Armageddon Run Read online

  But I knew the various Governments would never willingly unite. So I reached one of the major decisions in my life. I decided to devote my recognized intellect to insuring that one nation could dominate all the others, thereby ending the ceaseless bickerings and wars for all time. My scientific genius was responsible for the regenerating chemical clouds and resultant mutates, as you call them. I—“

  “What?” Joshua interrupted, astonished. “You’re responsible for the mutates?”

  “Unintentionally,” the Doktor replied. “I was developing a new form of chemical warfare, a gaseous mixture capable of dissolving human tissue and bone. The acidic agents are specifically attracted to the human metabolism. Mutates result because the complicated chemical elements in the clouds do not leech successfully on animal metabolisms. Their physiology goes haywire instead. I never intended to use the gas in this country. Samuel the First insisted on doing so after the war, as a means of further disrupting outlying communities and distracting them from the business of restablishing a new Government.”

  “You… unleashed… the clouds?”

  “One of the least of my accomplishments,” the Doktor stated. “My masterpiece is my work in genetic engineering. I, and I alone, discovered the technique for editing the genetic instructions encoded in the chemical structure of molecules of DNA. My original purpose was to produce a master race of perfect humans.” He glanced behind him at the clustered creatures. “Obviously, I haven’t quite attained my goal, but I am close. At least, I was, until my laboratories were destroyed.” His features clouded.

  Joshua could only gawk, stupefied.

  “Nothing ever works out quite the way we expect it to, does it?” the Doktor went on. “Did I tell you I constructed the very first thermo? A potent, portable thermonuclear device. I was certain they would guarantee that we won the war. I was wrong.”

  Joshua felt a chill creep into his body.

  The Doktor looked at Joshua. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”

  “Plato told me you are one hundred and twenty-seven years old,” Joshua answered.

  “How does he know that?” the Doktor inquired in surprise.

  “It’s all in your notebooks,” Joshua explained.

  The Doktor’s eyes narrowed and his arms dropped to his sides. “Plato… has… my… notebooks?”

  Joshua’s mouth suddenly went dry.

  “A delightful bonus! I’ll have them back soon,” the Doktor cryptically stated. “Yes. I am one hundred and twenty-seven years old, thanks to my rejuvenation process. And do you know what my years of experience have taught me?”

  Joshua shook his head.

  “There is no God—”

  “But there is!” Joshua protested.

  The Doktor’s right hand lashed out and slapped Joshua across the face.

  “Don’t interrupt me again!

  God does not exist! Where are your brains, boy? Look around you. How could a loving God allow all the anguish and distress in this world to persist? How could a compassionate God permit us to know pain?”

  “But God isn’t responsible—” Joshua began.

  The Doktor backhanded him on the mouth. “I warned you! You mindless jackass! How can any sane person propose a brotherhood of humankind? Humans are cattle, boy! Nothing more, nothing less than dimwitted cattle. How can they see the light when the only motivation they appreciate is the crack of a sturdy whip? Why do you think I wanted one nation, our nation, to dominate the globe? Because I knew I would then be the one cracking the whip, or controlling those who did! Why do you think I influenced the leaders of our military-industrial complex to provoke the Soviets into initiating the war?”

  “You did what?” Joshua asked, horrified by the transformation now contorting the Doktor’s facial features. His eyes were wild and unfocused, his nostrils were flaring, and his lips were trembling.

  “It was I, boy!” The Doktor suddenly cackled. “In the entire history of this planet, my genius has never been surpassed! Einstein was a mental midget compared to me! What Beethoven was to music, and Tesla was to electricity, I have been to the art of war! The ancient Greeks were right in worshiping a god of war, because there is a god of war, boy, and…” The Doktor paused and glared at Joshua. “I… am… he!”

  Joshua inadvertently recoiled, shocked by the sheer madness reflected on the Doktor’s visage.

  “I am the only god you will ever know,” the Doktor stated.

  “But you’re not a god!” Joshua said, disputing him. “You’re a man, just like me! The Spirit of God indwells us, but this indwelling doesn’t make us gods.”

