Doomsday Warrior 14 - American Death Orbit

by Ryder Stacy

  Rock was in the lead and he heard it first, a sound like the very earth was ripping itself apart piece by screaming piece. He ripped his glance up to the slope of a snow-covered granite slope to his left that rose up a good thousand feet above them at about a 50-degree angle. For a few seconds he couldn’t see anything as he slowed the ’brid slightly and it jumped around startled.

  But as his eyes focused they followed the source of the noise. Far up, at the peak of the mountain above, a white puffy mist was rising, shot up as if under pressure. And it was growing fast.

  “Avalanche,” Rock screamed out as he raised his left hand and circled it fast—the team signal for primo #1 trouble coming in from nine o’clock. Though many of the others didn’t, the core men of the Rock team spread out among the force, saw it immediately. They’d been out with Rockson too many times not to know that failure to react instantaneously to dangers meant death. And they’d seen a lot of men die because they froze like squirrels, instead of hopping like mad jackrabbits.

  “Move, move!” Chen, Detroit and the others shouted out at everyone as Rock, making sure the two whiz kids had heard him, kicked Snorter hard in the ribs and screamed out epithets.

  “Move, you son-of-a-bitch, like you’ve never moved before!” The ’brid tore ahead with the rest of the force slowly accelerating right behind him. Rockson scanned ahead for the slightest sign of any possible shelter. Nothing. The roar above them was growing both louder and more spread out. He twisted his head to the side, having to crane up. The wall of boiling white was about halfway down the slope and gaining fast. It was wide now, a good half-mile, maybe more across. Even from a distance, Rockson could see that it was just chewing up everything on the slope and gobbling it down—trees, boulders, shrubs, a few elk grazing here and there were all sucked into snowy jaws.

  “God,” Rock hissed through clenched teeth as he leaned over against the galloping ’brid and urged it even harder. “Please don’t let these men die, this mission fail.” The animal seemed to surge a little faster and Rock saw that ahead for four hundred feet or so they would ride across a straight and snowless patch of gravel and softball-sized rocks. The ’brids could move on that.

  He twisted around behind him as soon as Snorter took off as if heading for the finishing gate. The others were spread out too far back. At the rate the avalanche was falling, as far as he could estimate, at least half of them wouldn’t make it. Archer was bringing up the rear, screaming and waving his hairy arms at men and animals alike in front of him. His fierce mountain man visage seemed to be goosing the whole back of the stampede. A thin smile arched across Rock’s mouth. If they all lived through this he’d have to remember to keep Archer shotgun in the future; the guy was a holy terror, all seven foot plus of bearskin-clad ugliness!

  He suddenly saw a possible shelter about a hundred feet ahead and to the right—a granite overhang that stuck out a good twenty feet, solid rock that rose up like a wind stop a good fifteen feet in the air. It might stop the avalanche as well.

  He made an instantaneous decision and threw his arm up pointing to the right. He reined in Snorter sharply and the big steed, even with his sure-footedness nearly lost his balance stumbling on three legs for a moment. But one of the best things about hybrids was their almost hydraulic-suspension leg systems. They could bounce back up from anything—they had to be able to, considering the terrain they traveled.

  Within seconds, the animal was heading down the slope with arching jumping strides more like a goat than a hybrid horse. It’s lead showed the ’brids behind it how to do it, as some of them were new to the combat squad. The all-terrain vehicles had been designed for just such as this and they seemed to have little trouble shooting down the rock-strewn slope. Score one for high tech.

  Rock pushed the ’brid to the max, and saw as he looked up that the avalanche had slowed just slightly as it came to a plateau about a hundred feet deep that he hadn’t seen before. But it would only buy them seconds. For even as he watched, the top began spilling over the collecting snow on the plateau and built up like a great towering dune six hundred foot above their heads.

