David Robbins - Green Bay Run

A single shot rang out and the lynx fell on the spot.

The Warrior spun, his eyes becoming flinty at the sight of the ring of Technic troopers surrounding him. There were five jeeps parked to the east, three to the west, and all of the soldiers from those vehicles now encircled him with their weapons ready to fire.

A black-haired man who wore a different type of silver insignia on his lapels than Mitchell had worn, this time consisting of a pair of thin bars, advanced several feet from the east, an auto pistol clutched in his right hand. He smiled and nodded at the mutation. “My compliments. Few men can take on a mutation with just a pair of knives and live to tell about it.”

Blade said nothing. He studied the officer, gauging the Technic as a man who was supremely self-confident and accustomed to a position of authority.

“I trust you don’t mind that I killed it for you,” the officer said.

The Warrior scanned the soldiers, counting them. There were 32 including the officer. Thirty-two guns were trained on him. The odds were hopeless. If he made a move toward the Commando, they’d turn him into a sieve.

The officer noticed the giant’s gaze and grinned. “I trust you’re not contemplating any rash act, Blade. I’m under orders to take you alive, but my men will fire if you provoke us.”

At the mention of his name the Warrior had glanced at the officer.

“You know who I am?”

“There aren’t that many seven-foot-tall men running around,” the officer quipped. “When Sergeant Nesco radioed in a description of your van, I knew who you were right away. My name is Captain Perinn. I’ve seen you before. I was stationed at the Central Core in Technic City when Hickok, Geronimo, and you were captured. I saw the SEAL up close.”

Blade lowered his arms and sighed. “So what’s next?”

“Darmobray wants to see you.”

“Who?”

“The Director of our Science Division, the man who heads our Research Facility in Green Bay,” Captain Perinn said. “But I’m sure you must know about our Research Facility. Why else would you be here?”

“Would you believe I’m on a vacation and I’ve always wanted to see Lake Michigan?”

“Not hardly,” Perinn replied. “Now if you’d be so kind, place all of your weapons on the ground. And do so slowly. One of my men might become nervous if you make any sudden moves.”

Blade had no other choice. He complied, laying the Bowies and the Dan Wesson at his feet.

“Thank you,” Captain Perinn said. He walked up to the giant and regarded him carefully. “You have quite a reputation. You know that, don’t you?”

“So do the Technics,” Blade responded sarcastically.

“You’re wasting your breath if you’re trying to get me mad,” Perinn stated. “And I’m insulted that you would think I’m so immature as to allow a few words to upset me.”

“An intelligent Technic. You’re a rarity,” Blade cracked.

Captain Perinn chuckled. “Always on the offensive, eh? You’d make a great Technic.”

“Now who’s insulting whom?”

A noncom walked over to them, the same noncom Blade had seen earlier, the one the elderly woman had tried to throttle. He saluted the captain. “Should we return with you, sir?”

“No, Sergeant Nesco,” Perinn responded. “Take your men and search for the SEAL. The van must be hidden in the woods nearby.”

Nesco nodded, saluted, and began to do an about-face.

“And Sergeant,” Perinn added.

“Yes, sir?”

“Stay alert. Blade wouldn’t come here alone. There must be other Warriors in the vicinity.”

“Will do, sir,” Sergeant Nesco pledged, and walked off.

Blade motioned at he noncom. “He’s not very popular, is he?”

“Sergeant Nesco?” Perinn said, his forehead creasing. “Why would you say such a thing? All the men respect him.”

“I saw a woman try to kill him.”

“A woman?” Captain Perinn repeated, then grinned. “Oh. You mean the Automaton. She was a renegade.”

“What’s an Automaton?”

Perinn holstered his pistol. “I’ll leave that for the Director to explain.

Darmobray is looking forward to meeting you.”

“Why?”

An enigmatic, sinister smile curled the officer’s lips upward. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Yama whirled and sent a burst into the group of walking dead who were coming around the southwest corner of the farmhouse. A half-dozen were struck and flung to the ground, but they all immediately began to rise again. He spun to the right and fired at the second group, the bullets smacking into their chests, and dropped five. Like their ghoulish fellows, they promptly stood, seemingly oblivious to the holes in their bodies and their life’s blood staining their clothes. Among them were the portly man and the woman Yama had seen inside.

What did it take to kill the things?

“Let’s get out of here!” Melissa cried, and raced to the south.

Yama followed, glancing over his left shoulder at the mob of zombielike beings. The beings broke into an awkward jogging gait, and although they weren’t very fast, although they could never overtake a normal person on a short haul, Yama enter-tained the suspicion that the walking dead could run for hours without tiring. A healthy man or woman might outrun them initially, but on a long stretch the superior stamina of the walking dead would ultimately prevail.

“Come on!” Melissa prompted. “Move it!” She sprinted for the trees bordering the south side of the yard.

Reluctantly, Yama followed her. She was bearing to the south instead of the southwest, the direction in which he had to go to rejoin Blade and Samson. He thought about the gunshots he’d heard, and picked up speed.

Melissa attained the woods and paused, waiting for him to reach her, nervously eyeing the walking dead. “Hurry.”

“There’s no rush,” Yama said as he stopped next to her.

“Do you want those things to make mincemeat out of you?”

Yama looked back. The things were a dozen yards off. “We must pace ourselves. Don’t wear yourself out or they’ll catch you.” He angled to the southwest. “Stick close to me.”

“Like glue,” Melissa promised, running on his right.

They entered the forest and covered 40 yards. The walking dead, impeded by their inability to skirt trees and other obstructions with the same alacrity, fell farther and farther behind.

“Where are we going?” Melissa inquired when they stopped to look back.

“To find my friends.”

“Let’s hope the walking dead didn’t get them.”

“No way,” Yama said confidently. Blade and Samson would be safe inside the transport. But what if one of them had stepped outside and been surrounded? Troubled by the possibility, he resumed racing toward the highway.

Melissa flew beside him.

They pulled far ahead of the pack of walking dead, and shortly came to State Highway 54. Yama moved to the center of the road and surveyed the highway for as far as he could see. The SEAL was gone.

“Where are your friends?” Melissa asked urgently.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you sure we’re at the right spot?”

Yama nodded, certain they were at the point where he had jumped from the SEAL.

“Maybe they’ve left you.”

“They would never desert me,” Yama stated stiffly.

“Then maybe the Technics got them.”

The Warrior’s features shifted, perceptibly tightening. “We’ll head for Green Bay,” he announced, and walked eastward.

“We’ll what ?” Melissa asked. She balked at the idea, hesitating, then gazed at the foreboding woods and hastened after him. “Now hold on, handsome. Going to Green Bay isn’t a very bright idea.”