Since Blade had definitely been taken by the enemy and Yama might not be in any danger at all, and since Blade, as the head Warrior, was less expendable than Yama, and since the Technics were en route to their facility in Green Bay where Blade might be tortured, or worse, Samson had no option.
He must rescue Blade.
So resolved, the Nazarite walked over to the three jeeps. In one of them the keys were still in the ignition. Although he’d never driven a motor vehicle before, he decided to try. He’d witnessed Blade starting the SEAL
many times, so he knew how to get the jeep going. And he’d seen Blade use the brake and the accelerator. He sat down behind the steering wheel and deposited the Auto Rifle in the seat next to his.
Only then did he notice the extra pedal on the floor.
Confused, he stared at the pedal, trying to logically deduce its purpose.
The pedal on the right must be the accelerator, and the pedal alongside it the brake, but what on earth did the third one do? Feeling nervous, he prayed to the Lord for a calm mind, then turned the key.
The jeep promptly rumbled to life.
So far, so good.
Samson pressed on the accelerator, but nothing happened. He remembered the automatic gearshift in the SEAL and correlated the shifter with the black gearshift to the right of his seat. He gripped the knob at the top of the shift and tried to move it, producing a series of metallic growling and grinding noises but no movement. Perplexed, he tried the middle pedal, the one he assumed to be the brake, and again nothing happened.
This was getting him nowhere.
He depressed the third pedal and jiggled the black gearshift, and to his relief the shift actually moved toward the dash and seemed to lock into position. Had he done it? He let up on the third pedal and tramped on the gas, and for a fleeting second he felt a surge of satisfaction as the jeep jerked into motion. Unfortunately, his satisfaction changed to vexation almost instantly because the jeep went into motion backwards.
Samson slammed on the brake and the jeep stopped abruptly, coughed and lurched, and died. When he attempted to restart it, the vehicle would jump and bounce like a bucking horse. Stymied, he sat pondering his dilemma.
If he took off for Green Bay on foot it would take him hours to get there.
Who knows what the Technics would do to Blade in that time? If he could figure out how to drive the jeep, he could reach Green Bay in less than an hour. So whatever time he spent endeavoring to master the vehicle would be well spent if he could get it going.
A big if.
Samson pressed on the third pedal and tried once more. The jeep’s motor roared. He fiddled with the gearshift, sliding the stick from the front to the back. When he tried the accelerator, the jeep barely crept along. He eased his left foot off the third pedal, applied pressure on the gas pedal, and the jeep started forward. Delighted, he floored the accelerator, but the vehicle wouldn’t go over ten miles an hour. The engine appeared to be straining at the limits of its mechanical endurance.
What could he be doing wrong?
The Nazarite spent 15 minutes trying every combination of pedals and gearshift he could think of, and he’d just about decided to give up and jog to Green Bay when a deep voice spoke to his rear.
“What did that jeep ever do to you?”
Grinning, Samson twisted to find Yama and a brunette standing 15 feet away. Both were sweating profusely and were winded, and the woman had doubled over and was gulping in air as if every breath was her last.
“Where have you been?”
“We’ve been running for the last mile or so,” Yama said, coming around to the driver’s side. “The walking dead are after us.”
“The what?”
“I’ll explain later. Where’s Blade?” Yama asked, and glanced at the forest.
“The Technics grabbed him,” Samson stated.
“And the SEAL?”
The Nazarite nodded to the north. “Concealed in the trees. But it won’t do us any good because Blade has the keys.”
“Then we’ll use this jeep.”
“I’ve been trying to do just that. It might be broken.”
“The way you were grinding those gears, I’m not surprised,” Yama said.
“Remind me to give you driving lessons after we return to the Home.”
“You’ve driven a jeep before?”
“Don’t you remember the time I drove from the Home to the Cheyenne Citadel to infiltrate the Doktor’s Biological Center?”
“That’s right,” Samson declared happily, profoundly relieved the chore was out of his hands. “Then you can do the honors and I’ll sit back and relax.”
“Uhhh, fellas,” the brunette interjected.
Both Warriors looked at her.
“I hate to spoil your reunion, but we have company,” she informed them, and pointed at the figures approaching from the west, still 200 yards distant.
“Who are they?” Samson inquired.
“The walking dead,” Yama answered. “Slide over and let me take the wheel.”
“With pleasure,” the Nazarite said, complying.
“Hey, what about me?” the woman demanded, hurrying to the vehicle.
“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Samson,” the Nazarite told her.
“Jeez. You’re as big as Yama. What do they feed you guys at this Home of yours? Giant pills?”
“If you want to see a giant, you should see Blade, the head Warrior,” Samson mentioned. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Melissa Vail. I’m going with you.”
“You are?”
“She is,” Yama stated, sitting in the driver’s seat and aligning the Wilkinson between his legs. “Let’s take off. Climb in the back.”
“Yes, sir,” Melissa said. She wearily clambered into the back seat.
Samson leaned closer to the man in blue and grinned. “Have you two known each other very long?”
Yama displayed surprise at the question. “About an hour. Why?”
