Green Bay Run

Chapter Eleven

“What do you suppose happened to them?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Do you want me to go see?” Samson asked.

“No. I will,” Blade said. “You stay here with the SEAL.” He glanced at the Nazarite, who had concealed himself behind a maple tree a few yards to the east, then left the shelter of the oak he had squatted next to for the past 15 minutes. What could have happened to the Technics? he mused.

Why hadn’t they given chase to the SEAL?

“May the Lord guide your steps,” Samson said.

Blade nodded and hurried toward the highway, visible through the trees 50 yards to the south. To his rear, 20 feet beyond Samson, camouflaged with limbs and brush and parked in a clearing where waist-high weeds predominated, rested the transport. He’d driven the van into the forest to lose the Technics.

So where were the soldiers?

He’d sped off after the heavyset trooper had shot the elderly woman, and driven approximately a mile before wheeling into the woods, expecting the three jeeps would be in prompt pursuit. But they’d never materialized.

Most strange.

Why would the Technics give up so easily? Normally, the soldiers would have hounded the SEAL relentlessly. Which convinced Blade that the Technics must have a trick up their collective sleeve.

But what?

He looked in both directions when he reached State Highway 54. The belt of asphalt mocked him with its emptiness. Frustrated, he walked westward, listening for the sound of vehicle engines. His combat boots slapped on the hard surface. A flock of starlings winged overhead.

Moments later a bee buzzed past him. He inhaled, savoring the tranquil scene, knowing all too well the respite from the seething violence so prevalent in the postwar era would be fleeting.

It was.

A raspy snarl rent the humid air to his left.

Blade whirled, bringing up the Commando, and spied a slavering mutation standing at the edge of the forest, a two-headed lynx further deformed by a grotesque hump bulging above its front legs. Although nowhere near as big as a mountain lion, a typical lynx was deadly in its own right. And this one wasn’t typical. Almost four feet in height and weighing close to 60 pounds, the mutation combined the feral attributes of a wild feline with the deranged thirst for blood of a genetic deviate.

And how Blade despised the deviates!

Ever since his father had been slain by one of the mutated variety, he had hated all mutants with a vengeance. Because of the massive amounts of radiation and chemical-warfare toxins unleashed on the environment during the war, the entire ecological chain had been disrupted, genetically poisoned for generations to come, and the Outlands were infested with the creatures. Everywhere he went, he encountered them. Every-where he went, he vented his hatred. And like now, he met them head-on, a grim smile plastered on his countenance.

Growling from one mouth and hissing from the other, the lynx crouched and padded forward. A tawny coat of hair covered its body, except for the black tufts at the tip of its pointed ears and the patch of black at the end of its short tail. Its cheek ruffs formed a double beard under its throat.

Blade knew that an ordinary lynx would avoid humans at all costs. Only the mentally unbalanced creatures, the hideous mutations, characteristically violated the laws of Nature and went after anything and everything they met. He pointed the Commando at the beast’s head and was about to fire when the noise of approaching vehicles distracted him.

The vehicles were coming from the east!

From Green Bay!

And suddenly he perceived the tactic the Technics had employed. The soldiers in the jeeps to the west had radioed their base and requested more troops, who were now speeding toward him. The Technics to the west must still be there, waiting patiently to have the SEAL flushed toward them.

Another snarl reminded him of a more immediate danger, and he saw the lynx bounding at him, its lips curled back over its tapered teeth. He cut loose, the rounds boring into the feline’s cranium and bringing it crashing down in a disjointed heap. Pivoting, he beheld five jeeps racing toward him, each containing four Technic troopers.

They spotted him at the same instant, and an officer in the lead vehicle began yelling and gesturing.

