The firing near the highway rose in volume, as if others were joining the fray. More soldiers were falling. The five near the fence turned to face some unseen foes and were promptly cut to ribbons in a hail of gunfire.
Several more on the other side of the road dropped.
Those remaining broke and ran.
Geronimo crawled to the edge of the porch. He glanced down at his thigh. The bullet had only torn his pants and broken the skin; the wound was bleeding, but it wasn’t serious.
Blade and Hickok appeared at the fence.
“You okay, pard?” Hickok called out.
Geronimo nodded and rose to his feet. He could see eight soldiers sprinting toward the rise to the south as rapidly as their legs would carry them.
Orson emerged from the house across the highway.
Geronimo walked to the fence.
“You’ve been hit,” Blade commented as Geronimo approached.
“It’s nothing,” Geronimo assured him. “I’ve been hurt worse.”
Hickok gazed at the bodies of the fallen troopers. “I reckon we’ve just ruined the Doktor’s day.”
“We fall back to our next positions and wait for their next move,” Blade stated. “It won’t be as easy the next time.”
“How’d I do?” Orson eagerly inquired as he reached them.
Geronimo opened his mouth, about to rebuke the Mole for his carelessness, but he changed his mind. Orson, he deduced, hadn’t seen much combat, and it wouldn’t do to discourage the Mole so early in the conflict.
“From what I saw,” Blade said, “you did just fine, although you may have jumped the gun a bit.”
“I’m sorry,” Orson apologized, frowning.
Hickok patted Orson on the back. “Don’t fret it! We all get the jitters now and then.”
“Let’s fall back,” Blade suggested.
Geronimo hurried to a gate set in the middle of the southern section of fence, exited the yard, and walked around to the others.
“How long do you reckon the Doktor will wait before he tries something else?” Hickok casually inquired as they headed deeper into town.
“Not long,” Blade predicted.
Chapter Fourteen
Blade was right.
Bertha saw them coming first. She was posted behind a tree in the backyard of a residence 50 yards west of U.S. Highway 85, and she was extremely annoyed because she hadn’t been able to render assistance when the initial patrol had advanced on Catlow. She had seen them approach, but when the shooting had begun there were several buildings interposed between her position and the fire fight and she couldn’t get a clear shot at the soldiers. Blade had ordered her to stay put until he notified her to the contrary, and it had taken all of her self-control to comply with his command.
So when the jeep with a piece of white cloth affixed to its antenna roared over the rise and streaked across the field directly toward her, instead of using the highway, she was immensely pleased.
“Will you look at this!” she exclaimed to herself, raising her M-16 to her shoulder. “Are these dummies in for a surprise! Come to momma, sucker!”
There were four figures in the topless vehicle.
Bertha deliberately sighted on the driver, a hideous reptilian monstrosity, and waited, biding her time, wanting to be sure when she pulled the trigger.
Someone grabbed her elbow.
Startled, Bertha twisted around.
Blade stood behind her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
“Where’d you come from?” she blurted.
“I was making my rounds of our perimeter,” Blade replied, gazing at the speeding jeep. “Do you see their white flag?”
“I see it,” Bertha answered.
“And you were going to shoot them anyway?” Blade asked her.
“I wanted to sight in my gun,” Bertha quipped.
“You’re getting worse than Hickok,” Blade told her.
Bertha beamed, taking the statement as a compliment. “Thanks!”
The jeep slowed to a stop approximately 30 yards from the tree and slightly to the left.
“You, in the town! Can you hear me?” bellowed a deep voice. The speaker was a tall, apish mutant bearing a sledgehammer in his huge right fist. He stood on the front passenger seat, surveying the nearest homes and other buildings.
“Cover me,” Blade directed Bertha.
“You ain’t goin’ out there!” Bertha protested.
Blade nodded.
“It’s your funeral,” Bertha mumbled.
Blade stepped from behind the tree. “I hear you!” he shouted, and walked toward the jeep, an M-16 at the ready, his Commando over his left arm, the Vegas in their holsters, and the Bowies on his hips.
