by James Axler
Vaguely, it resembled a large black dog, only its muscular body was covered with overlapping scales in the manner of an armadillo. Its head was outrageously large, the eyes as yellow as a harvest moon. Two writhing tentacles sprang from the shoulders, and a scorpion's tail tipped with a stinger that glistened moistly curled from its rump.
"Hellhound!" Jak yelled, his .357 Magnum blaster booming at the monstrosity. Both rounds missed and ricocheted off the inside of the craft.
Golden foam dripping from its muzzle, the mutie rushed at them with tentacles thrashing. Dean kicked the door, and the metal slab swung closed on the lashing tail. The animal hissed in pain and struggled frantically to get loose. On the floor, J.B. rolled for his Uzi. Leveling his Steyr longblaster, Ryan aimed and fired in one motion. The big rifle boomed louder than artillery in the garage, the heavy-caliber round smashing the beast against the armored hull. Its stinger Lashed out for Ryan's face, and the one-eyed man knocked it away just in time with his rifle butt. Jak appeared around the door, boldly shoving his blaster into the hellhound's right eye and pulling the trigger. The creature's head exploded, spraying pale yellow blood and pink brains everywhere.
"Fireblast!" Ryan cursed, levering in a fresh round. "It's got friends!"
Snarling and hissing, two more hellhounds appeared. Mildred and Krysty each hit the largest with their .38 bullets to no effect, and J.B. sprayed both with 9 mm Parabellum rounds. Neither beast seemed adversely affected. Dean blasted another in the right ear with the Ruger, its head slamming back. Yellow blood flowed from the wound, but the beast struck out with tentacles and stinger, the boy diving behind the door again. The other hellhound reached out its tentacles to grab hold of the top of the tank and impossibly flipped upside down, landing on the roof. There was a patter of pads on metal and the mutie was gone.
The other launched itself over J.B. and landed on the worktable next to the cans of fuel. Everybody tracked the beast, but nobody fired.
"Fuck!" Jak cried, his hand trembling from the exertion of not firing.
"If we miss and hit a can, we'll set fire to ourselves!" Mildred roared.
Low and fast, Ryan pulled out his panga and circled to the left. Dropping the LeMat into his coat pocket, Doc drew the sword within his cane and expertly lunged for the snarling beast. The steel blade went straight into its mouth, going deeper and deeper until the muzzle came dangerously near the old man's hand. Both tentacles slashed at him, but missed, the stinger arching in lethal readiness. Mildred shot at the moist barbed tip, missing. Doc shoved again, putting his full weight behind the thrust. The blade sliced in farther, the black lips touching his hand, the jagged teeth an inch away. Then the beast went stock-still as its mottled eyes rolled in their sockets, showing yellow. The tentacles went limp and the creature toppled over amid the tools, knocking some onto the floor.
Coolly, Mildred walked to the thing and put a round directly into its right eye with surgical precision. The head jerked, and blood flowed out of its mouth and ears.
Shoving the corpse to the floor, Doc placed a boot on the thing's face and yanked his sword free. "And thou, wretched boy, that did consort him here, shall with him hence!" he said with a flourish, wiping the blade clean on the animal's black coat. Then as they watched, the fur began to fade to a neutral color of greenish tan.
"Good God!" Doc gasped.
"More!" Krysty shouted, her revolver banging steadily.
Three more hellhounds leaped from the vehicle. But these didn't join the fight. They bounded off into the junkyard, vanishing underneath and amid the endless collection of disassembled vehicles.
"Gaia, we'll never find them out there," Krysty said, her crimson hair flexing as she reloaded her revolver.
"We're not even going to try," Ryan replied. Something moved in the distance, and he fired the rifle at it. There was no yelp or hiss of pain. "Mildred, Dean, sweep the tank, two-man cover. Go!"
The two climbed into the vehicle under the watching blasters of their companions, then moved into the interior, thrusting the ready muzzles of the blasters under seats, into lockers and ammo bins.
"Clear!" Mildred announced with obvious relief.
"There's nowhere anything as large as them could hide."
"And you should see the control panel," Dean added.
"Later. Everybody in the tank!"
