David Robbins - Armageddon Run

“We can make a deal!” the Doktor cried in desperation. “We can make a deal!” A crimson rivulet suddenly spurted from the right corner of his mouth.

Blade allowed himself the luxury of having the last word. “A deal, Doktor? You want to bargain with me, a man who represents everything you loathe? Plato has told me a little about the contents of your journals. I know you don’t believe in the Spirit, Doktor. I know you think faith is for simpletons. You see humans as nothing more than animals. You consider love fit only for weaklings.” Blade paused.

The Doktor was breathing heavily and starting to sag.

“Well, I don’t, Doktor!” Blade stated, his voice hardening. “I was raised to appreciate love as the greatest of all strengths. I see all men and women as spiritual children, all part of one vast cosmic family. And I value my faith, Doktor. It’s the foundation of my life. And do you know what else?”

Blade growled. “I value wisdom, and my wisdom tells me you will never see reality as I see reality. You will always be as warped and perverted as you are now. You will always be a menace, Doktor. People like you think they have the right to reshape the world in their own wicked image. And you don’t!”

The Doktor’s chin was drooping.

“And so,” Blade said in conclusion, “there’s only one way to deal with people like you.” He tightened his hold on the Bowie. “And this is it!”

The Doktor’s head snapped up, his eyes locking on Blade’s.

Blade rammed the Bowie upward, angling the blade over the sternum and burying the knife in the Doktor’s neck below the chin. Warm blood flowed over his hands and arms and sprayed on his face.

With a protracted, labored wheezing sound the Doktor expired, his arms falling limply at his sides. He started to fall forward.

Blade wrenched his Bowie free and stood aside.

The Doktor toppled over like a giant tree plummeting to the ground in the forest, smacking onto the floor and making an odd squishing noise.

“I admire your style, bub,” someone said from the doorway.

Blade looked up.

Lynx was leaning on the jamb, his arms folded across his hairy chest.

His body was covered with red splotches. “I wanted the Doc for myself,” he remarked. “But I didn’t want to interrupt your work of art.” He chuckled, gazing at the form on the floor. “I couldn’t of done better, chuckles.”

“What’s happened?” Blade queried. “Where are the rest.”

“Come take a look,” Lynx responded.

Blade spotted his other Bowie on the floor near his feet. He scooped it up, wiped the knife he used to slay the Doktor on his pants, and slid both Bowies into their sheaths.

Lynx stood to one side as the Warrior strode past.

Blade stopped just outside the front door, surveying the scene before him.

The town square was packed. Bodies littered the ground, the majority of them G.R.D.’s or troopers. Cavalry riders were everywhere, tending to wounded comrades or mopping up, checking on the prone figures of their enemies to ascertain if any were still alive. A veritable stack of soldiers and genetic deviates was piled on the east side of the half-track.

Blade glanced up at the rear of the vehicle.

Bertha was slumped over the machine gun, her arms dangling in midair.

“Bertha!” Blade ran to the back of the halftrack and vaulted over the tailgate. He took her in his arms and examined her.

Blood was trickling from her right thigh and the wound on the left side of her head. There was an additional injury, a bullet hole in her shirt on the left side of her chest.

Blade pressed his right ear to her bosom.

Thank the Spirit!

Bertha was breathing, but barely.

Blade scanned the crowd below and recognized Yama walking toward the half-track.

“Yama!” Blade shouted.

The man in blue immediately ran to the vehicle and climbed up to Blade’s side.

“Take care of her,” Blade ordered. “I’ll locate Kilrane and have him send over one of his men skilled in medicine.”

“I will tend her,” Yama promised, then added, “Rikki needs to see you at the fountain.”

Blade jumped from the half-track and headed for the fountain. The strain of the combat was beginning to be felt; his left side was a mass of torment, his right side along the ribs ached, and his body was feeling extremely fatigued.

The Cavalrymen readily parted for the crimson-coated apparition moving among them, many gaping at his barbarous appearance.

A cool breeze was blowing in from the northwest.

Somewhere nearby, a man was groaning in agony.

The fountain abruptly loomed directly ahead.

Blade stopped, shocked, forgetting his pain at the sight before him.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, Teucer, and Kilrane were standing near the fountain.

Lying on the ground at their feet were four bodies.

Blade ran the final yards.

Hickok, Geronimo, Rudabaugh, and Orson were each on their backs.

Before Rikki could say anything, Blade knelt alongside Hickok and placed his left ear on his chest. He detected a strong heartbeat, and a flood of relief washed over him.

Rikki squatted next to Blade. “He’ll live,” he stated, and pointed at a huge bruise on the gunman’s right temple. “I saw him get hit by a G.R.D.

with a club. He should be coming around soon.”

Blade turned to Geronimo. The third member of Alpha Triad was obviously alive, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. There was a bloody furrow parting the center of his hair.

“It’s deep,” Rikki said, “but he’ll be fine.” He looked at the remaining two forms. “I wish I could say the same about them.”

Blade went down the line.

Rudabaugh’s clothes were drenched. He had been shot three times, high in the back, between the shoulder blades. The bullets had exited on either side of his sternum, and two of them had made a sizeable hole above his heart. He was dead.

Orson was dripping wet. A slug had caught him on the left side of his chest and perforated his heart. He had probably died instantly.

Blade slowly stood, sighing.

“You look like you could use some tending, yourself,” Kilrane interjected.

Blade looked up. “First things first. How did the battle go?”

“Much easier than expected,” Rikki replied. “There weren’t as many of them as we thought there would be. Kilrane led the Cavalry, charging right into the middle of Catlow. Resistance was minimal until we reached the town square, and even here we outnumbered them by about four to one.”

He paused and scanned the town square. “It was over almost before we knew it.”

“What if some attempted to escape?” Blade asked.

“Some did,” Rikki detailed. “I sent the Clan to cover U.S. Highway 85 to the south, and the Moles to the north. We heard some gunfire to the south, but it didn’t last long.” He nodded at a dead G.R.D. “What happened to the great army we were expecting to encounter?”

Blade shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I estimated there were several hundred, tops.” A question suddenly occurred to him. “Rikki, don’t misunderstand me, because I’m glad you showed up when you did, but what are you doing here so early? Did Kilrane’s man inform you we were in trouble?”

Rikki shook his head. “Thank Red Cloud.”

“Red Cloud?”

“Red Cloud linked up with our column yesterday,” Rikki elaborated.

“He was concerned, afraid we were recklessly exposing you to danger by relying on only one man to alert us. I decided he was right, and acting on my own initiative I sent in another rider last night as insurance. When he couldn’t locate our contact man, he rode back to us and reported it. We departed for Catlow immediately.

Blade put his right hand on Rikki’s narrow left shoulder. “You performed well. I will commend you to Plato after we return to the Home.”