David Robbins - Citadel Run

“After you, Mommy,” Lynx said, flicking on an overhead light.

Yama entered the room. “How strong are you?” he inquired as he passed Lynx.

“If I don’t bathe for a week,” Lynx rejoined, closing the door after them, “I can down a fly at ten paces.”

The records room wasn’t very spacious, about twenty feet by twenty feet. File cabinets lined all four walls and a sturdy oaken desk occupied the center of the room.

Lynx’s nose was twitching. “The Doc’s scent makes me want to puke!”

he said, grimacing in disgust.

Yama walked to the desk and examined the papers strewn over its top.

Personal correspondence, magazine and newspaper clippings, classified intelligence reports, and sheets of mathematical calculations littered the desk.

Lynx pressed his right ear against the door. “Don’t take all night,” he advised.

Yama picked up a sheet marked “Top Secret.” The paper contained a report on suspected rebel activity in a small Wyoming town. It also said a wanted rebel leader, a man called Toland, was believed to be hiding in the town. He stuffed the paper into his right pants pocket and scanned the room. His attention was attracted by a black leather pouch lying on a file cabinet behind the desk. He unsnapped the flap and drew out the contents, four thick hardbound notebooks with blue covers.

“I think we’ve got company, chuckles,” Lynx reported.

Yama flipped the pages on the notebooks and discovered all four were filled, longhand writing covering each page. He searched for a name identifying the owner but couldn’t locate one.

“They’re going door to door,” Lynx announced.

Yama thoughtfully stared at the notebooks. He had an unusual feeling about them, as if he sensed they were important in some respect. Acting on his vague premonition, he replaced the notebooks in the pouch and snapped the flap.

“Afraid our time is about up,” Lynx said, his ear still against the door.

Yama hefted the pouch by its carrying strap and slung it over his right shoulder. He joined Lynx by the door.

“I can hear ‘em,” Lynx whispered. “They’re about two doors off. When they open this one I’ll make my move. Don’t lose me.” He paused. “Where did you want to go next?”

“With the whole Biological Center on the alert,” Yama answered, “it would be useless to remain in the building. Can you get us outside?”

“Then what?”

“We’ll play it by ear,” Yama said.

“Fair enough, pal.” Lynx sighed. “Too bad all I could get my hands on was a grenade! I’d like to bring this building down around their ears! Now if I just had a thermo…” He stopped and motioned for silence.

Yama recalled hearing the word “thermo” before. What was a…

The door abruptly flew open and all hell broke loose.

Lynx sprang, his movements so quick it was difficult for the eye to follow, leaping into the midst of four soldiers standing outside the door. His arms flashed and flailed, his claws ripping and shredding, and the troopers were out of commission before they even knew what hit them.

Lynx went for their faces, for their eyes and throats, growling and snarling as he attacked, his keen claws drawing blood with every savage swipe.

Yama slammed into one of the staggering soldiers, flinging him against the far wall.

Other troopers and members of the Genetic Research Division were to their left.

“Get them!” someone bellowed.

Lynx suddenly grabbed Yama by the left wrist and pulled him down the corridor toward the stairwell.

Three of the soldiers Lynx had jumped were on the floor, two of them screaming and thrashing.

There was the crack of a pistol report and a bullet buzzed over Yama’s head.

They reached the stairwell and plowed into the door. Lynx began up the steps. “Come on, slowpoke!” he urged.

“Don’t hold back on my account,” Yama told him.

Lynx glanced over his right shoulder. “Yama, ol’ buddy, if I went at top speed you’d never catch up. I don’t want to lose you just when I’m starting to grow fond of you!” He laughed.

They were two flights above the floor with the records room when their foes burst into the stairwell.

“Which way did they go?” a trooper asked.

“Half go up,” another proposed, “the rest go down.”

Boots pounded on the steps below them.

Lynx immediately left the stairwell, leading Yama along a vacant passageway. About halfway down this corridor Lynx opened another door and they found themselves in another, smaller stairwell.

“I was right,” Yama commented. “This place is a maze.”

Lynx led the Warrior on a dizzying, circuitous route through the mammoth Biological Center, first up one stairwell, then down another, always moving, going in one direction along one hallway and then reversing direction down another, selecting corridors he knew were infrequently used. When they did encounter others, on the stairs or in a passageway, they would stroll along, acting as innocently as they could, even greeting the people and genetic deviates they passed along the way.

Yama lost all track of time.

Lynx stopped periodically to cock his furry head and listen. They finally reached a narrow, unused stairway with a wooden bannister. “Keep your fingers crossed,” Lynx said descending the stairs. At the bottom was a metal door with a lighted sign above it reading: “Emergency Exit Only.”

“No one uses this,” Lynx divulged. “They have to keep it unlocked to obey the Fire Code.”

What was a fire code? Yama wondered. He braced himself as Lynx slowly opened the door, its hinges creaking from a lack of use and maintenance.

The emergency door opened onto a cement walkway. Evidently, pedestrians never used it, because it was deserted.

“What did I tell you?” Lynx asked, grinning in triumph.

They sauntered along the walkway until they reached a parking lot packed with military vehicles.

Yama gazed overhead. From the position of the moon he knew they were in the parking lot situated to the north of the Biological Center.

“What now, chuckles?” Lynx inquired.

Yama thought a moment. “You mentioned something a while ago, something called a thermo. What is it?”

“Boy,” Lynx snickered, “they sure raise ’em stupid where you come from, don’t they? A thermo is technical jargon for a thermo-nuclear device.”

“You want to drop a nuclear bomb on Cheyenne?” Yama asked in surprise.

“No, dummy!” Lynx shook his head. “I was thinking of one of the small tactical launchers, a lot like a big mortar only it fires a small missile with a tiny nuclear tip. They were real popular with the Army during World War III. The radiation spread is minimal, but it sures blows the crapola out of whatever it hits!”

Yama stared at the imposing edifice behind them. “What would a thermo do to the Biological Center?”

“There wouldn’t be one,” Lynx stated with obvious relish. “All you’d have left would be a gaping crater in the ground.”

“How wide an area would it affect?”

“Oh, the Center and about a half-mile in all directions. Enough to take out the parking lots, at least. Say, why are you asking all of these questions, pal?”

“Because I think I know where we can get our hands on one of these thermos,” Yama informed him.

“You ain’t gettin’ your hands on nothin’, fella!” someone declared, the voice coming from their right.

Yama spun, regretting his carelessness.

It was one of the Doktor’s genetically engineered creations, a G.R.D., endowed with a bulky body covered with light brown hair. It stood six feet in height and its face was decidedly canine in aspect, although the individual features were not as pronounced as they would be in a legitimate dog.