by Ryder Stacy
They got their few things together and headed out of the lodging temple and down the stone stairs that descended for an eternity. But they had hardly gone more than a hundred paces when they were surrounded by hordes of Crazy Alligators and by the fierce war paint on their faces they weren’t in the mood for any more peyote parties.
“Come with us,” Trickster said, his eyes as cold as the dark side of the moon. They were rudely dragged along in what seemed like some sort of torchlight lynching committee and taken before about twenty Indians wearing black hooded cloaks that covered every bit of their faces and bodies. With their lynch party holding spears and guns on the three freefighters, the leader of the judges addressed them.
“One of you has screwed a Contrary. That means that you are all guilty by the laws of contrariness and must suffer the same fate as the sadly recently deceased.” The other judges echoed in a shrill chorus, “the recently deceased, the recently deceased.” The Ginsberg, Rock noticed, sat off to one side, looking quite perturbed about the whole affair.
“So get ready to dig a whole heap of death,” the leader of the judges said, his face totally hidden beneath the hood. The warriors pressed forward, their spears digging into soft flesh.
“Is there any way out?” Rock yelled out to the Ginsberg.
“Yes,” he answered. “You may challenge the gods.”
“May challenge, but not win,” the lead hooded judge said angrily.
“Then I challenge!” Rockson said, standing tall, thrusting his chest at the proffered spears. The Doomsday Warrior was taken away by six Indians while Kim and McCaughlin were kept prisoner. The judges followed closely behind. They walked for about half a mile through glowing cave walls as albino bats, white as flour, cheeped high-pitched screams as they flew overhead. At last they came to a second underground lake, this one lit with a green-shaded phosphorescence from beneath the waters.
“Mean Motherfucker,” one of the Indian guards yelled out at the edge of the lake. On a small island some two hundred feet away a huge man stepped out—one of the Crazy Alligators or one of their gods, Rock thought when he saw it. The thing stood nearly nine feet tall with legs like trees and arms as thick as Rockson’s chest. He had never seen a man that big in all his travels across America.
One of the guards looked at Rock and pointed to the giant standing on the island. “Kill him,” he said with a smirk, “and you go free.”
“Do I get a weapon?” he asked, looking around at the judges who remained hidden beneath their robes, except for the Ginsberg who looked at Rockson with sadness in his eyes.
“No, Rock. The challenge of the gods means one fights with only that which one possesses. It is the pure spirit that wins or loses.” The giant started forward. It had been a long time since there had been a challenger. A long time since he had killed. It would feel good. He walked slowly toward Rock, stepping with his long legs from rock to rock which poked up through the green water every three or four feet. The creature looked at the challenger. The man was bigger than usual, but still a mere mite compared to him. They both hopped from rock to rock and within thirty seconds the two men stood facing each other only yards apart.
“Why do you challenge me?” the giant roared.
“To live,” Rockson said softly.
“Then die,” the creature laughed. He leaped at Rockson with pantherlike speed. Rock spun out of the way but still received part of the blow on his shoulder. He knew the Indian giant was strong but he could hardly believe the man could move so fast. With two long slashes of red on his face it looked as if the Mean Mother had jagged scars running ear to chin. He opened his mouth when he charged, revealing elephant-sized, cavity-mottled teeth.
The creature charged again and again and it was all that Rock could do to just keep retreating, ducking, leaping out of the way of the giant’s attacks. Somehow he had to figure out the weakness in the tough man of the tribe. He waited on a wide flat rock for the Mother to charge again. Just as the nine foot thing jumped toward him from a nearby stone foothold, Rock also flew into the air, swinging his foot around into the Indian’s stomach. The Mother landed on his stomach on the rock ahead, half in, half out of the water. He rose to his feet and laughed, turning around to Rockson who waited about ten feet away.
