Mystery Audiobook
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EnglishAccents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
muffled shots broke the late morning stillness in the Northern California vineyard. Chow Ling dove to the ground, scrambled through a roller. Vines leapt to his feet and kept running. A man with a pistol fixed with a silencer trotted after him. Barrel held high. Ling dove through another role of vines and another, then crouched behind a post, his lungs aching, holding the weapon at arm's length. The gunman's eyes narrowed and he fired again, the bullet ripping through a cluster of the ripening grapes, splattering Ling's face with juice. He humped up the hillside vineyard, his chest heaving, and peered again through the leaves. The gunman was nearly parallel to him, separated by four rows, aiming at him. Ling duck to his left. As another thunk sounded, he cried out as his right thigh exploded with searing pain. He clutched his leg and tumbled to the ground, rolling onto his back. The ******* is crazy. Why did I get involved with this idiot? He looked up the row searching for an escape. Keep moving his leg on fire. He struggled to his feet and hobbled blood, soaking his pant leg, his left leg quivering with every step he pulled out his cellphone with shaky hands. He tapped 911 and listened to the phone's buzzing. Bring, What's your emergency? A dispatcher asked calmly. Someone's trying to kill me, laying shouted, Are you OK? The dispatcher asked. I've been shot. Tell me who and where you are and what's going on. My name is Chow Ling, he yelled. I met Morrison Creek Winery. It's Bernie Morrison. He's got a gun. He's trying to kill me. Bling sucked in one breath after another, his body shaking. Can you get to a safe place? What the? That's what I'm trying to do. Hold on. The line went silent for what seemed an eternity. Ling peered across leafy vines as Morrison crawled through a row, rose and toe game, firing again, the muffled shot ripping through the leaves off. The dispatcher came back on. We have a unit in the area. I'm sending it now. You'll see it soon. Stay on the line and tell me what's happening. Keeping his head low, Ling hobbled back down the slope and toward the winery, hoping the cops would get there before he'd be cut down. The phone slipped from his hands and fell to the dirt he kept going. Three rows separated him from Morrison, who kept moving, staying parallel to him, blinding pain filled his head as to muffled shots sounded laying. Stumbled to the ground. He touched the side of his head and felt the wet warmth flowing from a gash in his scalp. His hand was bright red. He struggled to his feet at the edge of the vineyard, breathing heavily, his eyes stinging from sweat, his head on fire. He scanned the highway in front of the winery, a black and white cruiser, lights flashing, headed toward the vineyard laying, heard footsteps behind him and twisted around his leg, wobbly and fell to the ground. His vision blurred. He wiped his eyes with bloody fingers and squinted up at Morrison, standing over him, pistol pointed at his chest. Dont lean, cried, staring up at Morrisons, bloodshot blue eyes, arms reaching up in appeal, Morrison glanced to the winery entrance, where the sheriff's cruiser swerved into the graveled parking lot and slid to a stop. Ling saw two officers leap out and draw their weapons. Crouching slightly, they shouted for Morrison to drop his gun. Breathing heavily, Morrison returned his eyes to ling and glared. No, no, Don't lean! Yelled three muffled shots slammed into his chest like iron fists. He weaves the breath As the air crackled with the deputies gunfire, Morrison's body shuddered, bullets staggering him backward and to the ground. Ling's world went dark.