David Robbins - Armageddon Run

Thor glared at the Warrior. “I will tell the Doktor.” He paused. “We will meet again.”

Blade rested his left hand on the hilt of his corresponding Bowie. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Thor nudged the driver, and the jeep spun out, turned a tight circle, and made for the rise.

Blade wheeled and headed for the tree.

Bertha stood to the right of the trunk, watching the departing jeep.

“Someone here to see you,” she remarked.

Lynx walked around the left side of the tree. “I heard what you said,” he told Blade.

“Why aren’t you at your post?”

“Hey, I was being a good kitty,” Lynx replied, “cooling my heels on top of the command post, like you wanted. I saw the jeep coming and recognized Thor and got curious about what Granite Head wanted. So I came for a look-see.”

Blade stepped up to the genetic deviate. “Don’t ever desert your post again!” he warned. “You’re no different than Orson. When I give a command, you’re to follow it. Understand?”

Lynx’s lips curled backward, exposing his pointed teeth. For an instant, it appeared as if he were going to launch himself at the huge Warrior.

“Lynx!” Bertha exclaimed.

Lynx glanced at her, then at Blade. He visibly relaxed. “Sorry, dimples. I don’t usually let anyone talk to me the way you just did.”

“You agreed I was to be in charge,” Blade reminded the feisty feline.

“That’s the reason I didn’t just rip you to shreds,” Lynx said. “That, and what you told Ape Face.”

“You’re one of us,” Blade stated. “We don’t betray our own.”

Lynx averted his eyes. “Yeah, I gotta admit your Family treated me real nice when I was stayin’ at your Home. It can grow on you, thinkin’ you belong somewhere.”

“What do you think the Doktor will do next?” Blade inquired.

“He won’t pussyfoot around,” Lynx stated. “He’ll send in his shock troops.”

“His what?” Bertha asked.

“His G.R.D.’s,” Lynx elaborated. “The things from his Genetic Research Division, like Thor and me.”

“He’ll try to overwhelm us in one fell swoop,” Blade deduced.

Lynx nodded. “If I know the Doc, and unfortunately I do, that’s exactly what the prick will do.”

Blade gazed at the rise. The jeep had disappeared over the crest. “Do you think he’ll send them in from every which way, or straight on?”

“Straight on,” Lynx responded. “He must know by now there aren’t too many of us. The Doc will want to get it over with. He’s a real stickler for not wastin’ time.”

Blade scanned the field and the nearby homes. “Okay. Lynx, return to the command post and stay there, no matter what you hear or see.”

Lynx jogged off.

“Bertha,” Blade said, “give a yell if you see them coming over that rise. I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you goin’?” she wanted to learn.

“To get the others,” Blade replied. “I’m going to redeploy them in a skirmish line to your right and left. We’ll hold Lynx in reserve, and I’ll have Rudabaugh redistribute some of his special surprise packages.”

Blade left.

Bertha leaned against the tree trunk. She hoped Blade would put Hickok somewhere close to her, so she could keep an eye on him. She didn’t want any harm to come to White Meat. The realization troubled her. How could she allow herself to still care for Hickok? She knew the gunfighter loved another woman. She knew he was married. But she cared, anyway. And Rudabaugh had been right earlier. She had volunteered because she knew Hickok was coming on this trip.

Look at this! she mentally berated herself.

She was in love with a married man!

And she wanted to be near him so much, she was about to take on a horde of crack-brained freaks!

Yes, sir!

There was no doubt about it!

If she wasn’t a glutton for punishment, nobody was!

Rudabaugh rested his hands on the plunger, his muscles inadvertently tightening, as he spotted some commotion on top of the rise south of Catlow.

The attack would come soon.

From his vantage point on the roof of a garage 75 yards from the field, he could see most of his companions. Bertha was at the edge of the field, behind a tree. Hickok was about 20 yards to her right, crouched in a shallow depression in the ground. Geronimo was approximately 30 yards to the left of Bertha, waiting at the rear of a yellow frame house. In the next yard to the left of Geronimo, Orson was squatting behind a large, tumbledown doghouse. Blade wasn’t anywhere in sight, and Lynx was to Rudabaugh’s rear, atop the command post.

“You all set up there?” a voice called out from below.

Rudabaugh inched to the edge of the sloping roof and gazed down.

Blade smiled up at him. “Are you all set?” he repeated.

“I’m ready,” Rudabaugh acknowledged.

“Good. Remember what I told you. Don’t do anything until I give you the signal, and then let them have it!”

“Will do,” Rudabaugh said. “Say, do you think they saw me placing the charges?”

“Did you follow my instructions and keep the dynamite out of sight?”

Blade questioned him.

“Yep. I kept the charges tucked under my shirt, and when I buried them I angled my body between the rise and the hole so they couldn’t see what I was up to,” Rudabaugh detailed.

“Then I doubt they know what we’ve done. How many charges did you relocate?”

“Seven. I thought I’d give them a present from each of us,” Rudabaugh replied.

“I like your sense of humor,” Blade stated.

Rudabaugh heard a loud noise in the distance and looked up at the rise.

It was swarming with movement.

“Here they come!” Rudabaugh yelled down.

Blade took off, running around the ramshackle garage and racing for the tree screening Bertha.

Rudabaugh elevated his head above the top of the roof. The garage contained a few pieces of furniture and a lot of dust; it evidently hadn’t been used to shelter a vehicle in ages. It was a detached structure; the house it belonged to was ten yards behind and to the left of Rudabaugh.

Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of figures were cresting the rise and pouring over the field.

Rudabaugh remembered the binoculars dangling from the black strap around his neck. Blade had seen fit to leave the binoculars with him, saying he would need them the most. He raised them and focused on the wild throng sweeping across the field. His eyes widened in disbelief.

There were hundreds of them! They came in all shapes and sizes, but they shared one dominant characteristic: they were all members of the Doktor’s Genetic Research Division. Hairy, scaly, horrid creatures, possessed of ghastly aspects and relatively few human attributes. Few were armed, and even fewer wore any clothing except for a scanty loincloth.

Some resembled common animals, like dogs or cats, while others looked like bizarre combinations of humanity and savage beasts. They shrieked and howled, bellowed and roared as they closed on Catlow.

Rudabaugh saw Blade reach the tree and say something to Bertha. She shook her head, apparently disagreeing, but Blade wasn’t listening.

The Warrior rounded the tree and charged the G.R.D.’s!

Rudabaugh marveled at the man’s courage.

Blade was running all out, his Commando in his right hand and the M-16 in his left. He was about 15 yards from the tree when he abruptly dropped to his knees, cradling the two automatics in his muscular arms, and opened up.

The nearest G.R.D.’s were cut down in droves.

Blade swept the Commando and the M-16 in small arcs, emptying the magazines into the on-rushing mass.

Bertha, Hickok, Geronimo, and Orson began shooting, providing covering fire for Blade.