David Robbins - Citadel Run

“I’ve only told you part of the reason we can only be good friends,” Hickok elaborated, secretly wishing he could turn invisible and get the heck out of there.

“There’s more?” Bertha took a step back, her hands on her hips. “What are you holdin’ back? Did you find a girlfriend while you were away?” she asked angrily.

“Not exactly.”

“What, then? And old flame show up and wrap you around her little pinkie?”

“Not quite.”

“Then what the hell could have happened in two short months that’s stoppin’ us from show in’ the whole world what true love is like? What!”

she cried.

“I got hitched,” Hickok said sheepishly.

“You what?”

“I was hitched proper.”

“Hitched?” Bertha repeated, sounding dazed.

“Hitched. Tied the knot. You know. I got married.”

“You… got… married?”

“Sure did,” Hickok beamed. “The prettiest filly you’d ever want to…”

Bertha abruptly grabbed the gunman by the front of his buckskin shirt.

“Your standin’ there and tellin’ me you got married? You took yourself a wife?”

Hickok, at a loss for words, simply nodded.

“A wife!” Bertha released the Warrior, her arms falling limply at her sides. “A wife!”

“I hope you won’t take it too hard,” Hickok offered in the way of condolences.

Bertha stared at him, her eyes narrowing. Before he could stop her, she unslung the M-16 and pointed the barrel at his head.

Yama was helpless to intervene, relegated to standing on the sidelines and observing one of the most spectacular fights he’d ever witnessed. The flow of combat was so swift, with the two G.R.D.’s shifting positions so rapidly, there was no way he could squeeze off a shot without running the risk of striking Lynx.

The two opponents were instinctual enemies, one the result of a human embryo genetically altered to produce a hybrid canine, the other a living embodiment of feline fury.

Shep was the larger by far, and ostensibly the stronger. He slammed Lynx to the cement walk and lunged, the claws on his right hand flicking at Lynx’s, eyes.

Lynx rolled to the left, his left arm slashing sideways as he did, his own claws raking Shep’s shins and eliciting a howl of commingled pain and rage. Lynx leaped to his feet as Shep backed off several steps.

It was the first chance Yama had to fire, but the pair closed again before he could snap off a round.

Lynx and Shep went down in a thrashing, snarling, ripping, and tearing ball of fur, rolling this way and that, neither one gaining a decided advantage but both inflicting numerous severe cuts and gashes on each other.

Yama took his gaze from the conflict long enough to scan the area. This section of the parking lot was evidently deserted and the nearest major artery was the crowded pedestrian sidewalk almost seventy-five yards to the west. A hedge and a small stand of trees provided cover between the pedestrians and the battle royal. Yama concentrated on the fight.

The combatants had rolled into the parking lot, still embroiled in their intense life-or-death struggle.

Neither one seemed to have an edge. The fur and hair, not to mention the sweat and blood, were flying fast and furious.

Yama began to wonder how long the fight would take. Every moment they wasted increased the likelihood of discovery and apprehension.

Suddenly, Shep appeared to be getting the better of his opponent. He was obviously pressing Lynx, who sported a nasty wound on his right temple. In a blur of arms and legs, Shep managed to come out on top, astride Lynx’s narrow chest, his legs pinning Lynx’s arms underneath them.

“Now!” Shep hissed, and clamped his claws around Lynx’s neck.

Yama, ready, brought up the Wilkinson, even as Lynx shifted. Lynx’s hands were hidden from view under Shep’s thighs, and Yama could only imagine what transpired as Shep unexpectedly straightened, his currish features distorted in unmitigated agony. He grunted and clutched at his loincloth, doubling over.

Lynx heaved, hurling his adversary to the pavement. In a flash, Lynx pounced, burying his pointed teeth in Shep’s throat and then jerking backwards, rending the neck wide open. Lynx moved to one side, spitting blood and hair from his mouth.

Shep was experiencing convulsions, his left hand over his groin, his right hand pressed against his ruined throat. His mouth moved soundlessly until, with a final shudder and a quivering of his eyelids, he expired.

“So long, ol’ Shep,” Lynx said softly, more to himself than to Yama. His own breathing was ragged, the strain taking its toll. “You were tough. The toughest I’ve ever fought. Chalk up another one I owe the Doc for.”

Yama walked to Lynx and touched his left shoulder. “We must be going,” he prompted.

Lynx looked up and vigorously shook his head, as if striving to clear his mind of troublesome thoughts. “Yeah. Right, chuckles. I almost forgot. You were sayin’ something about a thermo.”

“Would you know how to use one if we found one?” Yama asked him.

“I think so,” Lynx responded, sounding winded. “The Doc made all of us, all of his little pets, take classes on firearms and other hardware. The Doc doesn’t trust old Sammy too much, and he knew even we couldn’t go up against the Army unarmed. Where’s this thermo of yours:

“Are you up to traveling?”

“I could outrun you,” Lynx bragged.

“Then let’s go.”

Yama headed due north, electing to swing around the sidewalk he’d encountered trouble at before. Unfortunately, the design of the immediate area thwarted his intention. The V.A. Hospital was located due east of the Biological Center. To the north, west, and south were the huge parking lots currently filled with military vehicles and equipment. The pedestrian sidewalk was situated to the west of the Center, but it actually ran north and south. So there was no way Yama could get to the west parking lot from the north parking lot without crossing the sidewalk.

“What’s wrong, bub?” Lynx asked when Yama stopped and frowned.

Yama told him.

“Is that all?” Lynx chuckled. “Stick with me, kid. You might learn something. Come on.”

So saying, Lynx made directly for the thronged sidewalk.

“Did you sustain brain damage in that fight?” Yama facetiously inquired. “We can’t cross that sidewalk. We’ll be seen. What do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see, pal,” was all Lynx would reply.

As they neared the bustling activity on the sidwalk, Yama again speculated on the possible reason the people were all crammed together instead of giving themselves elbow room by using the parking lot. He posed the question to Lynx.

“It’s against the law,” Lynx explained.

“You have laws governing where your citizens can and cannot walk?”

“They’re not my laws, chuckles. The Government makes ’em, and the Government controls every aspect of life in the Civilized Zone. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the Government keeps a file on everybody. When you were born, what schools you went to, if you’re married or not, how many kids you’ve got, how much money you make and how much in taxes you pay, if you ever broke a law, how much you weigh, how tall you are, what color your hair is. You name it, the Government knows it. Sammy doesn’t miss a trick. As far as the sidewalk and the parking lots go, it’s illegal for a civilian to use a military parking lot for any purpose, not even to cut across. Hell, Yama, they even tell you which side of the damn sidewalk you must walk on. You can only enter the sidewalk at designated entry points. If you should spit on the sidewalk, and you’re caught, it’s five years at hard labor. They’ve even got sidewalk cops to enforce their pedestrian laws.” Lynx sighed. “I was born into a world gone mad.”