  “Oh?” The Doktor’s right eyebrow arched upward. He grinned and reached out with his right hand, gripping Joshua by the throat. “Do you know that if I had slapped you with all my strength a moment ago, your head would be rolling in the ditch?” He began squeezing Joshua’s neck, slowly, enjoying himself, savoring the hint of fear in Joshua’s eyes. “You dare babble to me about God? How old are you, boy? Twenty-five?

  Certainly not over thirty. Compare your age to mine. Which one of us do you think is the wiser?”

  Joshua was attempting to break the Doktor’s steely clamp on his throat, without success. He smashed his fists again and again on the Doktor’s arm and hand, but it was like striking a tree trunk; it hurt his fists and the Doktor gave no indication he felt a thing.

  The Doktor’s tone lowered, returning to normal after his unprovoked outburst. “Believe me, Joshua, when I tell you there is no God. I learned the truth at an early age, when my parents were killed by a hit-and-run driver. A beneficent Supreme Being would hardly allow such calamities to transpire. Ergo, the Supreme Being does not exist. Circumstance and probability are the rule of the cosmos.”

  Joshua’s face was turning red, his efforts to free himself growing weaker by the second and his lungs desperate for air.

  “Don’t worry, boy,” the Doktor told him. “You won’t die. Not yet, anyway. I have a special treat in store for you when you awaken. You’ll thank me for the honor I will bestow upon you.”

  Joshua gasped once and went limp.

  “I really should thank you,” the Doktor said, and released his hold.

  Joshua tumbled to the road and sprawled on his stomach.

  Clarissa and Thor approached the Doktor.

  “Is he dead?” Clarissa inquired in her strangely sibilant tone.

  “Not yet.” The Doktor smiled. “We owe this moron a debt of gratitude, and you know I always repay my debts.”

  “Gratitude?” Clarissa repeated, puzzled.

  “The fool revealed critical information,” the Doktor explained. “He confirmed my suspicions about the Family and Lynx. I knew Lynx had required assistance in escaping from the Biological Center and stealing the thermo unit, but I couldn’t imagine who possessed such audacity.

  Several witnesses reported that a man had helped Lynx. One couple even claimed Lynx had given them a message to deliver, something about Lynx and someone else ‘sending their love.’ Unfortunately for them, they weren’t able to accurately recall the name of the other party. The husband said it was Dama, while the woman maintained it was Lama. Imbeciles! I knew better!”

  “Who was it?” Clarissa wanted to know.

  “Yama, one of the Warriors from the Family.”

  “A Warrior entered the Citadel!” Clarissa said, marveling. “You were right, then, and Samuel was wrong.”

  The Doktor snorted derisively. “Samuel may falsely believe he rules the Civilized Zone, but the simpleton couldn’t locate his rectum in broad daylight without a diagram of his anatomy! I warned him, repeatedly, the Family should be eliminated. But no! He knew better! The Cavalry comes first, he said! So there we were, preparing for our march on the Cavalry, with most of our military hardware lined up like sitting ducks outside the Biological Center, and what happens?” he demanded rhetorically.

  “Yama and Lynx blew it up,” Thor commented, and immediately regretted it. He saw the Doktor’s jaw
muscles tighten and feared a raging outburst.

  Amazingly, the Doktor smiled. “Yes, they did, leaving Samuel with a skeleton force at his disposal. Thanks to them, we’ll have minimal opposition when we reach Denver and dethrone Samuel.” He chuckled. “I happen to think I’ll make an outstanding ruler. Don’t you?”

  “Of course,” Clarissa agreed.

  “Yes, Doktor,” Thor concurred.

  The Doktor nudged Joshua with his right toe. “Thanks to him, I know Plato has my notebooks. It’s too bad the boy won’t be around in ten days when my little surprise is unleashed on the Home. I’ll get my notebooks back and my revenge on Plato and the Warriors at the same time!” The Doktor laughed and laughed. “I can hardly wait! It’s lamentable we must attend to business in Catlow first, but I wouldn’t consider depriving the fools of the chance to spring their trap on us.”

  “You know it is a trap?” Clarissa asked. “Yet we walk into it anyway?”

