New York Run Read online

  “Do you realize how much trouble we went to, how much time and manpower was expended to reach this point? Getting you and this vehicle to Technic City? Managing to reach this far? Did you know the Soviet line was only five miles south of us? Sometimes we were less than a mile from their northern perimeter. And we made it past the towns and the mutants and everything else!” His voice started to rise. “I don’t care if you’ve never operated in the amphibious mode before! Because we are not, I repeat, not going to give up now! Not when we’re so damn close! We will adhere to the Minister’s schedule.”

  “Your plan sounds okay to me,” Geronimo interjected.

  Wargo glanced at the Warrior skeptically. “It does?”

  “Sure.” Geronimo smirked. “I can swim.”

  Captain Wargo made a hissing sound. He faced forward, then suddenly stabbed his right index finger straight ahead. “There! That’s it!”

  “What?” Blade asked.

  “There! Turn left there!” Wargo cried.

  “Where?” All Blade saw was a crumpled roadway, dense foliage to the right, and an embankment to the left.

  “There! Damn it! Turn left now!” Wargo shouted.

  Blade complied, wrenching on the steering wheel, sending the SEAL to the left, up and over the embankment, hurtling down a steep slope toward a… river! He slammed on the brakes and the transport lurched to a skidding stop on the grass-covered bank.

  “I must be dreaming,” Geronimo said in an awed tone.

  Blade gazed at the vista beyond in sheer astonishment. It wasn’t the bank or the blue river causing his stupefication; it was the eerie panorama on both sides of the river to the south.

  “That’s the Hudson River,” Captain Wargo stated.

  “And what is that?” Blade asked, indicating the wrecked landscape stretching to the far southern horizon.

  “That,” Captain Wargo said soberly, “is what’s left of New York City.”

  Blade had never seen anything like it in all his journeys from the Home.

  He’d encountered ravaged towns and cities, dozens of them. But he’d never been this close to a city struck by a thermonuclear device, and the impression was instantly seared into his mind’s eye. The material he’d read about World War III, the many stories he’d heard over the years, even knowing the mutants and the mutates were by-products of the conflict, none of it had prepared him for… this!

  How could it?

  Even here, even 20 miles from the heart of New York City, the devastation was awesome. Every building in sight, every former residence or office structure or retail establishment, had been destroyed. Most were mere piles of litter and debris. A few retained one wall, a small minority two walls. It looked as if a gigantic windstorm, a tremendous cyclone of inconceivable magnitude, had ripped into every building and literally blown them apart.

  “It got to me the first time I saw it,” Captain Wargo confided.

  Blade tore his eyes from the desolation. “Got to you? You never mentioned being here before.”

  “Once,” Wargo confirmed. “Shortly before I entered the Civilized Zone to find your Family. I was here on a reconnaisance mission for the Minister.”

  “How far did you go?” Blade asked.

  “This far,” Wargo said. “But I was told it gets worse the further we go.”

  “How could it get worse?” Geronimo wondered aloud.

  “There’s one way to find out,” Blade said. He looked up at a control panel imbedded in the roof above his head. The SEAL’s Operations Manual had been explicit in detailing the proper operation of the control panel. Unfortunately, he’d never had the occasion to test the instructions.

  Plato had been reluctant to operate the SEAL in the amphibious mode.

  What if it sank? he had speculated to the assembled Family. They could not afford to lose the transport, and their timid attitude had restrained them from verifying if the vehicle could function on water as well as land.

  Now they had no choice.

  Blade reached up and flicked a silver toggle switch. He waited a few seconds until he detected an audible “thunk” from underneath the carriage. With painstaking care, his nerves on edge, he slowly eased the SEAL down the bank to the edge of the river, then braked.

  “What are you waiting for?” Captain Wargo demanded.

  “We could all end up at the bottom of the Hudson,” Blade commented.

  Captain Wargo drew his pistol. “And where do you think you’ll wind up if you don’t keep going?”

