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Together they vomited into the spiky grass of the sand dunes, all the time fearful that the sound of their spewing would be heard by the nightmare army of horrors from the deep.
Clickety-click. He straightened up. What was that? Sounded like somebody using old-fashioned Morse code. He picked up his rifle. Click, click. Clickety-click.
Fun schlock-level suspense. You know exactly what's going to happen to our NPC here.
She knew everything that went on, and she most certainly would not have approved.
Wasn't she all but pandering Pat off to Cliff just a chapter or two ago?
The corporal lit a cigarette. His hands were shaking. ‘They can’t get at us in here.’ His laugh was strained and hollow inside the confined space.
It's probably not appropriate to smoke inside a tank, even in the 70s.
Of course when we pulled Williams aboard and saw what had happened to him we naturally presumed that they had got you too, Cliff.
They forgot about his plot armor!
Amid a pile of falling debris the train slid into the water like links of sausage being carelessly tossed into a pan.
