Specter Rising (Brimstone Network Trilogy) by Thomas E. Sniegoski Page A

upon them; maybe less than ten feet away. Bram braced himself, feeling his feet sink into the soft, spongy surface of the giant’s stomach.
    At first he didn’t recognize the sound.
    Multiple explosions like mini-thunderclaps filled the air, and he watched in shock as bursts of red appeared on the bodies of the Shriekhounds just before they fell dead to the ground.
    More hounds stampeded into the room, stomping upon their dead, but it didn’t seem to matter.
    The thunder continued, and more of the attacking monsters were torn up.
    And suddenly Bram realized what he was hearing.
    Gunfire.
    Someone was firing guns at the attacking Shriek-hounds . . . but who?
    The gunfire continued; staccato bursts of death that seemed as never ending as the Shriekhound hordes.Bram spun around, his eyes searching for the source of their salvation.
    The figure emerged from deep within the giant’s stomach, weapons the likes of which Bram had never seen clutched in each of its hands.
    And as strange as the weapons were, their rescuer was even stranger.
    At first Bram thought his eyes were playing tricks, but the closer their gun-wielding savior got, he knew that wasn’t the case.
    Their rescuer looked like a turtle, although this turtle was at least six feet tall, walked upright, and was a really good shot.
    Bram watched him blast away at the Shriekhounds, a blazing weapon in each clawed hand, and when the guns were out of ammunition, the turtle would drop them to the floor, its arms temporarily disappearing inside the shell, only to emerge with another piece of armament ready to dispatch death.
    The gunfire seemed to go on forever, and the bodies of the dead Shriekhounds piled up to block the entrance.
    Bram’s ears had started to ring, a high-pitched whine nearly drowning out the other sounds in thechamber as the turtle’s guns finally went silent.
    Lita and the Specter soldiers turned toward the strange creature that had saved them from certain death. From the way they glared at each other, though, Bram could already tell there were going to be problems.
    “Boffa kill many, many Shriekhounds,” the turtle said, its voice loud, with a hint of an accent that strangely enough reminded him of Russian or one of the other Slavic countries.
    Bram’s eyes grew wide as the shelled creature dropped its two smoldering guns and its arms disappeared inside its shell, emerging with two more weapons, only these were larger.
    “And now he will add Specter to the pile.”
    T he Fthaggua leader nervously took a drink from a stone goblet by the side of his chair.
    “I’m waiting,” Stitch growled, leaning his scarred face close to the demon’s and gripping the arms of its throne. “And I don’t like to wait . . . it makes me very . . .”
    Stitch ripped the arms from the chair, one side and then the other.
    “. . . impatient.”
    The Fthaggua demon dropped its cup of fluid to the ground, its beady eyes glued to the ominous form of Stitch looming over him.
    Using his crutches, Dez left the others to stand beside the patchwork man. “Do you want me to look around inside his head?” he asked.
    The demon snarled, pointing a long, clawed finger. “You will stay out of my head!” it screeched.
    Stitch dropped the chair arms and pushed his face even closer.
    “Then tell us who hired one of your assassins to kill our leader,” Stitch growled. “Or I’ll tell him to take a walk through your head and to not be gentle.”
    Dez noticed the creature’s beady eyes darting across to a table nearby. It wasn’t the first time that he noticed the beast looking over there. Leaning on his crutches, he turned to see what the Fthaggua was looking at.
    “Perhaps a special arrangement could be worked out,” the leader said. “For a price I will reveal what you seek and—”
    Stitch grabbed the demon by its throat, yanking it up from its seat.
    “You actually think we’re going to pay to hear you talk?” he asked.
    The demon choked, its scrawny legs