  “I suspected an ambush,” the Doktor declared. “Joshua’s presence confirms the likelihood. Don’t worry! The Warriors and Lynx may be working in concert, but what can they do against two hundred and thirty-five primary members of my Genetic Research Division and one hundred soldiers from our Auxiliary?”

  “If only we knew what they were up to,” Clarissa remarked.

  The Doktor stared northward. “I was aware they were up to something when our last monitoring patrol sent to the Home didn’t return. But it really doesn’t matter. There is nothing they can do against our superior force.”

  “Why not use a thermo on Catlow?” Thor queried.

  “Because we don’t have any left,” the Doktor said, frowning. “The units were obliterated with the Biological Center, although the possibility exists Lynx and Yama absconded with one or two.”

  “You owe the Family for a lot,” Clarissa noted.

  “Yes, I do,” the Doktor growled, clenching his fists. “And I vow to repay them for every insult, starting with him.” He pointed at the unconscious Empath.

  Thor extended his sledgehammer. “Do I finish him?”

  “No,” the Doktor responded. “Fetch some wood.”

  “Wood?”

  “Yes. Two lengthy planks will do. Strip a pair of floor planks from one of the trucks if necessary.”

  “Yes, Doktor.” Thor departed.

  “Why wood?” Clarissa questioned the Doktor.

  He indicated the sagebrush-covered fields adjacent to the highway.

  “Because there is nary a tree in sight, dear girl. Two planks will suffice adequately.”

  Clarissa licked her lips. “Will there be much blood?”

  The Doktor nodded. “Yes, but we can’t linger while you quench your thirst.”

  “On to Catlow?”

  The Doktor’s expression hardened. “On to Catlow!”

  Chapter Twelve

  “It sure is quiet around here with everybody else gone,” Bertha commented, cradling her M-16 in her arms.

  “I like the quiet,” Rudabaugh said. “I never was much for city life.”

  The sun was hovering above the western horizon and the air was becoming a bit chill.

  “Why do you think the Doc ain’t hit us yet?” Bertha asked, keeping her eyes trained on the surrounding countryside. They were at the extreme southern edge of Catlow, alongside U.S. Highway 85. Rudabaugh had dug a hole in the ground and was carefully planting a bundle of dynamite in the hole.

  “Maybe he couldn’t decide what to wear,” Rudabaugh said.

  Bertha chuckled. “That’s a good one.” She watched him place dirt on top of the dynamite while holding the fuse to one side. “Say, where’d you learn to use this stuff?”

  “The dynamite? The Cavalry has a lot of it. Some of the ranchers hoarded it after the war. I learned how to use it from my paw, and he learned from his. Some of it is real unstable.” He completed hiding the bundle and aligned the fuse to one side.

  “How do you mean?” Bertha asked.

  “When it gets real old, sometimes it’ll go up if you just drop it or bump the crate it’s in,” Rudabaugh explained.

  “Lordy! You mean to tell me we rode out here with two crates of that stuff and it could of went kablewy if somebody sneezed?”

  “I checked it before we left,” Rudabaugh said. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “And I know what I’m doing,” Bertha stated. “I ain’t sleepin’ in the SEAL tonight!”

  “There isn’t any in the SEAL,” Rudabaugh informed her. “This is the last of it.”

  “We got it all set up?”

  “Yep. All I have to do is unwind this line back to the detonating point,” Rudabaugh responded.

  “How’s this stuff work?” Bertha inquired.

  “You really want to know?”

  “I asked, didn’t I?” Bertha retorted.

  Rudabaugh grinned. “Okay. From what I learned, dynamite was used a lot before the war. They used it for things like construction projects and in quarries—”

  “What are quarries?” Bertha queried.

  “A quarry is a big hole in the ground,” Rudabaugh informed her.

  “You’re puttin’ me on.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Why would anyone want a big hole in the ground?”

