David Robbins - Armageddon Run

The collar!

Blade’s memory flashed back to the run Alpha Triad had made to Thief River Falls. He remembered the ferocious creatures called the Brutes, the bestial beings the soldiers had used for tracking and guard duties. Blade had barely survived a fierce fight with one of them, and it had worn a leather collar !

Blade was feeling dizzy. He abruptly recalled an incident during the trip to Kalispell. What was it the officer had told him? Yes! Now he recollected what it was: “That metal collar is how the Doktor controls his freaks. His earlier creatures… just wore leather collars.”

Damn!

Damn! Damn! Damn!

Right in front of his nose the whole time!

“It was necessary to dispose of your father,” the Doktor was saying. “He intended to send out expeditions to ascertain if there were other survivors of the war. So long as your Family remained comparatively isolated, we were content to periodically send monitoring teams to eavesdrop on your conversations, using sophisticated electronic equipment, as we do with all the other outposts of civilization beyond the borders of the Civilized Zone.

But we couldn’t allow your Family to contact the others. We weren’t quite ready to commence reconquering the United States, and we wanted all surviving factions to be as disorganized as possible to prevent them unifying against us. Consequently, I sent in a team with one of my little pets. Your father conveniently left the security of the Home, and the rest you know.”

Blade felt an intense fury mounting within him. His fists clenched into compact clubs.

“I would have done the same to Plato,” the Doktor revealed, “only he decided to send Alpha Triad out so abruptly we couldn’t assassinate him beforehand.”

Blade’s cheeks were flushing from the passionate rage welling up inside him.

“Killing your father wasn’t anything personal,” the Doktor commented.

“It was strictly business. Killing Joshua, on the other hand, was purely personal.”

Blade wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. “Joshua?”

“Oh? Didn’t I mention it?” The Doktor chuckled. “The foolish pacifist tried to convert me to the path of life and light! Imagine!” He tossed back his head and gave vent to uncontrolled mirth.

Blade’s muscles tightened. He no longer cared if the Doktor held a gun.

He didn’t give a damn if Thor was nearby. He wanted one thing and one thing only: to wring the Doktor’s neck!

A gigantic, thunderous explosion erupted from the west end of the town square, sounding as if several charges went off simultaneously.

Both the Doktor and Thor involuntarily glanced in the direction of the cacophonous blast.

It was the moment Blade had been waiting for. He charged, forgetting to draw his Bowies, his arms extended and his fingers rigid.

The Doktor detected Blade’s assault out of the corner of his right eye.

He turned and fired.

Blade experienced a burning sensation along his rib cage on his right side, but he disregarded it and leaped the final four feet.

The 45 boomed again, but in his haste the Doktor missed, and before he could aim again the Warrior slammed into him and bore him to the ground.

Thor, about to hasten to the Doktor’s defense, saw four forms hurrying toward the center of the town square from the west. He recognized them almost instantly; the fat one with the beard, the guy in black, the Indian Geronimo, and, trailing a few yards behind, the gunfighter called Hickok.

What should he do?

Thor glanced at the Doktor and Blade. The Doktor had landed on his back with the Warrior on top, but he suddenly swept his left knee up and rammed it into Blade’s left side. Blade winced and doubled over, releasing his hold on the Doktor.

“Doktor!” Thor yelled. “Hickok and the others…” He pointed in their direction.

The Doktor never bothered to look up. “Kill them!” he ordered, scrambling to his hands and knees.

Thor ran to the rear of the half-track and climbed over the tailgate to the mounted machine gun. He pivoted the gun, sighting on the four defenders, and let the sledgehammer fall to the floor.

Blade, his left side in excruciating agony from the Doktor’s blow, was lying on his right side. He felt something hard being pressed against his left temple and twisted his head to find the reason.

It was the Doktor, and he was holding the 45 next to Blade’s head.

“Don’t move!” the Doktor hissed.

Lynx abruptly began moaning.

“No one lays a hand on me!” the Doktor snapped at Blade. “No one!” He sounded as if he were on the verge of going off the deep end, his tone strident and ragged.

What was he waiting for? Blade wondered.

The Doktor’s face conveyed the fanatical nature of his insanity: his eyes were wide, the pupils distended; his nostrils were flared; his lips were curled upward in a fake grin, exposing his teeth; and his entire countenance seemed to be aglow with a bizarre inner light.

Lynx, unnoticed by the Doktor or Thor, opened his green eyes and rose to his knees, still groggy, his movements unusually slow.

The Doktor inexplicably cackled. “Adieu, Blade!” he declared happily.

“It’s the void for you!”

Blade, striving to regain control of his limbs, tensed, knowing the Doktor was playing with him and dreading that something would happen.

It did.

Pandemonium erupted.

“Over here, sucker!” a female voice screamed, coming from the east.

Both the Doktor and Blade glanced up.

Bertha was ten yards away, weaving toward them, the left side of her face caked with blood.

The Doktor instinctively swung the 45 at her, not realizing she was unarmed and didn’t pose a threat.

Blade drove his right hand, balled into an iron fist, up and around, connecting with the madman’s chin and slamming him to the ground. The 45 went flying.

Lynx jumped to his feet.

Blade pushed himself to his knees. “Lynx!” he shouted. “Thor! The half-track!”

The Doktor was trying to stand.

Blade executed a flying tackle, bearing the Doktor to the turf. He kneed the lunatic in the groin, then flicked his fists in a furious combination of brutal punches, smashing his knuckles into the Doktor’s face again and again and again.

Thor had turned upon hearing Blade’s cry, but he was too late.

Lynx cleared the side of the half-track in two bounds. His second leap brought him to the top of the side panel, and he added to his momentum by grabbing the upper edge and propelling his body at Thor like a shot out of a cannon.

Thor lunged for his sledgehammer, but his reach was impeded by the machine gun.

Lynx snarled with a feral frenzy as he landed on his foe, his feet raking Thor’s massive chest while his hands, his slashing talons, ripped ten crimson furrows in Thor’s face.

Thor shrieked and tried to cover his eyes with his hands.

The scent of fresh blood drove Lynx wild. He went berserk, his arms flailing away at Thor’s face and neck, as hair and flesh and gore splattered every which way. A shredded eyeball sailed over the tailgate.

On the ground, Blade was grappling with the Doktor, the two of them rolling back and forth as each attempted to gain the upper hand. One of their rolls caused them to collide with the front of the command post, to the right of the door. Blade bore the brunt of the collision, his head banging against the concrete and momentarily dazing him.

The Doktor wrenched free of Blade’s grasp, sprang to his feet, and darted through the front door.

Blade shoved himself erect and took off inside in hot pursuit.

Hickok saw Lynx pounce on the apish figure in the rear of the half-track. He concentrated on catching up with the others. Orson and Rudabaugh had already reached the fountain and were crouched alongside the basin. Geronimo joined them an instant later.