The Five Roads To Texas saga continues with book 4 in the series – Convergence: The Far Side of Hell by AJ Powers
It was about 12:30, and Malcom still had some time to kill before he needed to leave. He thought about going back to sleep for another hour or two, but what was the point in that? He would have all of eternity to nap after sunset, so he didn’t need to bother with one now. As his eyes landed on his FAL leaning up against the wall next to the bed, he got an idea.
Malcom huffed his way up the few flights of steps leading to the rooftop and emptied his backpack of all his rifle magazines and ammo. Including the one in his rifle, he had seven full magazines and eight and a half boxes of 7.62 left. It wasn’t a ton, but it was plenty for the party he was about to throw.
Scooting up to the ledge, Malcom dropped the muzzle toward the street and looked for a target through his iron sights. He zeroed in on a lone infected and squeezed the trigger. Predictably, his shot had gone wide to the right, shattering the back window of a black Escalade parked on the curb. Between the downward angle and considerable distance, Malcom hadn’t expected to hit the infected man. But because of the booming echo the rifle sent throughout downtown, and the Escalade’s wailing car alarm, it only took a few minutes for a small group of infected to investigate.
Malcom took another shot at a sports car parked a few spaces back and its alarm also blared wildly from the impact of the heavy round.
“Come and get some, motherfuckers!” Malcom shouted from the rooftop.
As a good-sized crowd circled around the Escalade, Malcom took aim again, this time leveling his sights on the middle of the crowd. His shot rang out furiously, and the crowd temporarily dispersed as two bodies dropped to the street. After a moment of confusion over their fallen comrades, the group returned to bashing on the high-end SUV, scratching and clawing to get to the people they thought were inside.
A sinister grin spread across Malcom’s face as he repeatedly mashed on the trigger with menacing delight. He quickly lost track of his kill count. The more he killed, the more they flooded in. Which was fine by him; he had plenty of hate to go around.
If only he had access to an A-10… and knew how to fly one.
Brrrrrrt, Malcom heard in his head.
After burning through four magazines, he could no longer see his kills on the ground. There were so many of the bastards packed into the streets that the moment one dropped it was engulfed by more ghouls. Malcom didn’t even have to aim anymore. He just swung the barrel in the general direction of the crowd and pulled the trigger. After another twenty rounds, Malcom decided to give himself, and the rifle, a short break to reload the depleted magazines.