The ape-like mutant swiveled to face the Warrior.
Blade walked to within ten yards of the vehicle. “What do you want?”
“I am Thor,” the creature announced. “And you must be Blade.”
“I am,” Blade confirmed.
“I bring a message from the Doktor,” Thor said.
“What is it?”
“It’s for Lynx,” Thor revealed.
“You tell me,” Blade stated, “and I’ll relay the message to Lynx.”
“My message is for Lynx,” Thor insisted, “and only Lynx.”
Blade noticed all four of the occupants of the jeep were mutants. “Why didn’t the Doktor deliver this message in person?”
“He told me to do it,” Thor replied.
“Could it be the Doktor’s afraid to show his miserable face because he knows what we’ll do to it?” Blade said, taunting the creature.
“The Doktor knows best,” Thor responded. “Now get Lynx!”
“Give me your message,” Blade declared.
Thor put his knobby left hand on top of the windshield and leaned forward. “I won’t tell you again!” he growled. “Get Lynx!”
Blade’s eyes narrowed. “How would you like me to take that sledgehammer and shove it up your ass?”
“I’d like to see you try!” Thor angrily retorted. “Are you going to get Lynx or not?” he stubbornly persisted.
“I told you already,” Blade said flatly, “I’ll relay the message to Lynx.”
Thor seemed to be mulling the issue. “All right,” he said at length. “You can give Lynx the Doktor’s message. Tell Lynx the Doktor is only interested in him. If Lynx will surrender to the Doktor, the Doktor will allow the rest of you to leave here alive.”
“That’s the message?” Blade demanded.
“That’s it,” Thor confirmed.
Blade chuckled. “And you expect us to believe the Doktor will keep his word?”
“Of course he will,” Thor said blandly.
“Bet me,” Blade rejoined. “Tell the Doktor no deal.”
“You refuse to turn Lynx over to us?” Thor queried.
“For someone, or should I say something, with the brains of a turnip, you’re pretty bright!” Blade said, mocking him.
Thor glared at the Warrior. “I will tell the Doktor.” He paused. “We will meet again.”
Blade rested his left hand on the hilt of his corresponding Bowie. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
Thor nudged the driver, and the jeep spun out, turned a tight circle, and made for the rise.
Blade wheeled and headed for the tree.
Bertha stood to the right of the trunk, watching the departing jeep.
“Someone here to see you,” she remarked.
Lynx walked around the left side of the tree. “I heard what you said,” he told Blade.
“Why aren’t you at your post?”
“Hey, I was being a good kitty,” Lynx replied, “cooling my heels on top of the command post, like you wanted. I saw the jeep coming and recognized Thor and got curious about what Granite Head wanted. So I came for a look-see.”
Blade stepped up to the genetic deviate. “Don’t ever desert your post again!” he warned. “You’re no differen
t than Orson. When I give a command, you’re to follow it. Understand?”
Lynx’s lips curled backward, exposing his pointed teeth. For an instant, it appeared as if he were going to launch himself at the huge Warrior.
“Lynx!” Bertha exclaimed.
Lynx glanced at her, then at Blade. He visibly relaxed. “Sorry, dimples. I don’t usually let anyone talk to me the way you just did.”
“You agreed I was to be in charge,” Blade reminded the feisty feline.
“That’s the reason I didn’t just rip you to shreds,” Lynx said. “That, and what you told Ape Face.”
“You’re one of us,” Blade stated. “We don’t betray our own.”
Lynx averted his eyes. “Yeah, I gotta admit your Family treated me real nice when I was stayin’ at your Home. It can grow on you, thinkin’ you belong somewhere.”
“What do you think the Doktor will do next?” Blade inquired.
“He won’t pussyfoot around,” Lynx stated. “He’ll send in his shock troops.”
“His what?” Bertha asked.
“His G.R.D.’s,” Lynx elaborated. “The things from his Genetic Research Division, like Thor and me.”
“He’ll try to overwhelm us in one fell swoop,” Blade deduced.
