David Robbins - Armageddon Run

Blade scrutinized the Mole’s bearded visage.

“You weren’t too keen on this mission a couple of days ago. What changed your mind?”

Orson glanced at Bertha. “The other night, when all of you were picking on me. It got me thinking. I saw I was being the world’s worst pain in the ass. You’re right, Blade. I don’t want to be here. But I am here now, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m pissed off at Wolfe for making me come along, but there’s no reason why I should take it out on all of you.”

He paused and chuckled. “Besides, if I don’t fall in line Hickok just might put a bullet between my eyes, and the last thing I need is another hole in my head.”

Blade smiled. “Welcome aboard.”

“Hey! Mighty Warrior!” Bertha chimed in.

Blade faced her. “What?”

“Do you still think we can hold out for two days?” Bertha inquired.

“I don’t see why not.”

“You don’t see!” Bertha sputtered. “Take a look around you! In case you hadn’t noticed, three of us have had our wings clipped. We came awful close to gettin’ racked today.”

“Racked?” Blade repeated quizzically.

“Yeah. Racked. Wasted. Dead, dummy!”

Blade shrugged. “We hold out for as long as we can.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Bertha declared.

Blade stared at the western horizon. “It’ll be nightfall soon. You’ll feel better after a good rest.”

“Bet me!” Bertha retorted.

Blade grinned and cupped his hands around his lips. “Hey, Lynx!”

Lynx appeared on the roof. “I ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

“It’s not that.” Blade said. “You know the Doktor better than any of us.

Will he try anything before daylight.”

“It’s hard to outfox the Doc,” Lynx replied. “He took a real beatin’ today, and he may sulk all night and try again come morning. Then again, he may send in some of his pets after dark to assassinate us.”

Blade placed his hands on his Bowies and began pacing. If he were the Doktor that’s exactly what he’d do: send in some of his best men, or things, to quietly slit a throat or three and reduce the opposition. To be forewarned was to be forearmed, so what action could he take to negate the threat? There was only one logical recourse. “Except for the guard on the roof, we’re going to spend the night in the SEAL,” he announced.

“Why the SEAL?” Orson asked.

“Several reasons,” Blade answered. “The Doktor doesn’t know we have the transport here, although he may suspect we do. The SEAL’s impervious plastic body will shield us from a would-be assassin’s bullet.

Even if one of them stumbled on the transport in the shed, they can’t see inside. We’ll be safer in the SEAL than we would be in the command post.”

“If we’re so safe in the buggy,” Bertha remarked, “why bother having a guard on the roof? Wouldn’t it be best if everybody was in the SEAL?”

“We can’t shut ourselves off from the outside completely,” Blade explained. “If the Doktor should be foolish enough to launch a mass assault at night, we’d need to know about it.”

Rudabaugh had a question. “Did Kilrane say who it was who’d be out there keeping Catlow under surveilance?”

“Nope,” Blade said. “Just that it would be someone he could trust, and he’d get word to their column if we were in trouble.”

“How many do you think we killed today?” Bertha inquired.

“A lot,” Blade guessed.

“I’d estimate somewhere between seventy-five and a hundred,” Rudabaugh commented.

“That many?” Bertha marveled.

“Maybe more,” Rudabaugh said.

“And not one of us was racked!” Bertha stated, shaking her head in wonder.

“But three of us were hurt,” Blade pointed out. “We were fortunate today, but only because the Doktor didn’t know we had the dynamite. Tomorrow will be a completely different story. He’ll be more cautious. He’ll probably come at us from all sides.”

“Which is why we need my magic box,” Rudabaugh joked.

As if on cue, Hickok and Geronimo came around the northeastern corner of the command post, their arms empty except for their weapons.

“Where’s the box?” Blade demanded.

“Gone,” Hickok laconically replied.

“Gone? Where?”

Hickok leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Geronimo and he had jogged both ways. “How should I know?” he rejoined. “We got there and I took a look-see on the roof. No box.”

“One of the G.R.D.’s must have taken it,” Rudabaugh speculated.

“What about the charges you placed around the town square?” Blade asked.

“We’ll have to dig them up,” Rudabaugh said. “I can’t detonate them remotely without the box. We’ll dig them up, and I’ll attach different caps and fuses. Each of us can take a couple of bundles of dynamite, and when the time is right, you just light the fuse, throw your bundle, and run like hell.”

“But you said you only have nine charges left,” Blade noted.

“Each charge consists of a bundle containing six sticks of dynamite,” Rudabaugh detailed. “I’ll break down the bundles and make them smaller, say four sticks apiece.”

“Are you certain you’re up to it?” Blade queried.

“I can manage,” Rudabaugh assured him.

“Okay. Tell us where they’re buried and we’ll dig them up for you,” Blade offered.

“I didn’t count on handling dynamite,” Orson mentioned. “Isn’t it dangerous? I mean, what happens if we light a bundle and don’t toss it far enough or drop it at our own feet?”

Rudabaugh grinned. “Believe me, you’ll throw them far enough.”

“How do you know?” Orson asked skeptically.

“I know.”

“How?”

“Because when you’re holding a bundle of dynamite in your hand,” Rudabaugh said, “and the fuse is lit, you’ll want nothing more at that particular moment than to put as much distance between the dynamite and you as humanly possible.”

“Good point,” Orson conceded.

He stood on the rise south of Catlow, the wind whipping his black cloak and disheveling his dark hair. Overhead, the stars were bright pinpoints of light.

Footsteps sounded behind him.

The brooding figure turned. “What do you want?” he brusquely demanded.

“I thought you might like some company, Doktor,” Clarissa said. “And it was cold in our cot without you to warm me.”

The Doktor stared at Catlow, his lips a tight line.

“What’s bothering you?” Clarissa ventured to inquire.

“I miscalculated today,” the Doktor stated. “I made serious blunders.”

“For instance?”

“For instance, I should never have sent in the Genetic Research Division en masse,” the Doktor remarked.

“You were unaware they had explosives,” Clarissa stated in justification of his maneuver.

“Still, I should have considered the contingency,” the Doktor reprimanded himself. “I’m slipping.”

“You are not,” Clarissa disputed him.

“I tell you I am,” the Doktor disagreed. “My mental lucidity is strangely impaired. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I’m suffering from the same premature senility I inflicted on the Family by poisoning their water supply.”

“But you haven’t consumed any of their tainted water,” Clarissa said.

“And even if you did, you have the antidote. You’re merely fatigued.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course,” Clarissa asserted. “You haven’t enjoyed a good night’s sleep since the Biological Center was destroyed.”

The Doktor’s shoulders slumped. “How can I sleep? For the first time in decades, I’m facing the specter of my own demise.”