David Robbins - Chicago Run

Its lips curled back to expose thin, razor-edge teeth, the brute was already on the attack, springing toward the big man in blue. Oddly, the dog didn’t growl or snarl or bark. It simply closed for the kill with all the cold precision of a ruthless machine.

Yama had the Dakon II in front of his chest when the canine leaped and slammed into him, grabbing the barrel in its massive jaws and chomping down at the moment of impact. The force of the heavy body knocked Yama against the wall at the same instant the grenade detonated. He felt the wall vibrate and the floor trembled slightly, and then he forgot all about the Technic troopers as he fought for his life against the beast.

Landing on all fours, the dog retained its grip on the barrel and jerked his head to the left.

The Warrior would never have believed such a feat possible, but the animal tore the Dakon II from his grasp. He darted to the left, striving to put a little distance between them and buy time to bring another gun into play.

Dropping the Dakon II, the canine lowered its head and vaulted at its intended victim.

Yama couldn’t evade the rush. He didn’t bother to try. Instead, he went with the flow of the creature’s attack, employing a basic judo and jujitsu techique of using an adversary’s momentum against him. His hands flicked out and grasped the dog’s extended front legs, and as his fingers closed on its cold skin he dropped his right shoulder and pivoted, whipping the animal into the wall.

Letting go, Yama glided to the center of the landing and tried to unsling the other Dakon II. The dog scrambled erect and came at him again, forcing him to give up on the rifle and go for his scimitar. His right arm was a blur as he drew and slashed.

The edge of the scimitar caught the canine at the base of its throat and slit it from one side to the other. Twisting, the animal shifted to the right and paused.

Yama held the scimitar ready for a second swing, his eyes glued to the thing’s neck, waiting for its blood to gush forth. But no blood seeped out.

He was certain the blade had cut a half-inch deep, yet there was no blood.

How could that be?

Dodging first one way, then the other, the gray brute snapped at the Warrior’s legs.

Retreating, Yama swung and missed several times in succession. The creature’s reflexes were incredible. Yama couldn’t score no matter how hard he tried. Another swipe drove the beast back a yard, and Yama went for his Magnum, clearing leather with a speed that would have done justice to Hickok. He snapped off two shots, the retorts booming eerily in the stairwell, planting each directly between the canine’s eyes.

Staggered by the impact, the brute staggered rearward, its knees beginning to buckle. Exhibiting astonishing strength, the dog recovered, straightened, and shook its head a few times. Where any other dog would have been dead on the spot, this one exposed its fangs and renewed its assault.

Bewildered for one of the few times in his life, Yama kept the beast at bay with the scimitar and backed toward the stairs leading up to the tenth floor. He realized the thing couldn’t be a mutation because even mutants bled. What in the world was it then? A creation of the Technics? If so, what kind? What weak spots did it have? A grenade would do the job, but he had to get far enough away to escape the blast himself before he could use one.

Or did he?

An insane idea occurred to him and he holstered the Magnum. His left foot bumped into the bottom step. He halted, formulating his strategy.

When the beast darted forward, he countered with a wide downward strike that missed but drove the thing over four feet to the rear. In a flash he transferred the scimitar to his left hand and pulled a grenade. He had to use his thumb to extract the pin one-handed.

The brute crouched, its feral eyes blazing, its muscles coiling like springs, and suddenly sprang.

Yama was ready. He dropped the scimitar and stepped in closer, meeting the dog midway, twisting his body so that those wicked teeth missed his chest and clamping his left arm around the beast’s neck as he did the unthinkable and drove his right fist, curled around the grenade, into its open mouth.

The creature tried to bite his arm off.

Lancing pain racked Yama’s arm as he crammed the grenade down its throat and wrenched his arm out again. The dog’s teeth dug in deep, shredding his sleeve and cutting furrows in his flesh. As his hand slid free the beast’s jaws snapped shut, almost taking off several fingers.

Thrashing, the brute tried to break loose of the big man’s grasp.

Yama looped his injured arm around its neck and surged toward the railing, ticking off the seconds in his mind.

Fragmentation grenades had a four- to five-second time delay between the release of the safety lever and detonation of the six and a half ounces of explosive inside. By his count, three of those seconds were expended when he reached the railing and heaved the struggling, snapping canine over.

He dropped the creature and whirled. Taking one long stride, he launched himself into the air and struck the landing just as the frag went off. The landing shook under him.

Bits and pieces of the canine rained down. Sections of skin, parts of metallic bones, and chunks of fleshlike substance pelted the Warrior and spattered all around him.

Yama couldn’t stay idle. Swiftly he retrieved the scimitar and the Dakon II, but when he picked up the latter he discovered the dog’s teeth had cracked the barrel and rendered the weapon useless. He unslung the second Dakon II, worked the cocking handle, and stepped to the door and opened it.

Littering the hallway were a couple of dozen injured or dead troopers.

Many groaned or clutched their sides and cried pitiably. There was no one else around.

Where had the rest gone? Yama asked himself, and turned from the ninth floor to begin his ascent to the tenth and final level on which he would find the Minister. Blood dripped from his right forearm and trickled onto the Dakon II, making his grip slippery. He halted and used the survival knife to slice off several wide strips from his left sleeve for makeshift bandages. Wrapping them around the deep cuts, he tightened the strips as best he could with his teeth and left hand, then tied large knots to hold the bandages in place.

Satisfied with his handiwork, Yama climbed higher. He slowed as he neared the last landing, anticipating there would be guards. None were stationed there, however, and he came to a closed door without further mishap.

He slowly twisted the knob and gently pulled until he could see the large chamber within. The sight of another pair of nasty creatures similar to the persistent dog he’d dispatched brought a frown to his mouth. There were also four scientists in white smocks and one other person, a thin man with oily blond hair who wore a uniform that perfectly contrasted with Yama’s outfit: light, bright blue, and adorned with gold trim.

That must be the Minister, Yama decided, about to fling the door wide and barge in when he noticed the dogs again. Both of the nearly indestructible hounds were looking in his direction. They’d seen or heard him!

A white-haired scientist said something to the Minister, who looked at the door and smiled.

“Don’t be shy,” the Lord of Technic City stated in a mocking tone.

“Whoever you are, enter.”

Yama did so. He cradled the Dakon II and stopped just inside the doorway, scanning the chamber for other parties. Neither of the canines budged; their collars were attached to leashes held by a pair of the men in the white smocks.

The Minister stepped a few feet nearer, his countenance serene, completely unruffled. “So, it isn’t a rebel suicide squad after all. I should have suspected as much.”