Blade faced them, fully intending to do battle, but two events transpired almost simultaneously that ruined his plans and put his life in grave jeopardy. First he heard more vehicles approaching, only these were bearing down on him from the west, not the east, and he realized he’d been wrong, realized the soldiers in the three jeeps to the west weren’t waiting for the SEAL to be flushed toward them. They’d wisely waited for their reinforcements to reach the area, no doubt keeping in radio contact the entire time, and both forces were executing a classic pincer movement designed to catch the SEAL between them. He glanced to the west and spied the three speeding jeeps.

Even though he was outnumbered, and even though he was caught in the open and wasn’t about to plunge into the forest and risk leading the Technics to Samson and the SEAL, Blade raised the Commando and prepared to fire, but a second unexpected development prevented him from squeezing the trigger.

The Warrior heard a bestial growl behind him, and then stumbled forward as a heavy form struck him between the shoulder blades and razor claws sank into his shoulders. In a flash of insight he knew what had attacked him, and he dropped the Commando and reached over his shoulder to grab the animal clinging to his back. Teeth tore into his left wrist, sending excruciating pain along his arm, and held fast.

All the while the thing hissed and snarled.

Blade could feel claws ripping at his leather vest and raking his skin. He whipped his body from side to side, striving to dislodge the brute, to no avail. Next he attempted to flip the beast over his head, but the claws imbedded in his shoulders only dug in deeper. In desperation, knowing the Technics would be on him in seconds, he threw himself backwards onto the asphalt. The animal bore the brunt of the fall. The impact hardly fazed it. With a guttural rumble in its chest, it retracted its claws and scrambled to get free.

Blade rolled to the right and rose into a crouch, drawing both Bowies as he did, feeling his blood trickling down his spine.

Not five feet away, already upright and about to attack, was another vile mutation, the mate of the lynx the Warrior had slain. Like its mate, this one had been born deformed. Instead of two heads, this one had twin humps on its back and an extra leg on each side, undersized limbs that dangled inches above the ground and served no useful purpose.

Blade looked into the feline’s blazing orbs and tensed to meet the charge which came a moment later. He slashed both Bowies up and in as the big cat leaped at his head, spearing both blades into the lynx. The creature’s momentum bowled Blade over, and he gripped the Bowies and extended his arms, holding the enraged mutation at bay, at arm’s length.

The strategy worked for a few seconds, until the beast turned its attention to his arms and tore at them with its front claws. He jerked to the right, flinging the lynx from him, letting the Bowies slide out. Both knives were coated with blood, even the hilts, making his hands slippery.

The lynx promptly leaped erect.

Blade pushed to his knees, his eyes always on the cat, and he was ready when the mutation darted at him again. He flicked the right Bowie, going for the beast’s eyes, but the nimble cat evaded the knife and circled to the left. Blade turned with it, the Bowies held in front of him. In the back of his mind he worried about the Technics, but he couldn’t afford to glance aside or the cat would be on him in a flash.

The lynx silently padded around the giant, seeking an opening.

Blade slowly straightened, wanting to exploit his size advantage, to put more space between his throat and the beast.

Without any warning whatsoever, the mutation sprang, leaping and twisting in midair, going for the Warrior’s face.

Blade ducked and buried the Bowies in the mutation’s abdomen. His muscles bulged as he sliced the knives higher, cutting into the cat’s heaving chest. A torrent of blood spattered his arms and clothes. He swung his arms to the left, hurling the creature to the ground.

The lynx stood slowly. Its internal organs were seeping from the slit.

Hissing, the cat glared at the human and coiled for yet another spring.

Blade braced himself. He twisted when the mutation launched itself at him, then drove his right Bowie into the creature’s eye. The keen blade went in several inches, splitting the orb.

Unbalanced by the thrust, the lynx alighted unsteadily and nearly fell over. Mustering its flagging strength, the cat righted itself and crouched.

Blood and a piece of eyeball were on its left cheek.

Blade decided to end the fight quickly. He feinted with his right Bowie, and when the cat dodged to the left he suddenly lanced his left Bowie into the mutation’s left eye, piercing it.

Unable to see, the lynx shook its head vigorously and started to back away.

