David Robbins - Seattle Run

Blade removed a fresh magazine from the pouch. “I agree. Which means we keep on our toes at all times.” He removed the spent clip from the Commando and inserted the new one.

The others were replacing their spent magazines.

“Who cares if they know we’re comin’?” Hickok commented. “We have a job to do, and we’re going to do it no matter what.”

Blade turned to the south. He placed the spent magazine in the pouch and closed the flap. “Let’s go.”

The four Warriors continued their search, moving at a dogtrot.

In the century since the war, the prolific vegetation had reclaimed much of the land, overruning the spaces between the buildings. The majority of the structures were in dilapidated condition; roofs were caved in, the paint had faded or peeled off, the walls were rent with fractures, and the windows were broken or missing.

Blade noted the state of the buildings as they proceeded further into the city. They encountered more and more structures, many individual residences. But as they went on, larger edifices appeared. Ancient stores.

Industrial buildings. And others of indeterminate design and purpose.

Despite the brightness of the morning sun, the interiors of the structures were plunged in obscure gloom.

“This place is sort of spooky,” Hickok remarked.

Blade nodded. The air was still, the nearby trees motionless.

Disturbingly, there was no indication of wildlife: no birds, no squirrels, no rabbits, nothing.

As if he was reading Blade’s mind, Rikki spoke up. “Where are the animals? There should be animals.”

They crossed a small field and reached an intersection. The highways were still in passable condition, but there was no sign of any traffic.

“I don’t understand,” Yama stated, scanning a four-story building to their right.

Blade was taking his bearings by the sun. The field they’d just crossed was slightly to the northeast of the intersection. He elected to stay with the road; the going would be easier and they could spot an assault in advance.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked, following one branch on the highway to the south.

“A lot of these buildings are in better shape than I expected,” Yama said. “They’re relatively intact. But you told us Seattle was hit by a neutron bomb. So why isn’t everything destroyed?”

“I can answer that,” Hickok chimed in.

“Go ahead,” Blade directed.

Hickok looked at Yama. “I saw the same thing when I was in Washington, D.C. A whole bunch of the buildings there are still in once piece, and Washington was hit by a neutron bomb too.”

“But how?” Yama queried, puzzled.

“A Russian general told me about neutron bombs,” Hickok disclosed.

“The Soviets apparently used a heap of them during the war. The general said the Russians liked the neutron bombs better than the typical H-bombs because the neutron kind aren’t as destructive.”

“A Russian told you that?” Yama questioned skeptically. “Why didn’t the Soviets employ their most devastating bombs and missiles?”

“The general explained that,” Hickok said. “He said the Russians wanted to conquer America, not turn the country into a desolate wasteland. You see, those neutron bombs didn’t produce as much fallout as a conventional warhead and their explosive power wasn’t as great. So a lot of U.S. cities and targets were hit by the neutron type.”

“Like Seattle,” Yama stated.

“And we know the Russians launched a drive through Alaska and Canada at the outset of World War Three,” Blade noted. “They were stopped in British Columbia by the coldest winter western Canada had seen in centuries. The same thing happened to the Nazis during World War Two. A Russian winter softened them up for the Allied troops. Well, during the Big Blast, a Canadian winter checked the Soviets and enabled the U.S. and Canadians to drive the Russians back across the Bering Strait. The Soviets probably used a neutron bomb on Seattle because they intended to eventually use the city as a major port of entry.”

“Why didn’t the Americans reoccupy the city?” Yama wondered aloud.

“Several reasons,” Blade said. “Most of the U.S. population was evacuated into the Midwest during the war. Thousands and thousands more fled to California. And while neutron bombs don’t produce as much fallout as typical thermonuclear devices, they do create some. There must have been enough to dissuade anyone from reentering Seattle for years, maybe decades.”

“But there must be people here now,” Yama observed.

Blade shrugged. “We know there are captive humans here. And mutants. Who knows what else?”

“I do,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi commented.

Blade glanced over his right shoulder at the black-garbed Warrior.

“You do? What?”

“That,” Rikki said, pointing to the right.

Blade faced in the indicated direction. And froze. His companions did the same.

Standing on eight squat legs, glistening red in the sunlight, was a gargantuan creature with a huge circular shell for a body, a pair of brown, bulging eyes, two antennae, and two enormous claws. The thing stood a good ten feet in height and was about fifteen yards off, its protruding eyes locked on the four Warriors.

“What the blazes is that?” Hickok blurted.

“It’s a crab,” Blade said. “But it’s bigger than any crab I ever read about.”

“Do you suppose the critter is friendly?” Hickok inquired.

As if in response, the jumbo crab suddenly uttered a grunting sound and skittered toward them with its claws extended.

“Look out!” Blade bellowed, moving to the right, raising the Commando and squeezing the trigger.

Scores of slugs smacked into the creature’s hard body and legs, and it stumbled and nearly went down. But it quickly recovered, rearing high on its hind legs, revealing a gaping maw.

All four Warriors fired at will. Hickok stayed close to Blade while Rikki and Yama dashed to the left.

The crab seemed uncertain for a moment, ignoring the rain of lead while it swiveled to the right, then the left, apparently making up its mind which victims to chase.

“Take cover!” Blade shouted.

The monster, evidently attracted by the yell, went after the giant and the human in buckskins.

“Terrific!” Hickok exclaimed, sighting the M-16 and sending a half-dozen rounds into the mutated crustacean’s left eye.

Blade spotted a low brick wall bordering the road and raced up to it.

“Come on!” he goaded the gunfighter, then vaulted over the wall and landed on his right side. He rolled, placing his back against the wall.

Two seconds later Hickok joined him. The gunman came down on his elbows and knees and glanced at Blade. “What—?”

“Get close to the wall!” Blade ordered.

Hickok immediately complied, aligning his body with his head inches from Blade’s combat boots.

None too soon.

The crab materialized overhead, looming above the wall, its eyes scanning the weed-choked yard beyond for its quarry.

Blade found himself gazing at the underside of the carapace, and he abruptly realized the bottom of the crab wasn’t like the impervious upper shell. It was soft, unprotected flesh!

“Let him have it!” Blade instructed, then pointed the Commando barrel at the crab’s underbelly and fired.

Hickok’s M-16 chattered.

The titan shrieked as its stomach was ruptured by the slugs. A transparent fluid spurted from the creature as chunks of tissue were blown outward. It frantically back-pedaled onto the street.

Blade rose up, continuing to pour in the gunfire. He aimed at the monster’s mouth and saw the crustacean shudder as his shots hit home.