She had a choice to make.
Geisz shook her head in frustration. Either she could search for Edwards, Doughboy, and Wink, when she knew there wasn’t a chance of locating them, or she could retrieve one of the damned canisters for the Minister.
Crap.
Private Geisz stood and moved down the stairwell, treading softly, her right ear tuned to the amplifier in her helmet. She descended two floors to the lowest level without incident.
So where were the creatures?
She leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell and played her light over the passageway ahead. What was it Doughboy had called the things? Zombies! That was it.
So where were the Zombies?
Geisz detected a doorway about 30 feet away, in the right-hand wall.
On an impulse, she replaced the partially spent magazine with a new one from her pouch. There was no sense in being careless at this point of the game! She insured the Dakon was set on full automatic, then pressed the proper button to activate the Laser Sighting Mode. Sure, it would be a drain on the batteries, but she couldn’t afford to waste precious time sighting the rifle, especially now that she was alone. The red dots could be a lifesaver when every millisecond counted.
Here goes nothing!
Private Geisz sidled toward the doorway, keeping her back against the right wall. Her head was constantly in motion, sweeping her helmet light along the corridor. Static crackled in her right ear. She glanced at the tiled floor, then stopped, perplexed.
Dust covered the floor and the walls, a thick layer of dust undisturbed by a solitary footprint.
Something was wrong here.
Geisz examined the floor for as far as her light revealed, and it was all the same. Not a single print. But why? she asked herself. The Zombies were all over the place. They infested the ruins. Why didn’t they use this hallway? Why did they apparently avoid the lower level? There was no evidence of anyone, or anything, using this corridor in a long, long time.
Why?
Geisz grinned. What was the matter with her? Why was she looking a gift horse in the mouth? If the zombies weren’t down here, so much the better! It made her job that much easier! She walked to the doorway and paused before the closed wooden door.
What if they were waiting for her on the other side?
Geisz pressed the right side of her helmet against the door and listened, but the amplifier was silent.
Lady Luck was with her!
Geisz tried the knob, and wasn’t surprised to find it locked. She took a step back, then spun, ramming her right leg into the door, her black boot slamming into the wood an inch from the knob. The door trembled, but it held. She kicked at it again, and again, and on her third attempt the aged wood splintered and cracked and the door swung open.
There was a rustling sound from inside the inky interior.
Geisz flattened against the wall and tensed.
Now what?
Geisz felt goosebumps erupt all over her flesh, and she resisted an urge to run. She wasn’t about to quit when she was this close to their objective!
Besides, all she needed was one lousy canister and the Minister would hail her as a hero. It might even mean a promotion, and she could use the extra pay.
She took a deep breath.
Geisz crouched and whirled into the doorway, the Dakon II pointed into the chamber, her helmet lamp illuminating the room and its contents.
The canister chamber was perhaps 20 feet square, and crammed with stack after stack of faded yellow canisters. The canisters, six inches in diameter and ten inches in height, were stacked in tidy rows from the cement floor to the ceiling.
All except in the center.
Geisz took a step forward. The middle of the chamber was covered with piles of fallen canisters, as if dozens of stacks had collapsed. All things considered, it was a minor miracle all of the stacks hadn’t toppled over when the city was hit.
So what had made the rustling sound?
Geisz looked around the chamber, but nothing moved. She decided to grab a canister and scoot. Taking more than one was impossible. She would have her hands full fighting the Zombies en route to the surface.
One would be burden enough. She hastened to the nearest stack, reached up, and took hold of one of the canisters. As she did, her helmet lamp focused on the ceiling, on the center of the ceiling directly above the collapsed stacks in the middle of the room.
It was perched in a huge hole in the ceiling, its legs bent, prepared to pounce.
Geisz gasped at the sight of it, stunned.
One of its four green eyes blinked.
Geisz backpedaled, elevating the Dakon II, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
The size of it!
She reached the doorway, and that’s when the thing dropped toward her, roaring, its ten legs scrambling over the canisters and upending stack after stack as it surged after her.
Geisz crouched and squeezed the trigger, the Dakon II cradled in her right arm. The fragmentation bullets tore into the deviate, rocking it, chunks and bits of black flesh and shredded skin flying in every direction.
The chamber shook as it reared up and bellowed in agony.
But it kept coming.
Geisz turned and ran, heading for the stairwell. She glanced over her left shoulder, knowing the thing couldn’t possibly squeeze its gigantic bulk through the narrow doorway, confident she could escape before it breached the door. So she was all the more amazed when it flowed through the doorway without breaking its stride, its body seeming to contract as it passed through and expanding again once it was in the corridor.
No!
Geisz raced for her life, her heart pounding in her chest. She reached the stairwell and gripped the railing, risking one quick look down the hallway.
It was only a foot away, its cavernous maw wide, its fangs glistening in the light from her lamp.
Geisz swung the Dakon II up, the red dot clearly visible on the mutant’s sloping forehead, and pulled the trigger.
The deviate roared and closed in.
Private Marion Geisz fired as the thing reached for her, fired as its claws clamped on her abdomen, and fired as it lifted her into the air and her stomach was crushed to a pulp. Her arms went limp, and blood poured from her mouth. She sagged and dropped the Dakon II, and the last sight she saw was the monster’s teeth snapping at her face.
She thought she heard someone screaming.
Chapter Two
The child was 18 months old, a stocky boy with full cheeks, impish blue eyes, and curly blond hair. He stared up at his father with an intensity belying his tender age.
“Now this is called a Colt Python,” said the man, twirling the pearl-handled revolver in his right hand. “One day, these guns could be yours.” He twirled the Colt in his left hand, then slid both Pythons into their respective holsters with a practiced flourish. To even a casual observer, the boy’s lineage would have been obvious. The father was a tall, lean blond with long hair and a flowing moustache. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle with an inner light, reflecting a keen zest for life. The gunman wore buckskins and moccasins, as did the child. “Are you payin’ attention to all of this, Ringo?” he asked the boy.
Ringo dutifully nodded, then grinned. “Ringo potty.”
The gunman’s mouth dropped. “What?”
“Ringo potty pease,” the boy said.
“Blast!” The gunman grabbed his son and darted toward a nearby cabin. “Your mother’s gonna kill me if I don’t get you there on time.” He jogged to the cabin, opened a door in the west wall, and dashed inside.
As the door was closing, another man appeared on the scene. He was huge, his powerful physique bulging with layers of muscles, his arms rippling as he moved. A black leather vest, green fatigue pants, and black boots scarcely covered his awesome frame. Twin Bowie knives were strapped around his stout waist. His dark hair hung down over his gray eyes. Smiling, he strolled up to the cabin door and knocked.