  Blade shifted his right foot to the accelerator, gently applying pressure.

  The SEAL slid into the river.

  Blade quickly raised his right hand and deftly punched two buttons. For a moment nothing happened, but then the SEAL bucked in the water and a loud clunking emanated from the rear of the transport.

  “What’s happening?” Captain Wargo asked nervously.

  “I closed the wheel ports before we entered the Hudson,” Blade replied.

  “The tires have just retracted and been elevated above the water line. That clunk you heard was the outboard dropping from under the storage section.”

  “What’s next?” Wargo inquired.

  “Just this,” Blade said, and flicked a second toggle switch.

  From behind and under the SEAL came a muted sputtering and metallic coughing, followed by a steady throbbing.

  “Hey! The water back here is churning!” the soldier in the rear of the SEAL yelled.

  “Is that the outboard motor?” Captain Wargo asked.

  “What do you think?” Blade answered.

  The SEAL was moving forward, plowing through the water, bearing due east.

  Blade turned the steering wheel, gratified when the bulky transport angled to the south.

  “We did it!” Captain Wargo said, elated. “The thing is working!

  Nothing will stop us now!”

  “Aren’t you forgetting the Zombies?” Geronimo remarked.

  “The Zombies!” Wargo snorted. “We’ll make mincemeat out of them.

  Here. Let me show you.” He motioned at the trooper in the rear, and the soldier lifted an automatic rifle from the pile of supplies and passed it to the front.

  Geronimo’s eyes widened when he saw the gun.

  Captain Wargo took the piece and hefted it in his hands. “Have you ever seen a beauty like this?”

  Blade glanced to the right, getting his first good glimpse of the automatic rifle. He nearly betrayed his bewilderment. The gun was a carbon copy of the one taken from the man caught spying by the Moles.

  The same 20-inch barrel and folding stock, the same short silencer and elaborate scope, the same 30-shot magazine.

  “Is something wrong?” Captain Wargo asked suspiciously.

  “No. Why?” Blade responded.

  “I don’t know.” Wargo shrugged. “Nothing, I guess.” He stroked the rifle. “Isn’t this a beauty?”

  “Where did you get it?” Blade innocently inquired.

  “We manufacture them, of course,” Captain Wargo said. “They are standard gear for every Technic soldier. They’re state-of-the-art, as far as automatics go. Called the Dakon II. They fire four-hundred-five grain fragmentation bullets. They’ll drop anything!” he boasted.

  “Including Zombies, I hope?” Geronimo chimed in.

  “Including Zombies,” Captain Wargo declared. He tapped the small plastic panel on one side of the rifle, near the stock. “This is a digital readout. Lets you know exactly how many rounds you have left in the gun—”

  “Is that because Technic soldiers can’t count without using their fingers and toes?” Geronimo asked, interrupting.

  Wargo ignored the taunt. “See these four buttons here? The first button activates the digital counter. The second is for full automatic, the third for semiautomatic. The fourth button ejects your spent magazines.”

  “What’s the fifth button for?” Blade queried. “The one on top of the scope?”

  Captain Wargo chuckled.
“I told you this was tht ultimate in killing power. The button on the scope activates the Laser Sighting Mode.”

  “It’s a laser too?” Blade asked in amazement. He’d read a little about lasers in the Family science classes. Laser technology had been extensively employed prior to the Big Blast.

  “Not in the way you mean,” Captain Wargo said. “You see this four-inch tube projecting from the top of the scope? It generates a red light, a laser if you will, and this shows up on your targets as a red dot.”

  “Red dots?” Blade repeated questioningly.

  “Yeah. When you see a red dot on your target, that’s precisely where your gun is aimed. So to hit the spot you want, all you have to do is raise or lower the red dot to the point you want,” Wargo explained.

  “It must take the challenge out of aiming,” Cicronimo noted.

  “You don’t need to aim with these,” Captain Wargo stated. “The Dakon II does everything for you.”