  “Faster you fleabag—I’ll give you every bit of sugar in the kitchen supplies,” Rock screamed, half-crazy with desperation. “I swear, just push it, baby, push it.” Rockson pressed against the side of the great heaving steed like he was part of it. Whether his chow offer got the beast going even faster, or it saw the safety of the overhang itself and wanted to get there pronto, who can say. But the mount seemed to suddenly go into overdrive and rushed forward like it was closing in on the last few yards at the Kentucky Derby. Just as the lead horse at a race track can pull the whole track faster if he’s having a great day, Snorter’s speed dragged the entire unit along behind him with a burst of mad energy as Archer’s howling unintelligible screams could be heard coming from the back of the pack.

  Suddenly Rock heard the strangest sound, like a great wave suddenly breaking on the beach. He snapped his head back up, trusting Snorter to negotiate the slope on his own as he pretty much was already doing. The dune of snow hanging above was approaching critical mass. It had grown to a good hundred-foot wall of white that had built up like a great dam. And even as he watched in horror, the thing seemed to crest as more snow came pumping down behind it. Suddenly it roared down right over their heads. The whole world seemed to crack with a thunderous sound, making Rock’s ears ring. And a great curtain of darkness descended toward them like the smashing hand of a giant.

  Snorter leaped the last ten feet toward safety, then turned sharply to the left running in under the overhang. He flew all the way to the far side, wanting to get as far away from the avalanche as he could, before Rock was able to throw on the brakes. He brought the heaving foam-flecked creature to a stop about ten feet from the far side of the overhang and jumped off the saddle to the ground in a flash.

  The two whiz kids were flying into the cave, barely in control of their steeds. Rock ran up between the two pop-eyed animals and threw his hands straight up, making them rear up in a dead stop. He grabbed the reins, pulled them down, and spoke loudly. “Down ’brids down!”

  They responded to his commands, and Rock let go, running between the two and patting them slightly on the rumps so they walked forward joining Snorter who was already looking around the rocky ground beneath the darkened overhang searching for food. Rockson ran back along the wall as other hybrids came tearing ass inside.

  He saw Detroit, then a few of the techs. Then it was all just a blur. Men, machines, and animals all yelling and whinnying like they were competing in some high decibel contest.

  Then the roar of the falling snow seemed to grow so loud that it filled their ears, their minds, their whole bodies.

  Their very bones shook as the world above them grew darker and darker, like an eclipse of the sun was taking place. Even as Rock reached the end of the overhang where men were still tearing in, he saw the curtain descend.

  There was an explosion of ice and snow and he was thrown from his feet as the pressure wave shot back and forth through the overhang, sending men flying from their saddles and seats. Complete darkness fell over them and Rock felt something smack him in the face like he was being kicked by an elephant.

  Then he was in a darkness even blacker than the avalanche-shrouded shelter.

  Nine

  “Anyone got a match?” Rock heard a voice asking as he came out of his stupor, lifting his face which had been mashed into the ground, like it was thinking of taking root down there.

  There was no answer, just groans and curses here and there. No one was screaming, other than a few ’brids letting out a frantic neigh in the darkness.

  Suddenly a light shot on from one of the all-terrains. They could now see through the mist that danced around the inside of the overhang—see that they were trapped. A solid wall of snow and ice had absolutely sealed them in, dropping down around them on all sides. The overhang made of solid rock had protected them from the falling avalanche.
But only to create a prison of ice from which they might never escape, Rock realized.

  Other lights went on along the inside and everyone rose, dusting themselves off. With the light, and the men talking, the ’brids quieted down a bit. But they sensed that they were in a bad, bad situation.

  Rock shouted orders, had them all bunched together at one end, and had blinders put on them to keep the ’brids from looking around too much and getting all excited. Then he gathered all of the Freefighters together in the center of the ice-locked cavern.

  “Anyone missing?” he asked, addressing them as they sat with cuts and bruises, blood flowing on a few faces, around him.

  “Where’s Harper?” McCaughlin spoke up suddenly, with a tremor in the words. They all looked around. But saw nothing of the missing Harper, one of the techs who had come along to work with the whiz kinds. The Scot’s eyes went down to the ground.

