Dawnbreaker: Legends of the Duskwalker - Book 3 Read Free Page B

didn’t bother to look back. The adrenaline was flowing. She was too fast now. Far too fast. The entire world seemed to have slowed around her, for her, because of her.
    She reached the waypoint, dropped to a crouch, fired, moved on. She had to stay one step ahead. Two, if possible. But Cass was forced to restrain herself; it was several seconds before Wick marked a new position, and she had to loop back to reach it. Speed was critical to keeping up the illusion, but if she outran Wick, she might end up in a place she couldn’t get back out of.
    The next waypoint was at an intersection of alleys, and Cass slowed her pace just enough to squeeze off three accurate bursts as she crossed. It took her less than two seconds. And even as she resumed her sprint, she found she could see it all so clearly in her mind’s eye; the sight picture the weapon presented, the impact of the rounds, the uncomprehending expressions on the faces of the stricken Weir. Like still frames, each instant perfectly preserved. Like when she’d boosted on quint. Like , but not the same. This was clearer somehow, cleaner.
    Out there, in that courtyard, the clamor of the Weir was changing, shifting. Cries and howls transformed from savage mockery into anger, confusion, pain. And above it all, an eruption of gunfire. Cass couldn’t see the building where Gamble and her team were pinned, but she knew they were fighting now. Not defensively, not conserving ammo. Counter-assaulting.
    There was another delay before her beacon showed up, longer this time, and when it finally appeared, it was so close Cass almost overran it. She skidded on the concrete-dusted asphalt as she took the hard corner towards the newest destination. This position was in a tight alley, and Cass was startled by the number of Weir just at the other end. Wick was taking her much closer to the Weir.
    No, not closer. The crowd was breaking up, turning outward. Searching. Seeking.
    Two Weir were hunched down, sweeping their heads back and forth in measured movements. Hunting. The waypoint blinked away as she brought the rifle up and on target.
    She felt it somehow, just before.
    A dread presence, like someone standing too close behind her.
    Cass whirled–
    Too late. The barrel caught, her burst of fire stitched the wall. The world went sideways.
    The impact blacked her vision for an instant, something heavy atop her. Even as her mind swam and fought to recover her scattered senses, her body was in motion, reacting. Automatic. Her claws rent her attacker before she could even see it.
    As her vision cleared, she swept the dying Weir to the side with one arm. Still on her back, she arched up and brought her weapon above her head, the world momentarily upside-down as she fired into the two Weir that were now charging at her. One twisted and tumbled into the wall, but the other took the hit and kept coming. Cass rolled to her belly and squeezed the trigger again. Her rifle only clicked. Empty.
    She scrambled back on her knees, but didn’t have time to make it all the way up to her feet. She let the rifle drop free, trusting the sling to carry it out of the way as she reached out her hands. Time stretched in that final second before contact. The Weir was wounded. Two dark blotches in the upper abdomen. Its right hand was sweeping in, claws extended, aimed at her eyes.
    Cass intercepted the creature’s wrist with the palm of her left hand, lifted it up just enough to pass it over her head. In the same instant, she stepped up and drove forward with her right shoulder, planting the strike right in the Weir’s wounded midsection. It folded over her with a shriek and she continued upwards, using the creature’s momentum to carry it off its feet and send it flying face first into the hard concrete. It squawked once as it impacted with a wet slap, but Cass spun and stomped down on the back of its neck before it could recover.
    Another group of Weir skidded around the corner, further down the alley,