Slow Burn (Book 7): City of Stin Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Not that at all. I think we surprised each other and our adrenaline was pumping and we were so busy trying to shoot as many balls off as we could that our aim went wild. Even from that close we couldn’t hit each other.”
    “So your point is that you’re excited when you shoot now?” said Murphy. “That’s why you miss?”
    “No,” I said. “Let me finish. I think something about the virus in my brain is making me a shitty shot. I think if we get in a situation where I need to be able to shoot something, I may be calm, I might not be. If I’m not, my aim will get worse. I think I’ll be useless with the M4.”
    “Those buoys are smaller than people.”
    “Yeah, but I need to hit a lot more than three or four out of thirty shots,” I said, “and from a lot farther away.”
    Giving up, Murphy nodded. “What do you think then, no gun for you?”
    “I think maybe a shotgun like you suggested is the best thing, at least for a last resort weapon.”
    Nodding, Murphy said, “Then we should saw it off if we can find a hacksaw.”
    “I’m all for the cool factor of a sawed-off shotgun,” I said. “Besides that, why saw it off?”
    “Sawing it off will make it spread faster so you’ll be more likely to hit what you’re pointing at.”
    “Any downside?” I asked.
    “Sawing it off reduces its lethal range, but that won’t matter to you,” Murphy laughed. “You won’t be able to hit anything that’s not pretty much standing next to you anyway.”
    “I’ll update the shopping list.” Having made my attempt at humor, I thought to ask, “Do they make suppressors for shotguns?”
    “Yes, but they don’t quiet the weapon down as much as you might think. And they’re long and bulky. One would make the shotgun too clumsy to do you any good.”

Chapter 5
    I removed the suppressor from my M4 and put it in my backpack. It was too valuable to leave with the boat, which is where the M4 was going to stay with one full magazine attached, placed in a bin under one of the seats along the port side. With a weapon added to the stores of food already onboard, the pontoon boat would be a great backup plan for whatever crazy shit befell us as we tromped around town.
    Murphy pulled the boat into shallow water near the bank as we started to survey houses for candidates—something pretty close to shore, no Whites around, looking like it might have a shotgun inside. We didn’t have any criteria for the shotgun part. Not really. I was looking for oversized pickup trucks parked by the houses. In my mind, guns and 4x4 pickups with big knobby tires correlated strongly. No point in risking a house search if the odds aren’t in your favor.
    I didn’t ask Murphy what he was looking for.
    Murphy throttled back on the engine, putting it briefly into reverse before cutting it off, letting the boat drift toward a dock extending out from the shore by a few boat lengths.
    With the sound of the boat’s engine silenced, I noticed the whup-whup-whup of the helicopters moving across the sky on their morning run south. I stepped over to the port side of the boat and leaned out from under the canopy to see. The sound was louder than usual, closer.
    Murphy leaned out to look up. He pointed. “That helicopter is circling back. You think they’re coming this way? It sure looks like it.”
    Behind our boat, the white foam of our wake was dissipating in the waves, but would have been visible from afar. “Maybe they saw us.”
    Murphy looked from left to right, I think searching for a place to hide.
    I walked out from under the canopy and onto the bow deck. The helicopter was definitely headed our way. “If they come over here and land, it could save us a trip downtown.”
    Murphy shook his head. He was nervous and I’d learned to trust his instincts. He was seldom wrong.
    The helicopter descended down near the water fifty or so yards out. Waves flattened as the helicopter pushed a rush of air down. Engine noise drowned out our words.