  “Does it wipe your derriere after you’re done?” Geronimo cracked.

  Captain Wargo was about to reply when he paused, gawking at the stark vista ahead.

  Blade had seen it too. The SEAL was continuing on its course, staying well to the center of the Hudson River, cleaving the water smoothly as it sailed on a southerly bearing into the depths of New York City.

  If “city” was the right word.

  Any vestige of the former metropolis was gone. The demolished homes and other buildings had given way to a scene culled from a demented nightmare. The ground was parched, scorched, the earth a reddish tint.

  Vegetation was completely absent. Piles of twisted, molten slag were everywhere. Small piles. Huge piles. Isolated metal girders still stood here and there, like blackened steel trees amidst hills of melted structures.

  Blade scanned both sides of the Hudson, astonished. From his schooling days at the Home, he knew New York City had once been inhabited by millions of people. Something like 15 or 20 million when the war broke out. He could scarcely conceive of every one of them, millions upon millions, being reduced to smoking ashes in a matter of seconds.

  Crisped to nothing in the space of a heartbeat. The very idea was mind-boggling.

  “How could they do this to themselves?” Geronimo inquired absently.

  “They were idiots,” Captain Wargo said.

  “Is that it? Is that the only answer?” Geronimo asked.

  “What more do you need?” Captain Wargo encompassed both banks with a wave of his hand. “What else would you call someone who would do this? They were fools, because they possessed great power and they didn’t know how to use it.”

  “What do you mean?” Geronimo queried.

  “If the Americans had been smart,” Wargo stated, “they would have thrown everything they had at the Soviets without warning.”

  “What?”

  “I’m right and you know it,” Captain Wargo said. “The Americans blew their chance by letting the Soviets catch up to them. The Americans developed a nuclear capability first. They should have used it before anyone else did the same and conquered the world.”

  “You’re putting me on,” Geronimo declared.

  “I am not,” Captain Wargo responded. “You have a huge library at your Home. You must be familiar with American history.”

  “We studied it,” Geronimo said.

  “Right. Then you know what happened to the Americans. They let the Soviets produce their own nuclear arsenal, until it reached the point where neither side had a distinct advantage over the other. And look at what it got them! Mutual destruction. No, the Americans would have been wiser to launch a war before the Soviets built their first nuclear weapon.

  They could have conquered the globe in weeks and saved themselves a lot of trouble in later years.” He paused. Patton was right all along.”

  “Patton?” Geronimo reiterated.

  “An American general during World War II,” Wargo said. “He was all for putting the Russians in their place. He never trusted them. But the civilian leaders refused to subscribe to his opinions. They should have listened to him.”

  “I’m curious,” Blade spoke up.

  “About what?” Wargo replied.

  Blade focused on the river, watching for floating logs or other obstacles.

  “I’m curious about the Technics. Do you consider yourselves Americans?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Why should we?” Captain Wargo asked. “America is a thing of the past. They had their opportunity and they blew it. It’s up to us, the Technics, to forge a new world from the rubble the Americans left as their legacy. And you can be certain we won’t commit the same boneheaded blunders they did!”

  “The Technics have it all planned out, huh?” Blade casually commented.

  “You bet your ass we do,” Captain Wargo stated proudly. “Why, by the time we’re through everyone in North America will—” He abruptly paused, glancing at the giant Warrior in consternation. “Very clever,” he said.

  “Very clever indeed.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blade stated.

  “Sure you don’t,” Wargo said, grinning. He gazed out at the expanse of river before them. “Let’s change the subject. Why don’t you give me a rundown on the SEAL’s armaments.”

  “Again?” Blade asked.

  “Humor me,” Wargo directed. “I’ll need to know what to do in case something happens to you.” He smiled wickedly. “Not that we would want anything to happen to you, of course.”

  “Of course.” Blade pointed at a row of silver toggle switches in the center of the dashboard. “Those switches engage our offensive weaponry.