Lynx nodded. “If I know the Doc, and unfortunately I do, that’s exactly what the prick will do.”
Blade gazed at the rise. The jeep had disappeared over the crest. “Do you think he’ll send them in from every which way, or straight on?”
“Straight on,” Lynx responded. “He must know by now there aren’t too many of us. The Doc will want to get it over with. He’s a real stickler for not wastin’ time.”
Blade scanned the field and the nearby homes. “Okay. Lynx, return to the command post and stay there, no matter what you hear or see.”
Lynx jogged off.
“Bertha,” Blade said, “give a yell if you see them coming over that rise. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you goin’?” she wanted to learn.
“To get the others,” Blade replied. “I’m going to redeploy them in a skirmish line to your right and left. We’ll hold Lynx in reserve, and I’ll have Rudabaugh redistribute some of his special surprise packages.”
Blade left.
Bertha leaned against the tree trunk. She hoped Blade would put Hickok somewhere close to her, so she could keep an eye on him. She didn’t want any harm to come to White Meat. The realization troubled her. How could she allow herself to still care for Hickok? She knew the gunfighter loved another woman. She knew he was married. But she cared, anyway. And Rudabaugh had been right earlier. She had volunteered because she knew Hickok was coming on this trip.
Look at this! she mentally berated herself.
She was in love with a married man!
And she wanted to be near him so much, she was about to take on a horde of crack-brained freaks!
Yes, sir!
There was no doubt about it!
If she wasn’t a glutton for punishment, nobody was!
Chapter Fifteen
Rudabaugh rested his hands on the plunger, his muscles inadvertently tightening, as he spotted some commotion on top of the rise south of Catlow.
The attack would come soon.
From his vantage point on the roof of a garage 75 yards from the field, he could see most of his companions. Bertha was at the edge of the field, behind a tree. Hickok was about 20 yards to her right, crouched in a shallow depression in the ground. Geronimo was approximately 30 yards to the left of Bertha, waiting at the rear of a yellow frame house. In the next yard to the left of Geronimo, Orson was squatting behind a large, tumbledown doghouse. Blade wasn’t anywhere in sight, and Lynx was to Rudabaugh’s rear, atop the command post.
“You all set up there?” a voice called out from below.
Rudabaugh inched to the edge of the sloping roof and gazed down.
Blade smiled up at him. “Are you all set?” he repeated.
“I’m ready,” Rudabaugh acknowledged.
“Good. Remember what I told you. Don’t do anything until I give you the signal, and then let them have it!”
“Will do,” Rudabaugh said. “Say, do you think they saw me placing the charges?”
“Did you follow my instructions and keep the dynamite out of sight?”
Blade questioned him.
“Yep. I kept the charges tucked under my shirt, and when I buried them I angled my body between the rise and the hole so they couldn’t see what I was up to,” Rudabaugh detailed.
“Then I doubt they know what we’ve done. How many charges did you relocate?”
“Seven. I thought I’d give them a present from each of us,” Rudabaugh replied.
“I like your sense of humor,” Blade stated.
Rudabaugh heard a loud noise in the distance and looked up at the rise.
It was swarming with movement.
“Here they come!” Rudabaugh yelled down.
Blade took off, running around the ramshackle garage and racing for the tree screening Bertha.
Rudabaugh elevated his head above the top of the roof. The garage contained a few pieces of furniture and a lot of dust; it evidently hadn’t been used to shelter a vehicle in ages. It was a detached structure; the house it belonged to was ten yards behind and to the left of Rudabaugh.
Dozens upon dozens upon dozens of figures were cresting the rise and pouring over the field.
Rudabaugh remembered the binoculars dangling from the black strap around his neck. Blade had seen fit to leave the binoculars with him, saying he would need them the most. He raised them and focused on the wild throng sweeping across the field. His eyes widened in disbelief.
There were hundreds of them! They came in all shapes and sizes, but they shared one dominant characteristic: they were all members of the Doktor’s Genetic Research Division. Hairy, scaly, horrid creatures, possessed of ghastly aspects and relatively few human attributes. Few were armed, and even fewer wore any clothing except for a scanty loincloth.
