest redwood. Bullets grazing the earth exploded into dust as they pursued Poe’s heels. Despite the peril, the dog and pig doggedly continued to trail their leader.
She crouched inside the elbow of an especially leaden tree root and waited for Maclemar who made every effort to hide his broad body from the snipers perching on the tree.
“The unfortunate chump looks like he’s going to need a defibrillator,” she muttered under her breath as she recalled the oft used term in medical dramas she’d ingested over the years. “He can’t be more than forty. He hardly has any white hairs,” she said.
“C’mon, Welshman. I need to get to where that squirrel is,” Poe complained. “Duck for fucksake!
That tree won’t cover your hand!”
Maclemar reached the boulder near enough to take a good shot at the dubious trees, and Poe took off running in a crisscross manner.
Never run in a straight line under fire, or you’ll be road kill, Sister Ann had inculcated in her brain .
Maclemar shot at the tree tops, drawing fire his way. Poe bit the bullet and dropped and rolled to the nearest tree that provided an improved underside view. “Close enough,” she said in a whisper and waited.
Within seconds she spotted movement from a lanky cypress. She fired twice. A distended body fell with a wound around the shoulder and neck, and an 93
Rono/DEAD SURROUND
obese daywalker in fatigues lay permanently dead not
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