Pouring Blood

Finally, there was nowhere left to retreat. The pile of bodies pressed me against the wall, forcing the air out of me. Hands with fragile muscles tried to tear me to pieces, while their flat, wrinkle-free faces expressed about as much emotion as an embalmed corpse. I grabbed a chrome IV stand and shoved it into the nearest sleeper's stomach. He let himself be pushed back, but others were already crowding me. They were weak and will-less, but there were a quarter of a thousand of them. So far I had managed to fend them off, but once my father got to me, it would all be over. The giant puppet took two or three more steps and stopped. The exoskeleton structure, which made my father's already massive figure even larger, trembled like a rusty carousel. The old man, sealed in his electronic armour like a sardine in a tin, bent his arms and slowly felt the machine gun welded to the wide shoulder plate.
About the author
Petr Schink, a tough and just adventurer, was born on 29th December 1979 in Ostrava, and his birthplace is certainly evident in the cadence of his Czech. It is fast and punchy, born to carry the stories that race through the author's head. Although his year of birth puts him slightly behind the names that currently dominate Czech fantasy, his very first book (Dirty Work, 2006) showed that he is a force to be reckoned with.