“You seem to have her well trained. Perhaps the two of you should consider marriage.”
“Marriage!” Melissa blurted. “Whoa, there, big guy. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I hardly know the man.” She paused. “And for your information, he doesn’t have me trained at all. I’m my own woman, not some pet to be pampered and led by a leash.”
“Any woman who married me would be treated as an equal partner in all of our decisions,” Yama said, and cranked the jeep over.
“Really?” Melissa responded, leaning forward. “That’s nice to know.”
Samson glanced from the stony Yama to the admiring woman, and chuckled. “I just hope I’m invited to the binding,” he said under his breath.
Yama shifted smoothly and the jeep headed for Green Bay.
Chapter Fourteen
Green Bay turned out to be no different from countless other postwar cities and towns Blade had seen in his travels.
Most of the structures were in varied stages of disrepair. Over a century of neglect and abuse by the elements had resulted in collapsed roofs, buckled walls, and missing or cracked windows. There were exceptions, homes and business establishments maintained in passable condition, but even these appeared to have been recently deserted. Dust and dirt caked everything. Rats scurried in the alleys. Pigeons and other birds flew overhead or perched on poles. A crucial element to any city, however, was missing.
“Where are the people?” Blade asked.
Captain Perinn, sitting in the front passenger seat, glanced back at the Warrior, who sat with an armed Technic on either side, their Dakon II’s pressed against the giant’s ribs. “Most of the populace are housed at our Research Facility. The others left for a healthier climate.” He snickered at a private joke.
“You provide housing at your facility?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Why are you in Green Bay?” Blade inquired.
“Ask the Director.”
“I intend to,” Blade promised, wishing he could pound his fist into the smug Technic’s face.
“You’re about to receive a singular honor,” Perinn commented.
“How do you figure?”
“Very few outsiders have been invited into our Research Facility. The Director is treating you as someone special.”
“I’m all chocked up.”
“We know you Warriors usually travel in threes. You won’t be so cocky after we capture your companions,” Perinn predicted.
“Never happen.”
“Why not?”
“They’re smarter than I am. They won’t let themselves be caught,” Blade said.
“We’ll see,” Captain Perinn responded.
The jeep convoy had entered Green Bay on State Highway 54, which they had followed all the way to Monroe Avenue. On Monroe they’d driven northeastward to University Avenue, and from there they’d taken Danz Avenue to the East Shore Drive. Now, as they rolled along the south shore of Green Bay, they could see the blue-green water and gulls wheeling in the air.
“Our Facility,” Perinn announced, and pointed.
Blade shifted his gaze from the bay to the ten-foot-high barbed-wire fence completely surrounding the University of Wisconsin at Green Bay campus. Two-man Technic patrols walked at regular intervals along the inside of the fence. The lawns beyond had been neatly trimmed, and the buildings repaired and painted where needed. A gate at the southwest corner afforded access to the campus.
“We put a lot of work into refurbishing the university,” Perinn mentioned.
“Planning to stay a long time, are you?”
The officer glanced at the Warrior. “Don’t you ever give up?”
“No.”
“One of these days you’ll push too hard, buster.”
The vehicles slowed as they neared the gate, where four soldiers stood with Dakon II’s at the ready. One of them saluted the lead jeep and Perinn returned the gesture. In moments the gate swung inward and the convoy entered the Research Facility.
Blade glanced at a sign on the barbed-wire fence as they passed within:
WARNING! TECHNIC RESEARCH FACILITY A-1 IS OFF LIMITS TO NONAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL.
ANYONE CLOSE ENOUGH TO READ THIS ORDER WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT.
Captain Perinn stretched as the jeeps angled toward a stately building on the south side of the campus. He checked his uniform to ensure his buttons were properly fastened and his insignia were on correctly.
What was the officer doing? Blade wondered. Preening? Or did Perinn’s grooming indicate the officer was afraid of what would happen if the Director noticed a dress-code violation? He stared at the three-story building and counted six guards standing outside the entrance.
“A word of advice,” Perinn said.
“What?”
“If you should meet my superior officer, don’t speak unless spoken to.”
“I’ll speak when I damn well feel like it.”
The officer snorted. “Suit yourself, asshole. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
All six guards snapped to attention when the five jeeps pulled up near the stately structure.
“At ease,” Captain Perinn stated as he slid to the ground. He smoothed his shirt and waited for the Warrior to be ushered from the vehicle.
Blade glanced at his weapons, lying on the seat next to the driver, and contemplated making a grab for the Commando. But the pressure of two Dakon barrels rammed against his chest stopped him.
“Bring him,” Perinn said to the two soldiers, and led the way into the building.
Expecting to find a laboratory, Blade felt a twinge of surprise at the luxurious accommodations he found inside. Plush blue carpet covered the floor. The walls and ceiling had recently been painted mauve, and the walls were adorned with handsomely framed paintings. A wide corridor led to a pair of closed mahogany doors in front of which were four more guards.
“This Director of yours must be paranoid,” Blade quipped.
“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Perinn warned. He nodded at the guards. “I believe the Director is expecting us.”