"Once inside, we're trapped," Mildred reminded, kneeling in the open hatchway. "And if there's no fuel in the gas tank, we die long and slow."
Ryan glared, his mouth a rigid line. "Five minutes and counting. Dean by me, shoot anything that moves!"
The boy climbed down to take a position beside his father.
"Move people!" Jak shouted, racing to the worktable. Grabbing an armload of tools, he sprinted to the tank and tossed them inside. Doc shrugged off his backpack of supplies and started ferrying over fuel cans two at a time. Mildred grabbed the packs and hauled them into the tank, making room for the next load. "These things are full of something!" the elderly man announced. "Sure hope it is fuel."
"Me, too!"
"What are hellhounds, anyway?" J.B. demanded, dragging over a massive a toolbox. "Muties?"
"Bio weps," Jak replied, hefting a box full of oil cans.
"Escaped after skydark, eh?"
"Guess."
"Nasty buggers."
Wrapping a chain around the rear stanchion of the tank, Krysty asked, "Any weak points beside the eyes and ears?"
Opening a bulky canvas bag, Jak saw it was full of engine belts and radiator hoses. Mighty useful. He slung it over his shoulder. "Sure. Can't swim."
"Great," J.B. muttered, helping Doc with more gas canisters. The coldhearts had to have raided every fuel tank in the place to get this much gas. There was nearly a hundred gallons. "Can't swim. Just great."
"We're running out of room in here!" Mildred called.
"I'm on it," Krysty shouted as she laid out the chain to the towbar of a jeep and looped it around. She then cinched the locking clamp tight. She stood back. "There. We can drag this along behind. Throw in anything you want."
As the others rushed to obey, something moved in the shadows and Dean cut loose with his Browning Hi-Power, the bullets ricocheting off a steel support.
"Chill! Stop wasting rounds on shadows. We're being stalked," Ryan said, pulling out his silenced 9 mm blaster. "These things are smart. Too bastard smart for my liking. Wait until you actually see something."
"Okay, Dad," Dean said, slamming a fresh clip into the blaster while studying the darkness underneath a Hummer.
Over by the fuel pumps, a steel drum noisily toppled over. Nobody reacted. Then a loud creak sounded from the rafters. Spinning in a gunfighter's crouch, Doc drew and fired his LeMat, the .44 Magnum slug blasting the overhead light into sparking rubbish. Darkness swallowed them, and immediately things began to move m the cluttered ring of military craft around them.
"Shield your eyes!" Mildred shouted from the front of the tank, and lights erupted all over the Leviathan, catching two of the hellhounds standing brazenly in the open. Ryan and Dean both cut loose, but only succeeded in driving the beasts away.
"Last load!" Ryan barked, dropping the Steyr's clip and sliding in a fresh magazine. "Double time!"
Wasting no time in recriminations, everybody climbed inside, dragging packs of supplies and goods. The thick door was pulled closed with a solid, reassuring clang, and Jak drove home the locking bolt.
"Dark night, I hate leaving supplies," J.B. panted, collapsing into a seat.
"Once the dogs are dead, we can loot the place down to the nails in the walls," Ryan told him, his good eye focused out an ob slit. "But first things first. We kill the hounds."
"Anything moving?" Doc asked.
"Not yet."
"Lights on or off?" Mildred asked from the driver's console.
Wearily, Ryan sat down, the cushioned seat feeling sinfully soft. "On for now. Let's catch our breath."
"Take five," Krysty said, dropping her ba
ckpack of supplies.
The recessed ceiling lights were bright but not harsh, and Ryan found the inside of the tank surprisingly plush. The coldhearts had to have liked their comfort. There was combat seating for eight in the back, with lockers lining the two walls. Next was a gunnery seat for the left and right Remington .50-calibers, and ammo dumps, nicely full. In the middle was a field surgery unit that Mildred was already examining. Beyond that was a standardized gun rack with a locking bar holding a couple of longblasters in place. Next was a line of general storage lockers with the pile of tools and fuel cans from the garage. He was surprised at how much loot his people had been able to grab in the short period of time allotted. Near the front were more seats, these facing forward instead of inward, then the cockpit with driver's seat and gunner's chair. Ryan walked closer, pausing to note the water tank seemed to be almost full and pleased that the ceiling was high enough he didn't have to bend or stoop. The dashboard was covered with electronic instruments, only half of which he could identify: radar, nightscopes, infrared and a powerful radio. In spite of the luxurious interior, Ryan reminded himself that this was no pleasure craft, but a combat vehicle, a troop carrier with blasters. Nothing more.
