“How many?” Hickok asked.
“Too many,” Rudabaugh replied.
Geronimo twisted his head, scanning to their rear. “It looks like we have some company too.”
Hickok glanced back.
Another wave of troopers and genetic deviates was headed toward them, the leading figures perhaps a hundred yards off.
“The Doktor is sending them in waves,” Hickok conjectured.
“We’ve got to reach the town square,” Rudabaugh declared.
“Let’s go,” Hickok said, and led the way.
They were nearing the town square from the west, passing homes and a few scattered businesses. Ahead was a house with a low stone wall paralleling the street.
“We’ll never make it to the command post before they catch up with us,” Hickok stated. “Let’s make a stand here.”
They clambered over the wall and dropped to the grass on the other side.
“If we can drive ’em back,” Hickok remarked, “we’ll make a run for the command post.” He gave the FNC to Geronimo.
All four of them checked their weapons.
“How do you think Blade is doing?” Orson questioned.
Geronimo scanned the town square. He could see the fountain in the middle and a military vehicle parked in front of the command post. What kind of vehicle was it? he wondered. And was it his imagination, or was there a commotion of some sort taking place on the other side of the vehicle?
“How many charges do we have left?” Hickok queried them.
“I used up mine,” Rudabaugh answered.
“I have one left,” Orson said.
“I have one left too,” Geronimo noted.
“And I have both of mine,” Hickok stated. “Four charges and there are four of us. Get them out.”
Orson, Geronimo, and Hickok extracted their remaining charges. The gunman gave one of his to Rudabaugh.
“Here’s the plan,” Hickok informed them. “We’ll wait until they’re almost on us, then toss the four charges all at once. The explosions should cover our tracks.”
“What then?” Orson inquired nervously.
“Make for the fountain,” Hickok advised. “From there, we’ll try and reach the command post. Blade should be there soon, if he isn’t already.”
Geronimo nudged his friend and pointed at the command post. “What is that?”
Hickok studied the military vehicle. “I think it’s called a half-track,” he guessed. “Didn’t we have pictures of them in one of the books in the library?”
Geronimo, never one to miss his chance, grinned. “You mean to tell us you can read?”
Orson was peering over the wall. “Here they come!” he declared.
Soldiers and G.R.D.’s were advancing from the north and the west.
“Get ready!” Hickok directed them. “Hold your charges out and I’ll light them for you.”
“Why should you light them?” Geronimo asked.
“Because I’m the only one with brains enough not to have gotten shot,” Hickok quipped. “How are you going to light it with one of your arms out of action?”
Orson extended the bundle in his left hand, while Rudabaugh and Geronimo used their right.
Hickok peeked above the wall.
The enemy skirmish line was only 15 yards away.
The gunman swiftly lit all four charges. As soon as the last one was lit, which was his own bundle, Hickok nodded and swung his right arm down and up.
Three other arms did the same.
All four men dropped to the ground and tensed.
When the explosions came, the very earth rumbled and shook. The stone wall swayed slightly, but held firm, and the invariable billowing cloud of dust permeated the sky overhead.
“Move it!” Hickok ordered. “I’ll cover you.” He slung his Henry over his left shoulder and drew his Colt Pythons.
Rudabaugh and Orson took off, Orson helping the Cavalryman as they made for the fountain.
Geronimo balked. “I’m not deserting you.”
“Get the blazes out of here!” Hickok yelled.
“I won’t leave without you,” Geronimo declared obstinately.
“Danged hardheaded Injun!” Hickok muttered. He stood, facing the street and the yards beyond, and spotted several figures rushing in the direction of the wall. The Pythons bucked as he fired, four times in speedy succession, and four vague forms toppled to the ground.
Geronimo was holding the FNC in his good arm.
Hickok backed away from the stone wall. “Let’s go.”
Geronimo turned and ran toward the fountain.
Hickok waited several seconds, to insure they had deterred their foes.
He whirled and sprinted after the others.
Orson and Rudabaugh were close to the fountain.
Geronimo was only a few yards ahead.
There was movement near the half-track, and Hickok’s blue eyes narrowed as he tried to see clearly through the swirling dust and refracted sunlight.
Someone was climbing up onto the rear of the vehicle.
The cloud of dust diminished as Hickok continued to race to the fountain, and as his mind registered the scene near the command post he ran even faster.
One of the Doktor’s freaks, a huge ape-like thing, had scaled the tailgate on the half-track and was swiveling a mounted machine gun in the direction of the fountain—in the direction of the four defenders!
Chapter Twenty-Five
Blade’s eyes blazed with an intense inner fury at being hemmed in by his antagonists.
“What are we gonna do?” Bertha cried.
“Stay close to me!” Blade ordered her. He darted from the room and into the hallway beyond.
Three troopers were just entering the back door.
Blade fired into them before they could bring their M-16s to bear, the Commando thundering in the narrow confines of the hallway.
All three soldiers were struck, their bodies dancing and flouncing and thrashing in uncontrollable spasms.
Blade ceased firing and brushed past their crumpled bodies. He burst through the rear doorway and found himself surrounded by four G.R.D.’s.
One of them, a furry monster with pink pupils, was directly in front of him. Blade rammed the barrel of the Commando into the thing’s stomach and pulled the trigger.
The deviate was almost cut in two by the slugs.
Blade pivoted, going for a scaly horror to his left, but the creature grabbed the Commando barrel and wrenched it aside. Blade released the gun and drew his right Bowie. His huge arm flashed up, then out, and the knife gleamed as it cleaved the air and imbedded itself in the thing’s chest.
The creature screeched and attempted to pull the Bowie from its body, but a geyser of blood erupted from its narrow lips and it fell to the pavement.
The third monstrosity leaped on the Warrior from behind and pinned his arms to his sides.
The fourth, in the act of diving at the Warrior, was hit in midair.
Bertha’s M-16 chattering from the doorway and puncturing holes in its body from its head to its feet.
Blade swept his head straight back, connecting with the nose of his foe and crushing the cartilage. The hairy arms securing him momentarily weakened, and Blade surged his massive biceps and triceps, exerting his prodigious strength, and broke free. He dove forward and Bertha gunned the thing down.
Blade scrambled to his Commando and scooped it into his arms. Two more G.R.D.’s were rushing up from the south. He cradled the Commando and pulled the trigger. Both G.R.D.’s were bowled over, spurting blood and flesh over the alley.
“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Bertha shouted.
Blade bent over the scaly deviate and extricated his Bowie from its chest. The knife made a slurping noise as it came loose. He wiped the gory blade on his left pants leg, then slid the Bowie into its sheath.
“Look!” Bertha yelled.
Soldiers and G.R.D.’s were pouring into the north end of the alley.