  “And Andrews?” another voice cried out. “He’s my buddy.” Again they looked around and saw no trace of the missing combat soldier. Rock had worked with Andrews before. The man had been brave, had taken all the shit that nature and their enemies could dish out—and didn’t complain once. The kind of fighting man that Rockson swore would someday liberate America. But not this man, buried outside, perhaps just inches away under tons of crushing white.

  “What the hell are we going to do?” Detroit asked, as the lanterns shone on his wet black face. “You’re the idea man, Rock, we know you’ll think of something.” He grinned through the wet grayness as the beams of the bikes kept slicing patterns through the air as the men turned them this way and that looking for a tunnel out.

  “There only one thing to do,” Rock said, getting up and walking toward one of the supply vehicles in the glaring headlights’ beam. “Get out some shovels and dig our asses off!”

  The mass of the avalanche had fallen mostly to the left side of the overhang, so Rock led them to the right side, moving the ’brids back who were now too engrossed in their food bags to even mind being pushed around.

  The Freefighters started working like miners chopping into the hard surface. It was rough going, every inch of it like compressed ice. Snow is soft. But snow under so many tons of pressure, all rolled over and over like a piece of dough until it’s hard as rock candy, was like concrete. The men smashed their shovel tips into the ice, cursing as they saw what slow going it was going to be.

  In an hour they had only gotten about a yard and a half when suddenly Chen, working all the way around, nearest to the end of the overhang, shouted out.

  “Getting through over here I think,” he said, gulping, hoping he wasn’t wrong and wasn’t going to look like an idiot. He slammed forward with his shovel and a few of the others including Rockson drifted over to see what was up. The Chinese martial arts expert had indeed reached softer snow. He probed in and the shovel sank in up to his hand.

  “Probably a hell of a lot of stuff up there—but it does seem softer on this side,” Chen went on as he pulled the shovel back out and thrust it into another spot which gave as well.

  “All right, man,” Rock said, slapping him on the shoulder. “You did good.”

  Bernstein, the explosives expert, came up with his shovel. “Well, I’m about to do even better,” the balding round-faced Bernstein grinned. He looked a little paunchy, but Rock had worked with him as well in the past and knew the dude was tough as nails and knew his stuff. “Rest your bones, Chen,” Bernstein said, “Because if it’s basically soft up there, I can throw a few charges in—real light stuff of course,” he added with a quick look around as he saw a few faces pale, “I think I can blow us an emergency exit right the hell out of here. And do it fast. That’s what focused explosions are all about—saving you time in doing shit work. What do you say?”

  Rock looked around and saw fear in a lot of eyes. But there was going to be fear in them the whole trip. Chen nodded his approval of the plan.

  “Do it Bernstein. We gotta move,” Rock said firmly. “We’ll get everyone and everything to the other end and then build a break of snow and ice.”

  “I don’t think you’re going to need it,” Bernstein said. “The way I can place the charges—I can aim its explosive force.” He shrugged. “But if it makes everyone feel better—go ahead. I only need a minute or two to get the charges in place.” He headed over toward his two ’brids tied behind his riding mount and undid a black satchel, one of many, tied across one of the steed’s backs. The heavy-set Bernstein took out what looked like amazingly small packets, two of them, hardly bigger than a pack of matches, and poked them in as deep as they’d go at the end of the shovel into the snow about six feet apart.

  He was ready to blow the charge right then and there, but it took another twenty minutes or so before they got everything pulled back and had created enough of a shield between them and the far ice wall with a few vehicles placed in between for Rock to give the go ahead.

  Bernstein joined them past the barricade, ducked down, and turned the lever on his radio transmitter. There was a muffled roar like a bomb going off beneath a huge blanket and then they were all covered with a quick gust of flakes and cool air.

  It took a few seconds for it to clear, but even as they rose up, they could see light coming in dimly from the far side. Cheers rang out. Just the sight of the light, even if they still had to dig their butts off, was enough to cheer every man’s heart.