“Yes, sir,” responded a youthful Technic. “Colonel Hufford is with him.
They said to admit you as soon as you arrived.”
Blade noticed the captain tense slightly at the mention of the colonel.
Interesting. So it wasn’t the Director, after all.
The guards opened the mahogany doors and stepped aside.
“Come in, Captain,” boomed a deep voice.
Perinn led his party into the inner sanctum, a spacious chamber elegantly furnished with polished furniture, with bookcases lining the walls, and distinguished by a huge desk situated in the very center. Next to the desk, his arms crossed over his stocky chest, stood a scowling officer, gold insignia on his collar.
Blade barely glanced at the glowering Technic. He found the person seated behind the desk to be much more intriguing.
Even though seated, the man at the desk conveyed an impression of immense size. A mane of white hair framed leonine features. His green eyes returned the Warrior’s scrutiny fearlessly. He wore a one-piece silvery uniform devoid of insignia or emblems. “Greetings,” he declared in his deep voice. “My name is Quinton Darmobray.”
“I take it you know who I am,” Blade said.
The stocky officer snickered. “So this is the famous Warrior. He doesn’t look so tough to me.”
“Appearances can be deceiving, Colonel,” Darmobray stated coldly. “For instance, someone gazing upon your countenance might mistakenly assume intelligence existed in your cranium.”
Blade grinned when the man who must be Hufford straightened and studiously avoided looking at Darmobray.
The white-haired man looked at the Warrior. “To answer your question, yes, I know who you are, and I have been anticipating this meeting with keen relish.”
“I didn’t realize I was so popular.”
Colonel Hufford lowered his arms and took a step toward the giant.
“You’ll keep your trap shut unless told to talk.”
“Or what?” Blade asked. “Are you going to throw a temper tantrum?”
Hufford raised his right fist, as if about to strike the Warrior in the face.
“That will be enough,” Darmobray stated coldly. “Colonel, you will leave us alone.”
“Sir?” Hufford responded, turning, scarcely concealed anger etching his features.
“You heard me, Colonel,” Darmobray said. “I desire to be alone with our guest.”
“He’s a prisoner, not a guest,” Hufford declared. “And since security is my responsibility, I insist on keeping guards with him at all times.”
A strange smile creased Darmobray’s mouth, strange because it radiated a sinister, chilling intensity instead of warmth and friendliness.
“True, security is your responsibility, my dear colonel. But this entire operation is my responsibility. I’m the Director of the Science Division, in case you have forgotten, and a close friend of the Minister’s. Do you really want me to inform him that you are failing to carry out my instructions?”
Colonel Hufford gulped and shook his head. “No, sir. If you want time alone with the geek, it’s yours. But I’ll post more men outside your doors and guards outside the windows. He won’t escape. I assure you.”
“And your personal assurance will undoubtedly aid me in sleeping better at night,” Darmobray said with a straight face. “But you need not worry yourself over Blade escaping.”
“Why not?”
The Director glanced at he Warrior. “Would you care to enlighten the good colonel or should I?”
“Be my guest,” Blade said.
Darmobray riveted his hypnotic eyes on the senior officer. “Our guest has traveled hundreds of miles to reach Green Bay. Unless I’m mistaken, his sole reason for coming was to ascertain the purpose behind our presence in this fair city. He’s not about to try and escape until his curi
osity has been satisfied. Post your guards, if you must, but refrain from worrying until I say you should worry.”
“Yes, sir,” Hufford responded sheepishly. He motioned with his right arm and all of the troopers filed from the chamber.
Captain Perinn glanced back once and nodded at the Warrior.
Once the double doors were closed, Darmobray rested his elbows on the desk and said, “The captain seems to have developed a respect for you.”
Blade said nothing.
“What attribute do you possess that makes men look up to you?”
Darmobray asked.
“I’m seven feet tall.”
The Director chuckled. “And I am six feet seven. But men only obey me because they fear me or fear my influence in high places.”
“Like with the Minister? I thought we took care of him.”
“Hickok disposed of our previous Minister. Naturally, a new one was promptly selected.”
“Did the people vote him into office?” Blade inquired.
“Don’t be juvenile. The masses are sheep who must be led for their own good. No, our new Minister was duly selected by the directors of the various divisions, of which I am one.”
“And probably one of the most prominent,” Blade speculated.
Darmobray smiled. “Thank you for the compliment. Yes, you are correct. Next to the Minister himself, I’m the most powerful Technic alive.”
“How do your shoulders stand the strain?”
“You misjudge me.”
“I do?”
“Absolutely. When I say I’m the second most powerful man in Technic City, I’m not bragging. I am simply stating a fact. My presence in Green Bay demonstrates my influence.”
“How so?” Blade questioned.
“Who else could have persuaded the Minister to establish a Research Facility so far from Technic City? Who else would have been granted freedom to do as they saw fit? Who else could have accomplished all that I have accomplished?”
“What exactly have you accomplished?”
Darmobray waved at a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, please.”
The Warrior sat down and waited.
“What have you heard about our activities here?” Darmobray queried after a bit.
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