“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.
“Oh? Is that all?” Blade said facetiously.
“Fifteen floors, with Zombies dogging our heels every step of the way?”
Geronimo chuckled. “Sounds like fun.”
Captain Wargo picked up a map from the console between the bucket seats. He unfolded the map and consulted the coordinates, then looked up and pointed. “Do you see that?”
Spanning the Hudson ahead was the skeletal framework of an ancient bridge. The central section was gone, and the supports and ramp on the east bank were a mass of pulverized scrap, but the segment on the west bank, bent but intact, served to reveal the purpose of the construction.
“That, if my calculations are correct, was once called the Tappan Zee Bridge,” Captain Wargo informed them. “We’re getting close to our goal.”
The SEAL puttered forward, its powerful outboard maintaining a sustained speed of fifteen knots.
Blade thought of his wife and child, Jenny and Gabriel, and wished he was with them instead of on this insane quest. He wondered how Hickok was faring in the hands of the Technics, and whether the gunman was even alive. If the Technics killed the gunfighter, he would personally insure they paid for the act. So far, in the constricted confines of the SEAL, he’d been unable to make a break for it. But, if Wargo supplied Geronimo and him with firearms, Blade was determined to dispatch the soldiers and head for Technic City. One opening was all it would take, one brief instant when the troopers were diverted by something else. Like a Zombie, perhaps. Blade almost hoped the cannibals would attack.
“Make for the east bank,” Captain Wargo curtly ordered.
Blade turned the wheel, bearing toward the eastern hank.
“We should see a small hill,” Captain Wargo said, his nose pressed to his window. “There! Do you see it?”
“I see it,” Blade said. He surveyed the bank for any hint of movement.
The SEAL bounced as it cruised toward the bank, a rhythmic up and down motion caused by the small waves on the Hudson and welling of the water the transport diplaced.
Captain Wargo looked at Private Kimper. “Pass out our helmets,” he directed.
Kimper handed a helmet to each Technic soldier.
“Don’t we get one?” Blade asked.
“When we reach the site,” Wargo said.
“What about guns?” Blade inquired.
“What about them?”
“Do Geronimo and I get one?” Blade asked hopefully.