Some resembled common animals, like dogs or cats, while others looked like bizarre combinations of humanity and savage beasts. They shrieked and howled, bellowed and roared as they closed on Catlow.
Rudabaugh saw Blade reach the tree and say something to Bertha. She shook her head, apparently disagreeing, but Blade wasn’t listening.
The Warrior rounded the tree and charged the G.R.D.’s!
Rudabaugh marveled at the man’s courage.
Blade was running all out, his Commando in his right hand and the M-16 in his left. He was about 15 yards from the tree when he abruptly dropped to his knees, cradling the two automatics in his muscular arms, and opened up.
The nearest G.R.D.’s were cut down in droves.
Blade swept the Commando and the M-16 in small arcs, emptying the magazines into the on-rushing mass.
Bertha, Hickok, Geronimo, and Orson began shooting, providing covering fire for Blade.
Rudabaugh saw Blade toss the empty M-16 aside.
The Warrior hastily ejected a spent magazine from the Commando and replaced it in a smooth, practiced motion. He rose and backed up, the Commando chattering, felling the G.R.D.’s closest to him.
Rudabaugh lost all track of how many foes Blade killed. Two dozen.
Three. And still they came on, hungry for his flesh, anxious to crush him to a pulp!
Blade whirled and ran toward the tree. He was five yards from it when he suddenly clutched his left side and sprawled to the ground.
No! Rudabaugh screamed in his mind. Get up! Get out of there!
Bertha dodged out to support Blade. She was almost to him when she too was hit, and went down on one knee.
No!
The G.R.D.’s were screeching in triumph and rapidly narrowing the gap.
Blade rolled onto his side, firing from his prone position.
The fastest G.R.D.’s stumbled and collapsed as the heavy 45 slugs ruptured their vital organs and severed their vein
s and arteries, splattering the ground with splotches of blood and gore. Undeterred by the carnage, the rest of the G.R.D.’s continued coming.
Rudabaugh gripped the binoculars so hard his knuckles were white.
There was no way Blade could hold them all off!
Bertha was trying to stand and go to Blade.
Move! Rudabaugh wanted to shout. He caught a movement out of the corner of his right eye.
Hickok was running toward Blade and Bertha, his M-16 spitting death.
He wasn’t more than ten yards away when the M-16 went empty and he threw it away in disgust. Instead of unslinging his Henry from his left shoulder, Hickok drew his Pythons.
Rudabaugh had never seen anyone draw so swiftly. One instant the gunfighter’s hands were empty, and in the next the Pythons were out and up.
Hickok fired as he ran, blasting a lizard-like deviate about to pounce on Blade.
Blade’s Commando was empty again!
Hickok reached Blade’s side, his Colts cracking, and two more G.R.D.’s died, one of them clutching at a reddish hole in its hairy forehead. A creature with the facial features of a weasel rushed up from the right, and was met by a bullet in the brain.
Geronimo darted from cover, the FNC in his hands, heading for his friends.
Bertha was on her feet, helping Blade to rise.
Hickok was blasting G.R.D.’s with ambidextrous accuracy.
The G.R.D.’s in the center of the field, the ones bearing the brunt of the conflict, were beginning to hold back, unwilling to needlessly risk their lives confronting the Warriors and Bertha.
Rudabaugh noticed the G.R.D.’s on the flanks were still advancing. The ones on the left were bearing down on Orson, who was picking them off from behind the doghouse. The G.R.D.’s on the right, without any effective opposition, were the nearest to Catlow. They were rushing in toward the middle of the field, trying to sweep around and close on Bertha and the three Warriors from the rear.
Rudabaugh glanced down at his feet. There were seven sets of wires lying near the wooden box. He scooped up one set and quickly attached them to the proper connections.
The G.R.D.’s on the right were sweeping toward the center, flowing over a line of backyards, clamoring for blood.
Rudabaugh waited, keeping his eyes on his marker, a rusted swing set in one of the backyards.
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