  “They were blasting for stones they could use in their buildings,” Rudabaugh elaborated. “Dynamite is wrapped in waxed-paper cylinders we call cartridges. These cartridges come in all different sizes, depending on the size of the job. The older dynamite was made up of something called nitroglycerin, mixed in with inert materials. Before the war, they used a lot of ammonium nitrate instead of nitro. Normally, the charge is pretty safe, because you need a blasting cap, or detonating cap, to set it off. We use the cap and one of two types of fuses, safety fuses or detonating fuses. A safety fuse has black powder in it. It burns real slow and gives the dynamiter time to get away before it blows. A detonating fuse, on the other hand, has explosive in the core. I like to use a special kind of cap sometimes, called an electric blasting cap. I hook it up to that box you saw earlier, the one with the plunger. All I have to do is press the plunger, and it sends an electric current through the line to the charge. Boom!”

  “Wow! You sure do know a lot about this dynamite,” Bertha complimented him.

  Rudabaugh stood and began unraveling his line. “It’s one of the reasons Kilrane wanted me to volunteer.”

  “You got yourself a main squeeze?” Bertha asked.

  “A what?”

  “A fox, fool.”

  “I owned a dog once,” Rudabaugh said, “but I’ve never owned a fox.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I never owned a fox,” Rudabaugh assured her.

  Bertha shook her head. “You people from the sticks sure do talk weird!”

  “And you don’t?” Rudabaugh rejoined.

  They were nearing a brick wall as Rudabaugh continued to unstring his line.

  “The Doc is gonna be in for a big surprise when he gets here,” Bertha stated.

  “Mind if I ask you a question?” Rudabaugh inquired.

  “What?”

  “Why’d you volunteer for this mission?”

  Bertha shrugged. “I didn’t have nothin’ better to do.”

  “What’s the real reason?” Rudabaugh pressed her.

  “I like to travel,” she defensively replied.

  “Would your reason have anything to do with Hickok?” Rudabaugh queried.

  “Ain’t you heard? Hickok’s married.”

  “I know that,” Rudabaugh stated. “But I couldn’t help but notice the way you look at him sometimes.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Bertha said.

  “I know what I saw,” Rudabaugh disputed her. They reached the wall and he climbed over it to the other side. A wooden box with a handle on top was resting on the ground.

  Bertha, eager to change the subject, pointed at the line. “Won’t they see that and figure out what w
e’re up to?”

  “I’ll cover it with grass and leaves, just like I did the others,” Rudabaugh told her.

  “How many of those charges do you have set up?” Bertha asked.

  “Enough.” Rudabaugh knelt and began attaching the line to the box.

  “How come you didn’t answer my question?”

  “What question was that?”

  Rudabaugh smirked. “You do like him, don’t you?”

  “You shouldn’t butt your big nose in where it don’t belong,” Bertha advised him.

  “I’m just curious, is all,” Rudabaugh explained.

  “Well, you know what curiosity did to the cat,” Bertha reminded him.

  “I like Hickok,” Rudabaugh commented. “I’d heard about his reputation before I met him. They tell stories about him, you know. About the gunfights he had in Fox, Thief River Falls, and the Twin Cities. They say he’s greased lightning with those Colts of his.”

  “If you knew he’s so fast,” Bertha said, “why’d you challenge him to a shootin’ match?”

  “I wanted to see for myself. I’m no gunfighter, mind you, but I’m right handy with my pistols. I wanted to set up some targets and see how good Hickok really is.” Rudabaugh stood, brushing some dirt from his clothes.

  “It wouldn’t be the same,” Bertha remarked.

  “I don’t follow you.”

  “I’ve seen Hickok target shoot,” Bertha detailed, “and it ain’t the same as the real thing. When White Meat’s in action, there ain’t nobody like him!” she said proudly. “I saw him in Thief River Falls and the Twin Cities. He was beautiful!”

  “You see?” Rudabaugh said, grinning. “The look on your face right now is the one I’m talking about.”

  “I used to like you,” Bertha snapped, “before you became such a know-it-all! If you…” she began, and abruptly stopped speaking, gazing over Rudabaugh’s left shoulder.

  Rudabaugh turned, his hands dropping to his pistols.

  Hickok was strolling toward them, his Henry in his left hand, his right thumb hooked in his belt buckle. “Are you done yet?” he inquired. “Blade sent me to get you. He wants to palaver by the SEAL.”