David Robbins - New York Run

“I like a man who knows his mind.”

They reached the corridor and raced back the way they’d came. Blade saw additional white blips appear on the pulse scanner. If he was reading the thing right, the Zombies were moving toward the room they’d just vacated. And there didn’t seem to be any blips corresponding to the hallway they were in. If he was correct, they’d reach the hole allowing access to the level above them without being attacked.

They did.

“How are we going to get up there?” Geronimo asked as his helmet lamp swept the opening 12 feet overhead.

“Easily,” Blade said, slinging his Dakon II over his right shoulder.

“Oh? Are we going to fly?” Geronimo quipped, studying the hole.

“One of us is,” Blade responded. Before Geronimo quite knew what had happened, Blade stepped behind his companion, grabbing Geronimo by the back of his belt and the fabric of his green shirt at the nape of his neck.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Geronimo demanded.

“Relax and enjoy the trip,” Blade told him. His bulging arms lifted Geronimo and swung his friend down and up, twice in fast succession, gathering speed with each swing. “Get set,” he advised.

Geronimo, marveling at Blade’s prodigious strength, clasped his Dakon II and grinned.

A third time Blade swung his fellow Warrior, and then he heaved and released his grip.

Geronimo was propelled through the opening, landing on his stomach with his legs suspended from the hole. He used his elbows to crawl to his feet, then looked down at Blade. “And how are you going to make it?”

Blade gauged the distance. “It’s too high to jump.”

“You’d best hurry,” Geronimo cautioned him.

Blade glanced at the pulse scanner. “I agree.” White blips were moving his way. He unslung the Dakon II.

“I’ve got an idea,” Geronimo said.

“Make it fast,” Blade stated. The blips were much closer.

Geronimo placed his Dakon II on the floor and removed his shirt.

“Here!” He held onto one sleeve and dropped the shirt through the hole.

Blade scanned the corridor behind him, then looked at the shirt. The other sleeve was dangling about nine feet over his head. An easy jump for one of his enormous stature.

Footsteps pounded in the hallway to his rear.

Blade whirled, his helmet light illuminating four hissing Zombies closing in, four more of the detestable deviates with a craving for healthy human flesh. Blade blasted them with the Dakon.

The Zombies danced spasmodically as they were struck, then fell.

More blips filled the pulse scanner. Blade reslung the Dakon, crouched, and leaped, his arms stretched to their limit, his fingers clamping on the shirt and holding last. “Pull!”

Geronimo was nearly upended. The weight was almost too much for his arms to bear. Crouched at the rim, he sagged, about to pitch forward, but caught himself in the nick of time. He gritted his teeth as his arms strained to raise Blade a couple of feet, hoping the shirt would hold. The Family Weavers had constructed his clothing, and their garments were renowned for their durability. But Blade felt as if he weighed a ton!

“Hurry!” Blade prompted him.

Every muscle on Geronimo’s stocky body quivered as he rose an inch, then several more.

Swaying below the hole. Blade waited, his body taut. If Geronimo could get him close enough to the rim…

Something suddenly encircled the Warrior’s legs.

Blade looked down, dumbfounded to see a Zombie clinging to his ankles. The creature’s teeth were exposed as it snarled and snapped at his leg, tearing into his fatigue pants but missing the skin underneath.

Geronimo felt the shirt wrench to one side, and he glanced down.

Blade twisted, striving to extricate his legs, hoping the Zombie would not succeed in taking a chunk out of him. An insane idea occurred to him, a desperate maneuver to disentangle his legs and reach the level above. He balled his right fist and lashed downward, his left hand bearing the brunt of his massive weight, and crashed his fist into the Zombie’s hairless skull.

Staggered by the blow, the Zombie released its grip and glared up at its dinner.

Which was exactly what Blade wanted.

The giant Warrior drew his legs up to his chest, then lashed his feet down, deliberately driving his boots onto the Zombie’s slim shoulders. In the instant his soles made contact, Blade pushed upward, using the Zombie as a springboard, uncoiling and springing through the hole in the floor to sprawl beside Geronimo.

Geronimo tumbled backwards, landing on his posterior. He yanked on his shirt and smiled at Blade. “What? No full gainer?”

“Let’s go!” Blade said, rising.

Geronimo hastily donned his shirt, and they fled, retracing their route, following the trail of their footprints in the dust. They arrived at the door leading to the stairs and paused, breathing heavily, leaning on the walls.

“Didn’t we leave this door open?” Geronimo asked.

Blade couldn’t recall. He shrugged and tugged on the door, grateful it flew open so readily.

Until he saw what lurked on the other side.

The landing was jammed with Zombies and the stairs were packed with more.

“They were waiting for us!” Geronimo cried.

Blade leveled the Dakon II as the front row started toward them. They were overwhelmingly outnumbered, and outrunning the monstrosities would be impossible at this close range. He could only hope to sell his life dearly, and he would have done so had not a very peculiar event transpired.

One of the Zombies uttered a weird, gurgling noise, and the effect on the assembled mutations was instantaneous and bewildering. They abruptly ran off, the majority heading up the stairs in a confused panic, while a dozen or so bolted past a startled pair of Warriors flattened against the corridor walls.

“What was that all about?” Geronimo nervously inquired after the last Zombie was lost to view.

“Beats me,” Blade said. “But whatever it was, I like it! Let’s get to the SEAL.”

They walked through the doorway to the landing.

Geronimo bent his neck, craning skyward. “I can see the top!” he exclaimed. “And there isn’t a Zombie in sight!”

“Good riddance,” Blade commented. Now nothing would stop them.

Or so he thought.

There was a rumbling roar from directly below, and the very tunnel shook, the stairs vibrating and the landing the Warriors occupied shimmying.

Blade, nearest the railing, leaned over the edge for an unobstructed view of the vertical shaft. The… thing… his helmet lamp revealed caused the short hairs on the back of his neck to rise, his skin tingling, and he unconsciously stepped away from the railing, staggered.

“What is it?” Geronimo asked, moving toward the railing.

Blade grabbed his friend by the shoulder and shoved, sending Geronimo in the direction of the steps. “Go!” he shouted, forgetting Geronimo could hear the slightest sound in his helmet earphone.

“But…” Geronimo protested, his left foot on the bottom step.

“Go!” Blade yelled.

Geronimo, disturbed and alarmed, took the stairs two at a bound.

“Come on!” he urged Blade.

But Blade had other ideas. He would delay the… thing… until Geronimo reached safety. It was the only way one of them would get out alive. He stepped to the railing and gazed downward.

Just as the thing gave another deafening roar and rushed toward the landing.

“Turn in there,” Hickok directed.

Spencer immediately complied, pulling the four-wheeler into a parking lot.

Hickok scanned the lot, noting a lot of civilians and trikes and other vehicles, but the Technic police weren’t in evidence.