  Bernstein and Rock quickly rushed over and looked up. The explosion had blown right through the fifteen feet of snow that had been lying there. A roughly rectangular-shaped opening a good six by eight feet had been created, but at a steep upward angle.

  Rock had them unload one of the plasti-link tread carpets they’d brought along—a thin blanket about four feet wide and less than a quarter-inch thick that could unroll up to fifty feet. Another one of Schecter’s recent innovations—designed for use with the all-terrains. It created a sort of instant gripping surface with its many grooves and treads, over which one could drive.

  Rock carried the roll, dragging himself up through the opening with hand and footholds on the sides of the pathway. Reaching the surface, he looked around at the devastation. The avalanche had covered the entire mountain valley all around them. They were lucky, incredibly lucky to be alive. Everything else was just white—not a living thing could be seen. The avalanche had continued on down the slope for another eight hundred feet where it had deposited itself, dashing its ice crystal brains out, filling the rocky valley below.

  Rock set the top of the instant-tread with pegs in the ice and then threw the other end back down into the opening. It unraveled as it fell and he heard voices at the bottom yelling to catch it.

  Then it was being pulled tight and pegged into place below. Within seconds, a hybrid was scampering up the sheer side of the explosion-created ten-foot-long tunnel. Its wide hooves stumbled along the rough plastic surface as it rushed frantically up the thing. And it worked. Though it took four leg moves for every one that really caught, the animal was so thrilled about getting out of the frozen hellhole that it just kept coming up with a tremendous output of sheer energy.

  Rockson had to jump back as the big hairy-maned face came erupting out of the ice hole like a proverbial bat out of hell. Atop him was Chen, one of the best of the ’brid riders. The guy could go bareback when he had to, or ride standing up.

  Chen reined the ’brid in as it started tearing ass along the snow-covered slope. He pulled it to a quick stop and turned it sharply, jumping down beside Rockson.

  Detroit was next atop his mount. Then the rest. All things considered, it wasn’t all that bad. And within an hour they had everyone and everything topside, except for another busted vehicle, which couldn’t get up enough engine juice to make it up the steep grade. Which meant more abandoned “non-essential” equipment.

  They made their way across the newly created undulating surface, using the tread blanket over and over, throwing it out, going across it and then using another one to do
it again as they rolled up the first. Rock didn’t want to take any chances slipping, perhaps breaking right through the newly deposited crust of snow. You could fall down twenty, thirty feet into snow hollows left by avalanche residue. He’d seen men do it—and never be seen again. So it took nearly another hour just to go the six hundred feet or so until they were completely free of the avalanche zone and onto rocky, snowless ground.

  As soon as they were definitely clear of any more avalanche danger—at least for the moment—Rock stopped them, and had the Freefighters turn back to the mountain that had claimed their comrades’ lives. He led them all in a moment of prayer. He never knew what to say on these occasions, even though he’d had to do it too many times before.

  “God, here comes two more,” he intoned without being able to hide some bitterness in his voice. “Treat ’em good. Give ’em some warm blankets cause they died cold.”

  Come spring, the snows would melt and the bodies of Harper and Andrews would be exposed along with all the other wildlife destroyed by the snow jaws. They would have been preserved through the harsh winter by the snows, like meat in the deep freeze. And when the warmth came, so would the vultures, the foxes, the weasels, they would all come out and feast. A good meal for a hungry group of hibernators. All was taken, nothing was wasted. World without end.

  Ten

  Not only had they lost men and ’brids—but much of their food supplies as well in the avalanche. It was as if nature, the gods, whoever—was playing games with them, starting to put the pressure on. McCaughlin had had three pack ’brids, aside from his own which he rode, so that the poor beast’s back always seemed on the edge of cracking beneath his three hundred plus pounds. The two dead ’brids had been his. And those two had carried virtually all of the strike force’s fresh foods, juices, dried meats . . . So they were on their own for eats already. Well, Rock had been down this road before.