Z-Minus (Book 4) by Perrin Briar Page A

large leaf to peer closer at the road.
    He made out black tires and the green side panel of a jeep. There are still patrols? Mark thought. Hope leapt in his chest. That meant the training exercise was still taking place. Had all this really been part of an elaborate trap?
    His hope shriveled at what he saw next: a puddle of red beside the jeep’s front wheel. Something dripped into it every few seconds. Mark got to his feet slowly, the others following his lead like a choreographed dance troop. He edged toward the road, as close to it as he dared. He peered closer at the jeep’s hood.
    A figure lay across it like a model at a fashion shoot. He was on his back, tilted in a yoga-like position that could not have been comfortable. The figure was smothered with blood, his own, that trailed the figure’s arm hanging over the side.
    “It’s Eddie,” Daoud said, joining Mark.
    Mark turned his head to one side and peered at the figure’s face. Daoud was right.
    Mark peered up and down the road. They were located on a blind corner, the road disappearing down either side of it. They would be exposed, but right then, Mark didn’t much care. Daoud approached one blind bend, John the other.
    “Nothing on this side,” John said.
    “This side neither,” Daoud said.
    Lucy joined them, but her attention was on the forest on either side. Birds sung and chased one another. The breeze was cool and refreshing. An otherwise beautiful day.
    Mark approached Eddie’s unmoving prostrate figure.
    “Be careful,” Lucy said. “They can move faster than you’d believe.”
    Mark appraised Eddie’s final repose. He had fought hard, by all accounts, covered head to foot in blood. The monsters had seen fit to leave his face untouched and concentrated on tearing at his arms, legs and stomach. His clothes covered the worst of his wounds. He hadn’t been a good man, but he had dedicated his life to his country. He deserved better than to have died like this.
    In his hand, clasped tight to his chest, was his rifle. Packed with paintballs, it wouldn’t have been much of a defense against the monsters Lucy spoke of, who came and came, no matter how many bullets were put into them. Paintballs were worse than useless. They would have given hope where there was none to be had.
    Mark checked Eddie’s pockets. Empty.
    He turned away. He heard a grunt, like a chuckle in a thick throat. When he turned back, Eddie’s eyes were open, a malevolent grin bending his features. He pulled the trigger on his rifle and a paintball flew out and struck Mark on the chest. Red paint ruptured over his shirt. It stung. A second paintball followed. Eddie turned the gun around and shot John in the ass, causing him to howl.
    Eddie swung his legs around, sat up, and unloaded another paintball at Daoud, taking him in the arm and shoulder. He didn’t fire at Lucy. Perhaps he mistook the red splatters on her shirt for paint.
    “I can play dead too,” Eddie said. “The bullets are imaginary, the blood just in my mind, but by God, those were the most satisfying kills I ever made.”
    “What are you doing?” Mark said.
    “Winning the game,” Eddie said. “Wait till the others hear I took down your whole team all on my lonesome – armed only with a little fake blood and a haunted expression. Did you like the pose across the hood of the jeep? I thought it might have been a bit overdramatic, but you bought it hook, line and sinker!”
    Eddie pointed his rifle at Lucy.
    “Who’s this?” he said. “I’m impressed. Not only on a training mission, but you manage to get something tasty on the side for yourself too.”
    “She’s a makeup artist,” Mark said.
    “I’m sure she is,” Eddie said with a smirk. “She can do me over any time.”
    Lucy groaned, clenched her eyes shut tight and turned away.
    “Cheer up,” Eddie said. “It wasn’t that bad a chat-up line.”
    Lucy’s body shook. She was pale as fresh snow and looked barely capable of staying