“You smart boy, huh?” the giant said smiling. “Good, more fun this time. They all die so quick, it’s a shame.” Rock’s kick hadn’t even fazed him. A kick that most men wouldn’t have risen from had been a stomach massage to this overgrown hunk of flesh. The giant started at him again and Rock retreated, looking for an opening. The immense killer didn’t seem to have any particular style of fighting. His strength was so overwhelming he had never had to rely on skill. He just came at you until you were dead. He charged Rockson reaching, grabbing, punching, smashing. Rock kept jumping backwards, glancing behind him every few seconds to see where the next stepping stone was. As he glanced around once again the Mean Mother charged. Rock heard the heavy breath of the giant at the last second. He threw himself down and forward, landing in the lake between two rocks. The Mother flew over him and slammed into the boulder Rockson had just been standing on. The Doomsday Warrior swam three feet to the next foothold and crawled on as the giant stood up.
“You hurt me, Rockson!” the creature said almost gleefully. “That good. Me not be hurt before.” The Mother wiped his wrist along his face which was smeared with blood where he had crashed onto the jagged rock. “You fun!” It laughed and jumped across at Rockson who barely had time to leap out of the way. He couldn’t go on like this forever. The big killer wasn’t tiring at all, but Rock was, from the constant jumping every second. He skipped ahead four or five of the stone steps that seemed to dot the entire lake, trying to gain a bit of breathing space, time to make some sort of plan. If only he had a weapon.
Suddenly the water just ahead of him broke into ripples, then waves, then a boiling foam. A dark shape cruising beneath the green water suddenly broke the surface. Good God. Rockson cringed back as the snapping dragon’s head on a neck nearly twenty feet long appeared in the air just feet away from his head. Some sort of mutation, he thought. Much like the thing he had seen on his journey to Pavlov City. That one had wanted him for dinner as well. Its huge jaws snapped at Rock’s head, red eyes cold and hungry.
“That my friend,” the giant yelled out some forty feet away. “It hear you in water. Now it want to play too. Which get you first challenger?” the Mother laughed. The immense amphibious monster swam at Rockson on large green flippers, trying to push itself onto the stones around him. Rock headed back toward the giant. As big as he was he suddenly seemed like more welcome company than this green lizard thing from the depths of hell itself. His only chance was to get by the giant, race out of the cavern and somehow free the others. He approached the Mother and faked as if he were going to jump to the right. The Mother turned quickly in that direction. Rockson leaped from the wet boulder, his feet extended straight out like a rapier as he slammed into the giant’s testicles. The Mother let out a roar of pain and Rockson jumped over him as the creature fell to the stepping stone. Rock started to run but had gone just one step when the Indian’s long arm shot out and a hand as big as a shovel slammed around Rockson’s ankle.
“You hurt me bad,” the giant screamed, pulling the struggling Rockson back toward him. “You hurt enough. Me kill now,” the Mother said with a gleam in his black eyes. It stood up, lifting Rock with a flip up into the air. It lifted him in a bear hug and began squeezing. The giant turned to the subterranean lake creature and called to it. “Here, Ferlinghetti, I kill now—you eat.” The monster headed swiftly toward the Mean Mother’s voice, opening its jaws wide to receive its meal. Rock pushed with all his mutant strength at the Indian’s neck. He could feel the giant’s arms tightening, pulling at his backbone. Rock was strong as steel but he could feel his spine bending, almost ready to crack. The giant’s strength was immense. There were only seconds left. Rock stiffened his index fingers, pulled the t
op of his body back with a superhuman effort and jabbed forward into the Mother’s eyes. The fingers, like little spears, sliced right through the eyes which gushed out like bloody broken eggs from the slimly eye sockets. The giant screamed in mortal agony and released its arms from around Rockson as it slammed its hands to its face.
“Eyes! Eyes,” it moaned incomprehensibly. The lake monster was almost upon them. Rock spun the giant around so he faced the water’s edge. The dinosaur, or whatever the hell it was, closed its eyes as it slammed its jaws down on its prey, not realizing it had taken its keeper. It gobbled down the body, chewing the huge bulk into bloody food in seconds and disappeared back beneath the green glowing surface, leaving little ripples of blood that floated back toward shore.
Rock lay still on the boulder for a minute. He could not really believe that he was alive. That he had won. Death had been so near just seconds before. But he had won. He rose and walked toward the gathered judges and chiefs who watched him in awe.
