Terminal White. James Axler

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       Chapter 1

      The bastard child of a thousand deluded devotees hurtled toward Kane across the flame-lit temple, an unearthly howl issuing from its gaping wound of a mouth.

      Kane’s Sin Eater appeared in his hand, the hidden handblaster materializing from its forearm holster. The former Magistrate began blasting a stream of 9 mm titanium-shelled bullets at the eight-foot-tall monster as it charged across the slate floor at him. Its composite arms reached out and batted the bullets aside like a tumble of dislodged shale flickering through the air, lines of blood rippling between each loose stone. And then the creature reached for Kane as the horrified pilgrims watched, its stony arm distending and parting as it grasped for Kane’s weapon.

      How do I get myself into these jams? Kane wondered as that inhuman arm reached for the barrel of his blaster.

      Eighty-six minutes earlier

      THE TOWER COULD be seen from miles away, its red eye shining even through the pouring rain that darkened the skies.

      “The last time I was here,” Brigid Baptiste explained, “this whole place was just a field of beets.”

      Kane pushed apart the canvas covers of the transport wag with his hands and peered out at the road. The canvas was heavy from the rain, and Kane felt a wash of rainwater run over his hand and down his arm as he adjusted the flaps to see.

      They were bumping along a gravel road that was perfectly straight and was bordered on either side by a line of carefully matched stones placed at roughly twelve-foot intervals. Carved from slate, each stone was disc-like and flat like a roof tile, and each measured eight feet in height, its base sunken into the ground. The gray slate had turned black with the rainwater, and the curtain of rain continued to fall, drenching the road, the wag, the standing stones and everything else in its chilling torrent. Beyond those stones were meadows of wildflowers, their colors vibrant even now, seen through the morning shower. To Kane, a trained Magistrate, the stones looked like sentries, guarding the pathway up to their destination, the red-eyed tower.

      “Never much liked beets,” Kane muttered as the rugged transport jounced along the road, the shushing noise of the gravel and the rain mingling to a roar as loud as a waterfall.

      Kane was a clean-shaven, muscular man in his early thirties, with steel-gray eyes and short dark hair. He stood an inch over six feet tall and there was something of the wolf about him, not only because of his build but also because of the way his eyes took in everything and the way he always seemed to be alone no matter the company he was in. He was both a pack leader and a loner, just СКАЧАТЬ