David Robbins - Armageddon Run

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Lynx rejoined.

The Doktor frowned. “I really didn’t expect you to volunteer the information, but that’s all right. I’ve already deduced their location and have sent a force to retrieve them.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Lynx saw Thor stand and rub his bullish neck.

The Doktor caught the movement too. “Are you ready to do my bidding?” he asked Thor.

Thor nodded.

“Then kill Lynx!” the Doktor directed. “Now!”

Thor reclaimed his sledgehammer and moved around the front of the half-track. He looked at Lynx, his features softening. “I’m going to smash you to a pulp for getting the Doktor mad at me!” So saying, he raised the sledgehammer above his head.

The thump of Geronimo’s body on the balcony next to his own caused Hickok to glance to his right. He saw the bundle of dynamite, its fuse sparkling, drop from his friend’s hand. The gunman’s reaction was instantaneous; his right hand flicked out and grabbed the charge and heaved it up and out.

Hickok threw his own torso on top of Geronimo’s, sheltering him—and none too soon.

The dynamite went off, shattering the windows in the house, cracking its foundation, obliterating the soldiers and the G.R.D.’s below, and ripping the balcony from its supports.

His eardrums stinging from the blast and the subsequent concussion, Hickok felt the balcony give way and plummet toward the turf. The floor of the balcony was still intact, and it absorbed the brunt of the brutal impact when they smacked onto the ground.

Both of the Warriors were bounced and jostled by the severe collision.

A cloud of dust was filling the air.

Hickok shook his head to clear his stunned senses. He gripped Geronimo’s shirt and hauled him over onto his back.

Geronimo’s left shoulder was all bloody, his eyes closed.

“Pard! Pard!” Hickok shouted in alarm. “Don’t die on me!” He slapped Geronimo’s right cheek. “Please don’t die!”

Geronimo’s eyes flicked open and a devilish grin creased his mouth.

“Why, Hickok, I didn’t know you cared!”

The gunman leaped to his feet. “You lousy Injun! I should of known you were faking it!”

Geronimo chuckled, despite his agony. “Wait until I tell Blade! The great Hickok got all misty because I suffered a little scratch!”

“Misty my butt!” Hickok leaned over and yanked Geronimo to his feet, careful not to aggravate the wound in his left shoulder. “I just didn’t want to have to tell your wife you got yourself killed because you can’t even throw a few sticks of dynamite without getting yourself shot!”

“And you could have done better?” Geronimo asked.

Hickok bent down and picked up the Henry and the FNC. “In my sleep,” he said when he straightened up.

Geronimo suddenly pressed his left arm against his side and winced.

“How bad is it, pard?” Hickok inquired.

“The collarbone may be broken,” Geronimo speculated.

“Here.” Hickok placed his left arm under Geronimo’s right armpit.

“Lean on me.”

They started to walk around the ruined house.

“Let me carry one of the guns,” Geronimo offered.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hickok countered.

They could distinctly hear the din of gunfire and explosions coming from the north, and more shooting off in the east.

“I hope we get there before the party is over,” Hickok commented.

Geronimo glanced over his left shoulder, the movement eliciting a sharp twinge.

No one was behind them.

They hurried as rapidly as possible, given Geronimo’s condition.

“I hope Rikki doesn’t wait too much longer,” Geronimo mentioned at one point.

“Relax,” Hickok said. “Rikki won’t let anything happen to us.”

Geronimo nodded at his injured shoulder. “Oh? What do you call this?”

Hickok made a show of rolling his eyes. “Brother! If you’re gonna whine every time you get a teensy-weensy scratch—”

“Teensy-weensy?” Geronimo bristled. “If you were shot instead of me, you’d be screaming for your mommy right about now.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It certainly is,” Geronimo stated. “Only my superior Indian heritage enables me to bear up as nobly as I am.”

Hickok grimaced. “Only your superior Indian heritage makes you such a natural-born bull-shitter!”

“It takes one to know one,” was all Geronimo could think of to say in response.

They hastened in silence. The noise of conflict to the north had abated.

“We only have a block to go,” Geronimo announced after a few more minutes.

Both of them heard the voice call out, “Hickok!”

They stopped and glanced to the north.

Orson and Rudabaugh were coming toward them, supporting one another. Both appeared to be pretty shot up.

“Glad we found you,” Orson said as they approached, his relief reflected on his face.

“They’re after us,” Rudabaugh stated.

“How many?” Hickok asked.

“Too many,” Rudabaugh replied.

Geronimo twisted his head, scanning to their rear. “It looks like we have some company too.”

Hickok glanced back.

Another wave of troopers and genetic deviates was headed toward them, the leading figures perhaps a hundred yards off.

“The Doktor is sending them in waves,” Hickok conjectured.

“We’ve got to reach the town square,” Rudabaugh declared.

“Let’s go,” Hickok said, and led the way.

They were nearing the town square from the west, passing homes and a few scattered businesses. Ahead was a house with a low stone wall paralleling the street.

“We’ll never make it to the command post before they catch up with us,” Hickok stated. “Let’s make a stand here.”

They clambered over the wall and dropped to the grass on the other side.

“If we can drive ’em back,” Hickok remarked, “we’ll make a run for the command post.” He gave the FNC to Geronimo.

All four of them checked their weapons.

“How do you think Blade is doing?” Orson questioned.

Geronimo scanned the town square. He could see the fountain in the middle and a military vehicle parked in front of the command post. What kind of vehicle was it? he wondered. And was it his imagination, or was there a commotion of some sort taking place on the other side of the vehicle?

“How many charges do we have left?” Hickok queried them.

“I used up mine,” Rudabaugh answered.

“I have one left,” Orson said.

“I have one left too,” Geronimo noted.

“And I have both of mine,” Hickok stated. “Four charges and there are four of us. Get them out.”

Orson, Geronimo, and Hickok extracted their remaining charges. The gunman gave one of his to Rudabaugh.

“Here’s the plan,” Hickok informed them. “We’ll wait until they’re almost on us, then toss the four charges all at once. The explosions should cover our tracks.”

“What then?” Orson inquired nervously.

“Make for the fountain,” Hickok advised. “From there, we’ll try and reach the command post. Blade should be there soon, if he isn’t already.”

Geronimo nudged his friend and pointed at the command post. “What is that?”

Hickok studied the military vehicle. “I think it’s called a half-track,” he guessed. “Didn’t we have pictures of them in one of the books in the library?”

Geronimo, never one to miss his chance, grinned. “You mean to tell us you can read?”

Orson was peering over the wall. “Here they come!” he declared.

Soldiers and G.R.D.’s were advancing from the north and the west.

“Get ready!” Hickok directed them. “Hold your charges out and I’ll light them for you.”