“You are free, Rock-son,” said the Ginsberg. “You have won.” Rock looked at the Living Master with disgust and walked past the Indian warriors who parted at his coming.
Twenty-Two
Three motorcycles pulled up to a fork in the hundred-and-fifty-year-old road which was strewn with pebbles and debris but still flat enough to travel on. Three roads came out of the intersection, each going off at a ninety degree angle. At the side of the crossroads lay rusting pieces of metal that had once been roadsigns indicating exits and towns ahead. Now they were barely distinguishable from the reddish yellow dirt that lined the sides. The cycles came to a stop. Then one moved ahead about a hundred feet and waited.
Rock looked at Kim atop her Harley 600 that they had received from the Crazy Alligators after Rock had vanquished the Mean Mother. He had taken a 750, McCaughlin, a monstrous 1000. The sun was just setting, almost beautiful tonight in its purple haze. The pink and brown electric clouds of a brewing megastorm were writhing far off in the distance like stampeding beasts of pure energy. Rock eyed them nervously.
“You mustn’t go off by yourself, Kim,” Rock said. “Come with us.”
“I’ve told you already, Rock, I must find my father and see if he’s safe. When I was captured by the Reds my father was trapped. I don’t know for sure what happened. I must find out.”
Rock looked down at the ground. He didn’t know the right words. He had never been called on to say them before. He felt a strange feeling in his gut. Something new. Not even love or desire. But something he had never experienced in his life. He felt fear. Not for himself but for her. For the woman he loved. Would always love.
“I must go, Rock. I must,” Kim said, a single tear glistening at the edge of her green eyes. “I love you and we shall be together again. I know it.” Rock’s eyes were like razor blades. He knew what the world was like out there. Knew better than any man. The dangers were everywhere, every second. Only the strongest survived. She was tough but . . .
“Do you know what it’s like out—”
“Rock, I’ve traveled around. You know my father is organizing a convention. A Re-constitutional Convention. He is a powerful man, Rockson, as powerful as you. Can you imagine what a new United States would mean? A new government? A new constitution? A . . . a president?”
Rock heard her words. It would be incredible. It would change the spirits of all downtrodden Americans. It would create the way for a new unity among the Free Cities . . . and with the particle beam weapons they must really win now.
“I want the same,” Rock answered slowly. “But I can’t bear the thought of losing you. I’ve never cared for anyone, anything in this way before. I’ve hardly known you but—” She leaned over from her motorcycle and put her finger on his lips.
“Shhh,” she said soothingly and then stepped off her bike and replaced her finger with her lips. She held him against her, a one hundred and ten pound woman cradling a two hundred and twenty-five pound man of the purest iron in her arms, like a baby. Rockson let himself feel her love, let it penetrate into his cells and he sent out his own. Love. How strange. Somehow he had thought he would never feel it. Had certainly not searched for it. And now, in the midst of the purest violence and horror she had appeared. They kissed and touched each other for many minutes as McCaughlin kept glancing back from his cycle some one hundred and fifty feet ahead.
Damn Rockson, can’t keep his hands off the girl, the big man thought with some irritation. He snorted and looked up at the gathering storm clouds. Oh, come on Rock, he thought, trying to send the mental signals to the Doomsday Warrior that it was time to get the hell out of there.
At last the lovers parted, looking at each other. Then Kim started her cycle and with a submachine gun tied around the handlebars pointing straight ahead, and other weapons and supplies mounted on the back, she clicked the big bike into gear and tore off in the direction of the storm. Rock stared after her, watching the cycle quickly disappear over the rolling hills to the north. He watched until he couldn’t even see a dot on the horizon or hear the slightest trace of engine roar. Then he started his Harley and joined McCaughlin ahead. The two freefighters turned their accelerators up to max and screamed off into the gathering darkness as the first bolts of lightning began cracking behind them.
NEXT:
Table of Contents
Back Cover
Preview
Titlepage
Copyright
DOOMSDAY WARRIOR #2 RED AMERICA
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two