Raising his right arm, Blade was about to throw the Bowie, to bury the knife in its chest, to finish it off, when someone else took the honor from him.

A single shot rang out and the lynx fell on the spot.

The Warrior spun, his eyes becoming flinty at the sight of the ring of Technic troopers surrounding him. There were five jeeps parked to the east, three to the west, and all of the soldiers from those vehicles now encircled him with their weapons ready to fire.

A black-haired man who wore a different type of silver insignia on his lapels than Mitchell had worn, this time consisting of a pair of thin bars, advanced several feet from the east, an auto pistol clutched in his right hand. He smiled and nodded at the mutation. “My compliments. Few men can take on a mutation with just a pair of knives and live to tell about it.”

Blade said nothing. He studied the officer, gauging the Technic as a man who was supremely self-confident and accustomed to a position of authority.

“I trust you don’t mind that I killed it for you,” the officer said.

The Warrior scanned the soldiers, counting them. There were 32 including the officer. Thirty-two guns were trained on him. The odds were hopeless. If he made a move toward the Commando, they’d turn him into a sieve.

The officer noticed the giant’s gaze and grinned. “I trust you’re not contemplating any rash act, Blade. I’m under orders to take you alive, but my men will fire if you provoke us.”

At the mention of his name the Warrior had glanced at the officer.

“You know who I am?”

“There aren’t that many seven-foot-tall men running around,” the officer quipped. “When Sergeant Nesco radioed in a description of your van, I knew who you were right away. My name is Captain Perinn. I’ve seen you before. I was stationed at the Central Core in Technic City when Hickok, Geronimo, and you were captured. I saw the SEAL up close.”

Blade lowered his arms and sighed. “So what’s next?”

“Darmobray wants to see you.”

“Who?”

“The Director of our Science Division, the man who heads our Research Facility in Green Bay,” Captain Perinn said. “But I’m sure you must know about our Research Facility. Why else would you be here?”

“Would you believe I’m on a vacation and I’ve always wanted to see Lake Michigan?”

“Not hardly,” Perinn replied. “Now if you’d be so kind, place all of your weapons on the ground. And do so slowly. One of my men might become nervous if you make any sudden moves.”

Blade had no other choice. He complied, laying the Bowies and the Dan Wesson at his feet.

“Thank you,” Captain Perinn said. He walked up to the giant and regarded him carefully. “You have quite a reputation. You know that, don’t you?”

“So do the Technics,” Blade responded sarcastically.

“You’re wasting your breath if you’re trying to get me mad,” Perinn stated. “And I’m insulted that you would think I’m so immature as to allow a few words to upset me.”

“An intelligent Technic. You’re a rarity,” Blade cracked.

Captain Perinn chuckled. “Always on the offensive, eh? You’d make a great Technic.”

“Now who’s insulting whom?”

A noncom walked over to them, the same noncom Blade had seen earlier, the one the elderly woman had tried to throttle. He saluted the captain. “Should we return with you, sir?”

“No, Sergeant Nesco,” Perinn responded. “Take your men and search for the SEAL. The van must be hidden in the woods nearby.”

Nesco nodded, saluted, and began to do an about-face.

“And Sergeant,” Perinn added.

“Yes, sir?”

“Stay alert. Blade wouldn’t come here alone. There must be other Warriors in the vicinity.”

“Will do, sir,” Sergeant Nesco pledged, and walked off.

Blade motioned at he noncom. “He’s not very popular, is he?”

“Sergeant Nesco?” Perinn said, his forehead creasing. “Why would you say such a thing? All the men respect him.”

“I saw a woman try to kill him.”

“A woman?” Captain Perinn repeated, then grinned. “Oh. You mean the Automaton. She was a renegade.”

“What’s an Automaton?”

Perinn holstered his pistol. “I’ll leave that for the Director to explain.

Darmobray is looking forward to meeting you.”

“Why?”

An enigmatic, sinister smile curled the officer’s lips upward. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”