David Robbins - New York Run

It is 100 years after World War III. Give or take a year.

The good news? The planet is still here.

The bad news? The planet is still here.

The massive radiation and the staggering array of chemical-warfare weaponry unleashed on the globe precipitated an environmental disaster of incalculable proportions. In the U.S., much of the soil has been contaminated beyond reclamation, principally in the vicinity of nuclear strike zones, “hot spots.” The climate has been altered; former fertile land might be withered dust, while former dry areas might receive an abundance of rainfall. The wildlife and human gene pool has been drastically affected by the radiation and the chemicals. Mutations are commonplace. Giantism increasingly frequent. The landscape is overrun by savage creatures of every conceivable shape and size.

Civilization is on the verge of complete collapse.

Chaos rules.

Almost.

Lingering outposts of humanity are resisting the rising tide of darkness, stubbornly clinging to the old ways or forging new paths of progressive development.

In the forefront of the strengthening forces of light, at the vanguard of the effort to reassert mankind as the dominant species on the planet, is the Freedom Federation. Comprised of a loose confederation of disparate groups, the Freedom Federation is valiantly striving to reestablish order in a world gone mad. Six factions constitute the Federation: The Civilized Zone is the official title for a section in the Midwest embracing the former states of Kansas. Nebraska, Colorado, Wyoming, New Mexico, Oklahoma, portions of Arizona and the northern half of Texas. The government evacuated thousands of its citizens into this region during the war. Denver, Colorado, spared a direct hit during the conflict, became the new capital.

Montana has become the exclusive domain of the Flathead Indians, free at last from the white man’s yoke.

The Dakota territory is the home of superb horsemen known as the Cavalry.

In northern Minnesota, deep underground, secure in their subterranean city, reside the people known as the Moles.

Also in northern Minnesota, in the former town of Halma, live the refugees from the Twin Cities called the Clan.

And finally, not far from Halma, on the outskirts of Lake Bronson State Park, in a survivalist compound constructed by a wealthy filmmaker named Kurt Carpenter immediately prior to the war, dwells the smallest faction in the Freedom Federation—but the one with the most influence.

Carpenter’s descendants are called the Family, and their 30-acre compound is known as the home. Like the Spartans of antiquity, they are renowned for two features: their wise leadership and their fearless fighters. The 15 Family members responsible for the defense of the Home and the preservation of the Family, collectively called the Warriors, have established a reputation for valor in combat matched by few others.

Several of the Warriors have ventured into uncharted realms east of the Civilized Zone. They’ve discovered that the city of St. Louis has become the turf of an outlaw motorcycle gang, the Leather Knights. And they’ve learned that the Russians have control of a corridor running through the center of the eastern half of the country.

They’ve also heard about other… things.

Evil things. Menacing things. Things better left alone. Things to be avoided at all costs.

Unless they come calling at your door…

The four members of Elite Squad-A7 could sense their impending doom in the dank air.

“Readings!” Captain Edwards barked, struggling to keep his voice under control.

The trooper with the pulse scanner strapped to his right wrist. Private Dougherty, was gaping down the dim passage to their right.

“Scan, damnit!” Captain Edwards ordered, slapping Dougherty on the left shoulder.

The youthful Dougherty, sweat beading his brow and coating his crewcut brown hair under his helmet, took a deep breath and glanced down at his scanner. “They’re still after us!” he wailed. “Coming from every direction!”

“How many?” Captain Edwards demanded.

Dougherty shook his head. “I can’t tell! There’s too much interference!”

“We can’t stay here!” Captain Edwards declared. “We’re too exposed.”

Elite Squad-A7 was silhouetted in the junction of two hallways, their shadows projected along the tiled walls by their helmet lamps.

“Stick together!” Captain Edwards commanded. “We can’t afford to be separated!”

Private Dougherty and the two others, Geisz and Winkel, nodded their understanding, their helmet lamps bobbing up and down.

Captain Edwards took the passage to his left. His palms felt sweaty on the Dakon II fragmentation rifle clutched in his hands.

“I’ve got a blip twenty yards behind us!” Private Dougherty yelled.

The four commandos spun, facing toward the junction they’d just vacated.

“On me!” Captain Edwards bellowed, leveling the Dakon II, his finger on the trigger.

Their combined lamp lights clearly illuminated the junction. A shadowy apparition appeared for an instant, and they caught a glimpse of a tall creature with grimy, gray flesh, gaping, reddish eyes, and a leering mouthful of yellow teeth. The monstrosity stopped and blinked in the bright light, starting to step backward, raising its left arm to shield its moldy face.

“Fire!” Captain Edwards shouted.

The passageway thundered as the four members of Elite Squad-A7 opened up, their fragmentation rifles chattering in unison.

The creature in the junction was struck in the chest and head, its body exploding in a violent spray of putrid flesh and a vile, greenish fluid. It shrieked as it died.

“Move!” Captain Edwards instructed his squad.

Geisz and Winkel took off, Geisz taking the point, her blue eyes alertly scanning the corridor ahead.

Private Dougherty followed them, studying the scanner.

Captain Edwards brought up the rear. “Readings!” he snapped.

“They’ve disappeared off the scope,” Dougherty replied.

“That’s impossible!” Captain Edwards responded.

“I’m telling you they’re gone!” Private Dougherty said, disputing his superior.

“Let me see that!” Captain Edwards said.

Private Dougherty halted and swung his right arm around. “Here! See for yourself.”

Captain Edwards leaned over the scanner, checking the grids for blips of white light.

Nothing.

“But that’s impossible,” Edwards repeated.

“Don’t I know it!” Dougherty agreed.

“Let’s go!” Captain Edwards kept his lamplight on the hallway behind them as he trailed Dougherty, his mind whirling. There was no way they could just vanish like that! So where the hell had they gone? Were there other passages or vents not marked on the blueprints the Technics possessed? Some way they could travel beyond scanner range in the space of a few seconds?

“Captain Edwards!” came a cry from further along the hall.

Edwards recognized the voice of Marion Geisz. “Hurry!” he prodded Dougherty, and the two of them hastened along the corridor.

Geisz and Winkel were waiting ahead, their helmet lamps pointed downward.

They’d found the stairwell. Again.

“It looks like there’s no bottom,” Geisz commented as Edwards and Dougherty reached her side.

“It gives me the creeps!” Winkel commented, his brown eyes wide from fright.

“Stow that crap, mister!” Captain Edwards stated. He stared down the stairwell, noting the dusty metal rails and the cobwebs covering the walls.

“We know our objective, people! Let’s get cracking! Geisz, the point!”