"Can we fuel from inside?" Dean asked from the rear of the tank.
"Yes. There's a feeder pipe over by the flamethrower."
"The what?"
"But there's no lay," Mildred continued, loosening her sleeves and rolling them up. "Could get messy if we're in here for any length of time."
"No kitchen either," Krysty remarked, taking stock of their most recent acquisition. "But at least we can eat these food packs without coking them."
Moving to the front, Krysty took the gunnery chair and examined the controls. "There are twice as many nuke batteries as needed." She tapped a gauge with a fingernail. "And fully charged."
"We ever get some insulated wiring," Mildred said, "we can connect the spare batteries to the door handles to dissuade invaders."
"Dissuade?" Jak repeated, arching a snowy eyebrow.
"Fry," Doc explained.
"We also have three motors," Ryan stated, studying the complex collection of gauges, indicators and lights. "But we only need two to run this behemoth."
"A spare motor? There's a fine notion."
A thump sounded from outside. "Company!" Ryan told them, grabbing his blaster. The friends jumped to the gunports, but the dark shapes were already disappearing into the jumble of vehicles.
"Odd they didn't hit the door or a window," Krysty said, watching them go.
"Maybe they weren't trying to get in," Mildred suggested.
J.B. frowned. "They were doing something else."
"Everybody check for damage," Ryan snapped, looking out the front windshield. "Fine over here."
"No damage."
"Hell's bells," Mildred cried, struggling to see out the starboard blasterport. "There's a tire missing!"
"What? They ate a tire?"
"One is gone, that's for sure. I see a bare rim on the port side."
"Why would animals eat a tire?" Dean asked.
"Not animals," Jak said distinctly. "Bio weps." Krysty understood immediately. "Freaking things are going to try and ground us. Without tires we can't leave. The belly won't clear the floor. We'll be trapped and eventually have to walk out or die of starvation."
"Same as the coldhearts," Doc said. "Fuck that," Ryan said, returning to the driver's seat. There was no specialized key to start the engines, merely a push button. Setting the choke to the middle, and hoping that was correct, he hit the gas and revved the Starter. The diesels rumbled mightily, making the whole vehicle vibrate with the barely confined power of the Detroit engines.
"Atomic batteries to power," Doc muttered softly to himself. "Turbines to speed."
Only Mildred snorted a laugh at the allusion.
"We're out of here," Ryan said, twisting the steering wheel and working the stick shift. With a crash, Leviathan plowed a path through the metal circle, windshields shattering and APCs shoved aside as they headed for the exit.
Chapter Four
As Leviathan started to rumble forward, two hellhounds darted out of nowhere. They hit the front windshield in unison, and the iron bars shuddered under the double impact. Black muzzles snapped less than a foot from Ryan's face, and he could actually see down their throats. Muscular tentacles wrapped about the protective gridwork, and their front paws clawed at the glass, scratching the resilient surface of the military composite.
Blaster in hand, Krysty started to roll down the side window when she spotted a barbed tail hovering low alongside the door. "Shit! They're waiting for us to try and get them!"
"Hold on!" Ryan growled and he slammed on the brakes. Tires squealing, the supplies went hurtling forward as the tank screeched to a halt, throwing the dogs off the hood. Instantly, Ryan hit the gas and the massive vehicle surged forward once more. A hellhound hit the spiked front bumper, its bleeding form stuck there caterwauling in pain. The other fell out of sight, but Ryan felt the big vehicle bump over something that crunched.
"The others are backing off," Dean said, watching from an ob slit. "They're... yep, they're gone."
"Flanking us," Jak said, moving to the starboard .50-caliber machine gun. "What's belly height?"
Working the bolt on the port Remington, J.B. said, "Good foot and a half."
"Don't let them get underneath us!" Ryan ordered from the front
"Check!"
