to bolt oor Kornies
to bolt
Vertalings in die woordeboek Engels - Kornies
barrya
Geskatte vertalings
Vertoon algoritmies gegenereerde vertalings
voorbeelde
Advanced filtering
Voorbeelde moet herlaai word.
to bolt
Pymp bloodh warn ugens ov.langbot langbot
to bolt
Nyns eus koffi lowr.langbot langbot
to bolt
Res yw dhymm hwath kewsel orta.langbot langbot
to lock - to bolt - to secure
Eus dhe Laurie jynn-amontya?langbot langbot
to bolt - rr - CONJUGATE WITH MODEL VERB: afydhya
Nyns yw res dhis dos a-vorow.langbot langbot
to lock - to bolt - to secure
Yma dhymm kath ha ki.langbot langbot
to bolt
Gorthuher da!langbot langbot
to bolt
Bras yw ow hi.langbot langbot
to lock - to bolt - to secure
Nyns yw kas genev Tom.langbot langbot
to bolt
Yma’n maw ow tybri bara.langbot langbot
to lock - to bolt - to secure
Res yw dhyn kewsel.langbot langbot
I rested for the remainder of the day, deep within the complex, and sustained myself with more corned beef and tinned vegetables. (I still couldn’t face the dog biscuits.) As evening approached, I moved back to the mouth of the tunnel. Immediately, I could hear noises from outside, close outside. Had the searchers found my hide- away? Were they simply waiting for me to emerge before emptying their machine-gun magazines into me? I fought the urge to retreat back along the tunnel. I waited and listened, my heart pounding a mile a minute. The noises continued, on and off. I had heard them before but when? “No-one lying in wait would be so friggin’ noisy about it,” I reasoned. “Would they?” Then it came to me, the time when I had heard these noises before. “Gronnff! Gronnff! Gronnff! Nunnff! Nunnff!” It was the noise of a zombie feasting on a fresh kill – it could only be David. (What a noisy little eater he was!) With my heart beating out of my chest, I again ventured a peek out of my lair. What did I see? The contented figure of my Brother Zombie, silhouetted in the gathering gloom. I still resisted the urge to bolt from the tunnel and wrap him up in my arms out of sheer relief. Snipers might yet be about, waiting to take both of us out at once. But they weren’t – no snipers hereabouts just yet. I approached David. He was very pleased with himself, wasn’t he? Munch, munch, munch on what looked like a large bit of liver, blood dripping down his arms – just like a child’s ice-cream does on a hot day. And he had something grisly draped around his neck, like some obscene laurel wreath (which was quite appropriate, as it turned out). I took a closer look to confirm that it was indeed what I thought it was. It was as I had thought: a considerable length of someone’s small intestine. (Why are zombies so fixated on people’s intestines? It can’t be healthy, can it?)
Usi ev tre?langbot langbot
The zombies apparently realised that the wall of sound and death had fallen over in front of them – and, as one, they surged forward. The squad commander barked out an order that I couldn’t hear and the entire squad leapt to its collective feet and bolted for the open rear door of the APC. Most managed to enter the vehicle but the door remained stubbornly open during the few seconds that it took for the fastest zombies to run across the narrow width of College Crescent. A few rifle shots rang out but those weapons soon fell silent as well. The squad disappeared under a mass of vengeful zombies. I did not have time to contemplate the grisly fate that befell those brave men. An opportunity had presented itself to me and it needed to be seized without hesitation. I slapped David out of his reverie – he, of course, had no idea as to what had just occurred. He roared his indignation at me but, all the same, followed me out of the room as I screamed: “Come on, Dave! Stay here and we die!” (I didn’t trouble him with the fact that he was already dead.) Soon, we were sprinting past the crowd of zombies that were feasting on the recently deceased soldiers. David’s pace slackened. Evidently, he wanted to join in – even though he had eaten already that day (outside the Rowden White Gallery). I was having none of it – another squad or helicopter gunship would shortly arrive on the scene to find out what had happened. And there would be much unhappiness. The main gates of the cemetery were, fortunately, still open. There were a number of military vehicles parked inside but no-one attending to them. I made a mental note of where I might expect to find an unattended vehicle if one were needed in the near future – but did not linger. My goal remained to get us back to the family crypt where we’d met up with Paul and Charles. It was quiet, weather-proof, probably blast-proof and still stocked (I hoped) with modest supplies of food – enough to last the few days I needed while the immediate hostilities died down.
Ny veu an lavar-ma treylys whath.langbot langbot
And yet, of course, David could move about by himself, grunt a bit, eat people and so on. These were clear signs of life, of a sort. So, how come the flat-lines? Where was the brain activity that seemed to be going on? Don’t know. Not my problem. Then things got a bit more interesting – though ‘interesting’ is not exactly the word I would have chosen at the time. The Captain asked for one of the cattle prods. One of the goons duly handed it over. The Captain checked to see that it was on – by applying it to David’s ear. It was indeed on – as David’s reaction amply confirmed. Then: Zap. Zap. Zap. He applied it all over David’s grey-skinned body: face, hands, feet, genitals. He was very thorough, very thorough indeed. David roared loudly from start to finish and strained at the leather – doing his utmost to snap his bonds and get at his tormentors. One of the bolts holding a strap even worked loose from the wooden frame of the chair – but not enough to matter . The Captain was smiling that slimy smile of his. (Yuck – thrice.) He was obviously enjoying himself – particularly when he applied the electric charge to what would otherwise have been David’s most sensitive areas. It was at that moment that the parallels with the evil work of Dr Josef Mengele, the angel of Death, first came to my mind. While the torture of David was proceeding in a thoroughly well-planned and systematic fashion, Dr Ingrid was keeping her attention firmly fixed on the CRT screen and making appropriate notes of what she observed. It seemed she was less interested in the finer points of the Sadistic Arts class that was being conducted by her superior than in the ‘scientific’ data it was producing. “Still flat-lining, Doctor,” she reported, in a matter-of-fact way. “Remarkable. Truly remarkable,” commented Mengele. “But the readout of the other subject, the non-zombie twin, has gone completely wild, doctor,” Ingrid added. “Quite unexpected in my view.” The Captain looked at my own screen at the same time. She was right. The squiggles of my own readout were flying off the scale.
My a wra assaya.langbot langbot
‘ “Good-day to you!” I says, going out to him. “This lane don’t lead anywhere, and wherever you may be going, your quickest way will be back to the road.” I didn’t like the looks of him; and when Grip came out, he took one sniff and let out a yelp as if he had been slung: he put down his tail and bolted off howling. The black fellow sat quite still.
Hi a leveris y vos teg.langbot langbot
15 sinne gevind in 8 ms. Hulle kom uit baie bronne en word nie nagegaan nie.