The lynx promptly leaped erect.
Blade pushed to his knees, his eyes always on the cat, and he was ready when the mutation darted at him again. He flicked the right Bowie, going for the beast’s eyes, but the nimble cat evaded the knife and circled to the left. Blade turned with it, the Bowies held in front of him. In the back of his mind he worried about the Technics, but he couldn’t afford to glance aside or the cat would be on him in a flash.
The lynx silently padded around the giant, seeking an opening.
Blade slowly straightened, wanting to exploit his size advantage, to put more space between his throat and the beast.
Without any warning whatsoever, the mutation sprang, leaping and twisting in midair, going for the Warrior’s face.
Blade ducked and buried the Bowies in the mutation’s abdomen. His muscles bulged as he sliced the knives higher, cutting into the cat’s heaving chest. A torrent of blood spattered his arms and clothes. He swung his arms to the left, hurling the creature to the ground.
The lynx stood slowly. Its internal organs were seeping from the slit.
Hissing, the cat glared at the human and coiled for yet another spring.
Blade braced himself. He twisted when the mutation launched itself at him, then drove his right Bowie into the creature’s eye. The keen blade went in several inches, splitting the orb.
Unbalanced by the thrust, the lynx alighted unsteadily and nearly fell over. Mustering its flagging strength, the cat righted itself and crouched.
Blood and a piece of eyeball were on its left cheek.
Blade decided to end the fight quickly. He feinted with his right Bowie, and when the cat dodged to the left he suddenly lanced his left Bowie into the mutation’s left eye, piercing it.
Unable to see, the lynx shook its head vigorously and started to back away.
Raising his right arm, Blade was about to throw the Bowie, to bury the knife in its chest, to finish it off, when someone else took the honor from him.
A single shot rang out and the lynx fell on the spot.
The Warrior spun, his eyes becoming flinty at the sight of the ring of Technic troopers surrounding him. There were five jeeps parked to the east, three to the west, and all of the soldiers from those vehicles now encircled him with their weapons ready to fire.
A black-haired man who wore a different type of silver insignia on his lapels than Mitchell had worn, this time consisting of a pair of thin bars, advanced several feet from the east, an auto pistol clutched in his right hand. He smiled and nodded at the mutation. “My compliments. Few men can take on a mutation with just a pair of knives and live to tell about it.”
Blade said nothing. He studied the officer, gauging the Technic as a man who was supremely self-confident and accustomed to a position of authority.
“I trust you don’t mind that I killed it for you,” the officer said.
The Warrior scanned the soldiers, counting them. There were 32 including the officer. Thirty-two guns were trained on him. The odds were hopeless. If he made a move toward the Commando, they’d turn him into a sieve.
The officer noticed the giant’s gaze and grinned. “I trust you’re not contemplating any rash act, Blade. I’m under orders to take you alive, but my men will fire if you provoke us.”
At the mention of his name the Warrior had glanced at the officer.
“You know who I am?”
“There aren’t that many seven-foot-tall men running around,” the officer quipped. “When Sergeant Nesco radioed in a description of your van, I knew who you were right away. My name is Captain Perinn. I’ve seen you before. I was stationed at the Central Core in Technic City when Hickok, Geronimo, and you were captured. I saw the SEAL up close.”
Blade lowered his arms and sighed. “So what’s next?”
“Darmobray wants to see you.”
“Who?”
“The Director of our Science Division, the man who heads our Research Facility in Green Bay,” Captain Perinn said. “But I’m sure you must know about our Research Facility. Why else would you be here?”
“Would you believe I’m on a vacation and I’ve always wanted to see Lake Michigan?”
“Not hardly,” Perinn replied. “Now if you’d be so kind, place all of your weapons on the ground. And do so slowly. One of my men might become nervous if you make any sudden moves.”
Blade had no other choice. He complied, laying the Bowies and the Dan Wesson at his feet.
“Thank you,” Captain Perinn said. He walked up to the giant and regarded him carefully. “You have quite a reputation. You know that, don’t you?”
“So do the Technics,” Blade responded sarcastically.
“You’re wasting your breath if you’re trying to get me mad,” Perinn stated. “And I’m insulted that you would think I’m so immature as to allow a few words to upset me.”
“An intelligent Technic. You’re a rarity,” Blade cracked.
Captain Perinn chuckled. “Always on the offensive, eh? You’d make a great Technic.”
“Now who’s insulting whom?”
A noncom walked over to them, the same noncom Blade had seen earlier, the one the elderly woman had tried to throttle. He saluted the captain. “Should we return with you, sir?”
“No, Sergeant Nesco,” Perinn responded. “Take your men and search for the SEAL. The van must be hidden in the woods nearby.”
Nesco nodded, saluted, and began to do an about-face.
“And Sergeant,” Perinn added.
“Yes, sir?”
“Stay alert. Blade wouldn’t come here alone. There must be other Warriors in the vicinity.”
“Will do, sir,” Sergeant Nesco pledged, and walked off.
Blade motioned at he noncom. “He’s not very popular, is he?”
“Sergeant Nesco?” Perinn said, his forehead creasing. “Why would you say such a thing? All the men respect him.”
“I saw a woman try to kill him.”
“A woman?” Captain Perinn repeated, then grinned. “Oh. You mean the Automaton. She was a renegade.”
“What’s an Automaton?”
Perinn holstered his pistol. “I’ll leave that for the Director to explain.
Darmobray is looking forward to meeting you.”
“Why?”
An enigmatic, sinister smile curled the officer’s lips upward. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Chapter Twelve
Yama whirled and sent a burst into the group of walking dead who were coming around the southwest corner of the farmhouse. A half-dozen were struck and flung to the ground, but they all immediately began to rise again. He spun to the right and fired at the second group, the bullets smacking into their chests, and dropped five. Like their ghoulish fellows, they promptly stood, seemingly oblivious to the holes in their bodies and their life’s blood staining their clothes. Among them were the portly man and the woman Yama had seen inside.
What did it take to kill the things?
“Let’s get out of here!” Melissa cried, and raced to the south.
Yama followed, glancing over his left shoulder at the mob of zombielike beings. The beings broke into an awkward jogging gait, and although they weren’t very fast, although they could never overtake a normal person on a short haul, Yama enter-tained the suspicion that the walking dead could run for hours without tiring. A healthy man or woman might outrun them initially, but on a long stretch the superior stamina of the walking dead would ultimately prevail.
“Come on!” Melissa prompted. “Move it!” She sprinted for the trees bordering the south side of the yard.
Reluctantly, Yama followed her. She was bearing to the south instead of the southwest, the direction in which he had to go to rejoin Blade and Samson. He thought about the gunshots he’d heard, and picked up speed.