Doc and Mildred rushed to the louvered rear door and shoved the muzzles of their handblasters out the downward slats.
"Hey Dean!" Krysty called.
Dean glanced at the woman.
"Here, use this!"
The youngster caught the shotgun thrown his way. It was a beauty, a pump-action 12-gauge. The stock was polished walnut and the shoulder strap was lined with spare shells.
Krysty jerked a thumb. "It was in the gunrack. It'll do more damage than your Browning."
Nodding his thanks, the boy pumped the scatter-gun and shoved the barrel out a slot.
Ahead of them was a large hole in the redoubt wall, a curved opening almost exactly the size and shape of Leviathan. Ryan eased on the gas and slowed for a moment to correct their alignment. They had a clearance of only inches. He had to go in dead center or risk scraping off some of the external equipment. The coldhearts had to have planned to remove the radar and missiles pods before trying this stunt. But that option wasn't available to them now. The bastard hellhounds were much too loyal to their dead masters, and too freaking smart.
"A camel through the eye of a needle," Mildred commented.
"More like two pounds of muck in a one-pound bag," J.B. countered, adjusting his fedora. "If it gets any tighter, we'll need to grease the walls."
"Too bad the lights are working," Krysty said, measuring the tunnel and the girth of the tank with her hands. "Then you could concentrate on their placement on the far wall as a guide."
"Mebbe next time," Ryan said, slowing their speed and thinning their fuel mix. The diesels were sluggish, and needed to warm.
Smoothly engaging the transmission, Ryan backed a yard, then, as slowly as possible, entered the tunnel.
Immediately something scraped noisily overhead, and everybody looked up, weapons in hand.
"It's only the radio antenna," J.B. said, relaxing. "Or the missile holders," Dean added, looking worried.
In the front gunner's chair, Krysty tapped the instrument panel with a knuckle. "Missile pods are on-line and showing green. No damage."
"Yet," Jak said, seeming more glum than usual. "Luckily, the coldhearts labeled everything in plain English."
"Yeah, lucky."
With a hand on the gearshift, Ryan said nothing but clenched the steering wheel even tighter. Once more the oversized tank rolled ahead at a snail's pace. The scraping continued, sounding louder than before. Then there was a crunch from above, and the tunnel behind them went dead black. Ryan stopped fast.
"We
're smashing the lights," J.B. said, listening to the glass shards sprinkle along the sides of the tank
"Shitfire. We need darkness ahead of us, not in our wake!"
Grimly, Ryan slid the transmission into gear. "Watch for the dogs! Shoot at anything... no, just randomly shoot!"
Dean promptly fired the Mossberg shotgun out the rear doors, paused, then fired again in an irregular pattern.
"Wasteful," Jak grumbled.
"Necessary," the Armorer snapped, adding a .50-caliber burst from the Remington. The big slugs rained along the tunnel, hitting nothing.
Every foot seemed to take an hour. The tension grew thick in the vehicle, but nobody dared to speak, trying their best not to distract Ryan from the delicate task. At the first narrow turn of the zigzagging maze, Ryan jockeyed the tank back and forth, each maneuver gaining him inches until they could make the corner. But the next turn of the antiradiation maze was set impossibly close to the first, and Leviathan resoundingly rubbed against the rough walls, grinding off chunks of the concrete.
Yard by yard, scraping at every turn, Ryan eased the gigantic vehicle through the tunnel until, finally, it cleared the last turn. Now before them was a length of straight tunnel that would take them to a set of massive vanadium-steel doors. The expanse of burnished metal was widely smudged with dark soot in an unusual flowery pattern. The only clean area was a small metallic keypad that twinkled silvery in the headlights.
Ryan released his death grip on the steering wheel and flexed his hands to restore circulation. "Those are black-powder blast marks."
"The coldhearts must have tried to blow their way out," J.B. said from a rear seat.
"Idiots. Those doors are nuke-proof," Mildred scoffed, "and they thought powder was going to open them?"
"Desperate men will try anything," Krysty remarked. "An animal will chew off its own foot to get free from a trap."
"But if they got in," Dean said, "the same code would let them out, right?"