Free THE KILLER ANGEL: Book One "Hard Player" (THE KILLER ANGEL TRILOGY 1) by Myles Stafford

and effective. But there were still far too many screaming, snarling runners, clawing at the building, climbing on top of each other to get in. There were hundreds of them. That blind fury clearly had only one purpose - to savage and eat living,breathing, warm bodies, and they could smell it in quantity. The mayhem would not cease until one side or the other was eliminated.
    This was a bad situation; one of the worst I had yet seen. My neck hair was up and tingling. Ben’s fur was ridged up sharply, looking wonderfully intimidating, and his growling signaled his anxiety and fight-ready instinct.
    Brick and I limbered-up in preparation for what we knew was only seconds away. Safeties off; we were ready. Runners screeching and men yelling. It was getting close. The building was surrounded. No way out. Vicious pounding commenced on the heavy roof access door - not human.
    I had to yank on Brick at little; the notion for humor always hit me at the most dangerous moments in my life. “Brick, where’s that gas of yours? I need some.”
    “Oh, so now your a believer?” He replied.
    “Definitely. Hand it over
rapide, s’il vous plaît.”
    “Hah, I will remember this the next time I think of it.” Brick, always a good sport. I smiled.
    It was a worst case predicament. There likely would be no next time, and we both knew it. A no way out, total loss situation, something I always feared and had always successfully prevented - until then. More shots from below; some there still resisted, but it had to be futile.
    “The corner!!”
I shouted to Brick. That location was an immediately apparent logical last stand position,however weak it might be.
“Stay with me Ben!”
    Danger and intensity were at maximum, but I was calm. I had been there many times before. I had the gift of keeping a clear head in the worst conditions, and the ability to take correct, decisive action when under extreme stress, all of which had saved me many times before. Panic cross-wired thinking and caused mistakes, often fatal. I was pleased to see that Brick appeared equally calm; the perfect comrade for a life-or-death fight.
    Knees bent, slightly hunched over my rifle - Brick had remarked that he would know me a mile away from my shooting stance; my “signature style” as he called it. It was effective. I was at peace and ready.
    Then, total chaos and burning hell spewed upon our little trio as the metal barrier finally caved and the horrifying dead vaulted from the opening.
    We spread destruction as though we were knocking down targets at an arcade. But it was not for amusement. Those creatures were fast and powerful, and lusted maniacally for our blood.
    Initially, the charging runners piled up quickly at the door, and we continued to knock them down with all the control of British infantry. Briefly, I had hope that the weight of the corpses would choke the opening, but I was quickly disappointed.
    The bodies piled up and then those piles were shoved and clawed over. We popped out clips and locked in full ones without error, like machines that were designed for that specific task. Over and over.Precise and effective fire.
    Rifle ammo was soon exhausted, and then it was all pistols, but it mattered little. Jumping over the dead heaps, the marauders were on us in large numbers, snapping, charging, and falling like dominoes. Even the broken and dismembered creatures would not relent, and dragged their disfigured bodies towards us. The cacophony of screaming runners mixed with the sound and flash of our guns was deafening and surreal.
    The end was near; it was obvious. My eyes began to water in sorrow - and anger. Faintly, through the din, I barely heard a click click and knew that Brick’s ammo was gone, a short barreled revolver being his last firearm.
    Almost simultaneously, I expended my last bullet and popped the head off the nearest beast as Ben ripped in and moved faster than any human athlete or undead runner could possibly manage, doing his