  They’re labeled from left to right with an M, S, F, and R. The M stands for the pair of fifty-caliber machine guns we have hidden in recessed compartments under each front headlight. When you flick the M switch, a metal plate slides upward and the guns automatically fire. The S is for Surface-to-Air Missile, a Stinger mounted on a rack in the roof above the driver’s seat. A panel slides aside when the switch is pressed and the Stinger is launched. Our Stingers have an effective range of ten miles, and they’re heat-seeking.”

  “And what about the F and R?” Captain Wargo prompted.

  “The F is for the flamethrower positioned at the front of the SEAL, behind the front fender, in the center. Press the F and a portion of the fender lowers, the nozzle of the flamethrower extends six inches, and the flame spurts about twenty feet. The SEAL must not be moving when the flamethrower is used, or you run the risk of an explosion. Finally, we have the R switch. It’s for the Rocket Launcher secreted in the middle of the front grill. There you have it.”

  Captain Wargo was grinning like a kid with a new toy. “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! There’s no way the Zombies will stop us now!”

  “Says you,” Geronimo said.

  “They won’t be able to stop the SEAL like they did some of our jeeps and trucks,” Captain Wargo predicted.

  “Aren’t you forgetting one little fact?” Geronimo queried.

  “What fact?” Wargo responded, shifting in his seat.

  “If memory serves,” Geronimo reminded the Technic, “you told us some of your teams didn’t reach the site of the underground vault. But some did, didn’t they? And you said the last word you received was to the effect they were going underground. Am I right?”

  “You’re right,” Wargo conceded grudgingly.

  “So the real danger isn’t in reaching the site of the New York branch of the Institute of Advanced Technology,” Geronimo said. “The true threat comes when we leave the SEAL and descend to the underground vault. Correct?”

  Captain Wargo looked worried. “That’s true,” he admitted.

  “Typical white man,” Geronimo said to Blade. “He gets all excited because we may reach the spot in one piece where raving cannibals are waiting to rip us apart and eat us for supper.” He sighed. “How did your race ever defeat mine?”

  “
Beats me,” Blade said, and laughed.

  The SEAL was steadily continuing its southerly course. On both sides of the Hudson River utter desolation prevailed.

  “There!” the Technic commando in the rear of the transport shouted. “I see something!”

  Everyone glanced to the right, in the direction he indicated.

  “I don’t see anything,” Captain Wargo said after a bit.

  “I saw something,” the soldier insisted.

  “Are you sure, Kimper?” Wargo asked doubtfully.

  “I’m positive, sir,” Private Kimper stated. “I saw something moving.”

  Blade scanned the mounds of slag, dirt, dust, and rubble. The inhospitable, bleak land seemed to reek of death. “What would be moving out there?” he idly inquired.

  “Only one thing,” Captain Wargo said. “The Zombies.”

  “What do you know about these Zombies beside the fact they’re cannibals?” Geronimo asked the officer.

  “Not much,” Wargo confessed. “We know there are thousands of them, and they eat anything they can get their grimy hands on. We also know they live in a maze of underground tunnels, old sewer and electrical conduit systems, not to mention the subway network.”

  “Thousands of them?” Geronimo stared at the wreckage. “How can they find enough to eat, enough to support so many?”

  Captain Wargo shrugged. “They find a way.” He thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip, then spoke. “And remember. We have reason to believe the Zombies aren’t the only… things… down there. So when we descend to the vault, watch yourselves.”

  “I didn’t know you cared,” Geronimo joked.

  “I couldn’t care less about what happens to you,” Wargo said. “But the Minister wants the SEAL returned to Technic City intact, and you two know more about it than I do. I know I could drive it, but I don’t have the extensive experience Blade has accumulated. It would be better for our mission if one of you survives to drive the SEAL back.”

  “We’ll do our best,” Geronimo mentioned.

  Blade cleared his throat. “How far down is this vault?”

  “Far,” Wargo said.

  “How far, exactly?” Blade inquired.

  “Fifteen stories underground,” Wargo answered.