They slowly moved down the hallway, their helmets constantly becoming entangled in cobwebs, their feet kicking up puffs of dust with every step.
“May I make a comment?” Geronimo said.
“What is it?” Captain Wargo asked.
“Do you see all these cobwebs we keep bumping into?” Geronimo mentioned.
“Yeah. What about them?”
“So where are all the spiders?” Geronimo commented. “Hundreds of spiderwebs and not one spider. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?”
“I never gave it much thought,” Wargo admitted.
“Maybe the Zombies eat the spiders,” Blade said.
“Yuck,” Geronimo stated. “You could be right. The Zombies must have some sort of dietary staple if they’re surviving in large numbers. Spiders would be as nutritious as anything else.”
A disturbing speculation registered in Blade’s mind. “Say, Wargo.”
“What?”
“How many Zombies are there in New York City?” Blade inquired.
“I’m not sure,” Captain Wargo replied. “Our experts estimate in the neighborhood of four or five thousand. Why?”
“Is that all?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Wargo retorted.
“You’re missing my point,” Blade said. “Only four or five thousand. Why aren’t there more of them?”
“How the hell should I know?” Wargo said stiffly. “Why don’t you ask the next one you run into?”
“What is your point?” Geronimo wanted to know.
“The Zombies have been here since the Big Blast, right?” Blade answered. “They’ve had over a century in which to breed. So why aren’t there more of them? Only four thousand in one hundred years doesn’t seem like much.”
“Maybe they have a hard time getting it up,” Captain Wargo said.
“Or perhaps there is something else down here,” Blade noted.
“Something eating the Zombies and keeping their population down.”
“Eating the Zombies?” Captain Wargo reiterated in disbelief. “What could possibly do that?”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” Blade declared.
“Captain Wargo!” It was Gatti.
“What is it?” Captain Wargo answered.
“I’ve found a hole in the floor,” Gatti informed his superior.
“Stay put,” Wargo ordered.
They reached the point man within a minute, squatting at the rim of a jagged opening in the corridor floor.
“It leads to the floor below,” Private Gatti told them.
Captain Wargo crouched and peered through the hole. The floor of another corridor was 12 feet below. “We go down one at a time,” he instructed them. “Hang by the arms and drop. You won’t have more than six feet or so to fall. Gatti, you first.”
Private Gatti slung his Dakon II over his right shoulder and slid his legs over the edge of the hole.
Captain Wargo leaned down so he could see the hallway below. “Go ahead. I’ll cover you.”
Gatti eased from sight and released his grip. He landed unsteadily, but righted himself instantly, quickly unslinging his Dakon II.
“Cover us,” Wargo told Gatti. He motioned for the rest to take their turn.
Private Kimper was the next to drop, then Blade and Geronimo. While the two Warriors waited for Wargo and the last soldier to reach the lower level, Blade tapped Geronimo’s right shoulder and moved to one side.
Blade turned off his Com-Link, and Geronimo did the same. “We’re going to make a break for it,” Blade whispered. “The first chance we get.”
“What about the Genesis Seeds?” Geronimo said softly.
“I doubt they even exist,” Blade murmured. “This whole affair has been fishy from the start.”
“Just give the signal,” Geronimo stated.
“There will be no signal!” Captain Wargo said sharply, advancing on the Warriors with his Dakon II leveled. “How stupid can you be? Did you think by deactivating your Com-Links I couldn’t hear your conversation?
You forgot the amplifier on the right side of our helmet. I could hear you fart at one hundred yards!”
“I wish I had some beans,” Geronimo quipped.
“If you attempt to escape,” Captain Wargo warned them, “we will shoot to kill. We’d prefer to take you back to Technic City with us. But the bottom line, gentlemen, is this: you are expendable.”
“Now you tell us,” Blade said sarcastically.
“Let’s move out!” Captain Wargo said.
Gatti moved along the inky corridor until his lamp was lost to view.
Captain Wargo shoved Blade with the barrel of his Dakon. “You two will stay in front of us. Move!”
Blade and Geronimo started forward.
“And switch on your damn Com-Links!” Captain Wargo ordered.
As Blade depressed the correct button, a shrill voice filled his helmet.
“Captain!” Private Kimper needlessly shouted. “Readings, sir!”
“How many?”
“Off the scale! Dozens!”
“At what range?”
“They’re on the floor above us!” Kimper answered. “And they’re heading for the hole we just came through!”
“On the double!” Wargo instructed them.
They began jogging after the point man.
Even as Gatti’s terrified scream blasted their ears.
Chapter Fourteen
Hickok had seen those automatic rifles before: once at the Home when Plato had displayed the weapon appropriated from the spy slain by the Moles, and again at the fence bordering Technic City in the hands of the guards. He recognized a distinctly lethal armament when he saw one, and finding himself confronted by four troopers ten feet away, each with one of the rifles, he automatically reacted as his years of arduous training and experience dictated: he swept up the Commando and squeezed the trigger.
The corridor rocked to the booming of the Commando, the four soldiers taken unaware by the onslaught, their bodies jerking and writhing as they absorbed the large-caliber slugs. Only one of them uttered a sound, a gurgling screech, as he toppled to the tiled floor.
Time to make tracks!
Hickok whirled and ran, his speed impeded by the combined weight of the guns he was carrying. He saw an elevator ahead and paused, mentally debating. The elevator could be rigged, just like the one before. But it might take a minute or so for more troopers to arrive, and by then he could be far away. Besides, how would they know he was using the elevator? It could be any Technic.
Go for it!
The gunman sprinted to the elevator and pressed the down button. He didn’t know exactly where he was in the Central Core, but odds were he was on one of the higher floors. How many did the Central Core have? Ten, wasn’t it?
The elevator arrived with a loud ping and the doors hissed open.
Hickok ducked inside and examined the control panel. A circular button with an 8 imprinted on it was lit up. That must mean he was on the eighth floor! He stabbed another button, the down button, the one with an arrow pointing straight down, and the elevator doors closed.
So far, so good.
Hickok watched the lights flicker, apprehensive, praying he could reach ground level before the Technics realized he was making a bid for freedom.
The button for the sixth floor came on.
“Can’t you go any faster?” Hickok asked aloud, and kicked the door.
Why was the blamed contraption dropping so slowly? Was this typical of an elevator? A mare could deliver a foal in the time it was taking the blasted elevator to reach the ground!
The elevator had reached the fourth floor.
“Hurry it up!” Hickok said.
The third floor.
Somewhere in the distance a klaxon wailed.
They were on to him! Someone had sounded the alarm!
Second floor.