David Robbins - Armageddon Run

“Why should you light them?” Geronimo asked.

“Because I’m the only one with brains enough not to have gotten shot,” Hickok quipped. “How are you going to light it with one of your arms out of action?”

Orson extended the bundle in his left hand, while Rudabaugh and Geronimo used their right.

Hickok peeked above the wall.

The enemy skirmish line was only 15 yards away.

The gunman swiftly lit all four charges. As soon as the last one was lit, which was his own bundle, Hickok nodded and swung his right arm down and up.

Three other arms did the same.

All four men dropped to the ground and tensed.

When the explosions came, the very earth rumbled and shook. The stone wall swayed slightly, but held firm, and the invariable billowing cloud of dust permeated the sky overhead.

“Move it!” Hickok ordered. “I’ll cover you.” He slung his Henry over his left shoulder and drew his Colt Pythons.

Rudabaugh and Orson took off, Orson helping the Cavalryman as they made for the fountain.

Geronimo balked. “I’m not deserting you.”

“Get the blazes out of here!” Hickok yelled.

“I won’t leave without you,” Geronimo declared obstinately.

“Danged hardheaded Injun!” Hickok muttered. He stood, facing the street and the yards beyond, and spotted several figures rushing in the direction of the wall. The Pythons bucked as he fired, four times in speedy succession, and four vague forms toppled to the ground.

Geronimo was holding the FNC in his good arm.

Hickok backed away from the stone wall. “Let’s go.”

Geronimo turned and ran toward the fountain.

Hickok waited several seconds, to insure they had deterred their foes.

He whirled and sprinted after the others.

Orson and Rudabaugh were close to the fountain.

Geronimo was only a few yards ahead.

There was movement near the half-track, and Hickok’s blue eyes narrowed as he tried to see clearly through the swirling dust and refracted sunlight.

Someone was climbing up onto the rear of the vehicle.

The cloud of dust diminished as Hickok continued to race to the fountain, and as his mind registered the scene near the command post he ran even faster.

One of the Doktor’s freaks, a huge ape-like thing, had scaled the tailgate on the half-track and was swiveling a mounted machine gun in the direction of the fountain—in the direction of the four defenders!

Blade’s eyes blazed with an intense inner fury at being hemmed in by his antagonists.

“What are we gonna do?” Bertha cried.

“Stay close to me!” Blade ordered her. He darted from the room and into the hallway beyond.

Three troopers were just entering the back door.

Blade fired into them before they could bring their M-16s to bear, the Commando thundering in the narrow confines of the hallway.

All three soldiers were struck, their bodies dancing and flouncing and thrashing in uncontrollable spasms.

Blade ceased firing and brushed past their crumpled bodies. He burst through the rear doorway and found himself surrounded by four G.R.D.’s.

One of them, a furry monster with pink pupils, was directly in front of him. Blade rammed the barrel of the Commando into the thing’s stomach and pulled the trigger.

The deviate was almost cut in two by the slugs.

Blade pivoted, going for a scaly horror to his left, but the creature grabbed the Commando barrel and wrenched it aside. Blade released the gun and drew his right Bowie. His huge arm flashed up, then out, and the knife gleamed as it cleaved the air and imbedded itself in the thing’s chest.

The creature screeched and attempted to pull the Bowie from its body, but a geyser of blood erupted from its narrow lips and it fell to the pavement.

The third monstrosity leaped on the Warrior from behind and pinned his arms to his sides.

The fourth, in the act of diving at the Warrior, was hit in midair.

Bertha’s M-16 chattering from the doorway and puncturing holes in its body from its head to its feet.

Blade swept his head straight back, connecting with the nose of his foe and crushing the cartilage. The hairy arms securing him momentarily weakened, and Blade surged his massive biceps and triceps, exerting his prodigious strength, and broke free. He dove forward and Bertha gunned the thing down.

Blade scrambled to his Commando and scooped it into his arms. Two more G.R.D.’s were rushing up from the south. He cradled the Commando and pulled the trigger. Both G.R.D.’s were bowled over, spurting blood and flesh over the alley.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Bertha shouted.

Blade bent over the scaly deviate and extricated his Bowie from its chest. The knife made a slurping noise as it came loose. He wiped the gory blade on his left pants leg, then slid the Bowie into its sheath.

“Look!” Bertha yelled.

Soldiers and G.R.D.’s were pouring into the north end of the alley.

Blade and Bertha started running toward the south end, their speed impeded by Bertha’s injured right thigh.

Blade deliberately hung back, shielding Bertha. He abruptly spun and fired a few rounds at their pursuers, dropping a few and forcing the rest to duck for whatever scant cover was available.

Bertha reached the south end of the alley and took a right, and a second later Blade was on her heels.

“The town square?” Bertha asked.

Blade nodded.

Voices were heard all around them, as their adversaries closed in.

Blade and Bertha sprinted westward. A block and a half from the alley Blade spotted a row of metal trash cans lined up alongside the sidewalk.

Not much protection, but they would have to do!

Blade grabbed Bertha’s elbow and drew her from the sidewalk. They dodged behind the trash cans and dropped to their knees.

Dozens of their foes were in hot pursuit, maybe a block away.

“Hurry!” Blade directed her, his chest heaving from the strain. “One of your charges!”

They each removed a bundle of dynamite from their respective pillowcases.

Blade risked a quick peek over the trash cans.

“There they are!” the nearest trooper bellowed.

Blade nodded at Bertha, then lit his charge.

Bertha struck a match and ignited her fuse.

“On the count of three,” Blade told her.

Both fuses were sputtering and crackling.

“One…”

“They’re behind the trash cans!” someone bawled.

“Two…”

One of the approaching soldiers fired his M-16, and the trash cans pinged as the bullets hit.

“Three!” Blade cried.

Together, they popped up from behind the trash cans and threw their charges.

One of the troopers, faster than the rest, raised his M-16 to his shoulder and snapped off a shot.

Blade heard Bertha grunt as she was struck, but before he could turn to aid her the dynamite detonated. The tremendous concussion from the blast knocked Blade onto his broad back. He swiftly rose to his hands and knees.

Bertha was unconscious on the sidewalk beside him.

“Bertha!”

A cursory examination revealed a wound on the left side of her head. It didn’t appear to be deep, but you could never accurately judge a head injury without an extensive examination.

And there wasn’t time for that!

Coughing from the dust as much from the pain in his left side, Blade lifted Bertha into his brawny arms and jogged in the direction of the town square. This fiasco wasn’t going well at all. There was no way they could hold out until the end of the day. If Rikki and Kilrane didn’t show up soon, they might show up too late.

About 20 yards from the town square. Blade saw a house to his right with its front door wide open. The occupants must have evacuated in a hurry. He angled toward the door and cautiously entered the home.