Hickok disregarded the insult. “If you don’t love ’em, how do you feel about them?”
“They raise us,” Spencer replied. “That’s it. Why should we feel anything? Emotion is for simpletons.”
The lunatic, amazingly, grinned. “Thanks. I needed that.”
Spencer, perplexed, shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
Hickok waved the Colt. “No. But you will if you don’t quit flappin’ your gums and pick up speed.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” Spencer protested.
Hickok rammed the Python into Spencer’s ribs.
The four-wheeler increased its speed.
Chapter Fifteen
The three soldiers and the pair of Warriors reached the end of the corridor and came to an abrupt stop.
The hallway was a dead end.
“The Zombies are on our level!” Private Kimper shouted, the pulse scanner held next to his face.
“We’re trapped!” Captain Wargo exclaimed.
Blade surveyed the corridor. There was no sign of Gatti. Where was he?
“Where’s Gatti?” Wargo demanded.
Blade ran, retracing their steps. He reached an open doorway on the right and peered inside, his helmet lamp revealing the interior. It was a room, perhaps 10 feet by 12, littered with the inevitable cobwebs, dust, and an antiquated wooden chair with two legs missing lying on the left side near the wall. Blade was about to pull away, when his lamp fell on the rear wall. Or what had once been the rear wall. Because now a large hole beckoned, providing access to an adjoining chamber. “This way!” Blade yelled, and took off, Geronimo dogging his heels.
The Warriors hastened through the opening and discovered another room exactly like the first. But instead of a dilapidated chair the chamber contained some newer additions: Private Gatti’s blood-soaked helmet and Dakon II on the floor in the middle of the room.
Blade scooped up the weapon and checked the digital readout. A full magazine!
“I could use one of those,” Geronimo mentioned as the trio of troopers entered the room.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Captain Wargo remarked, pointing his Dakon II at Blade.
Blade returned the compliment. “It was Gatti’s. There’s no sign of him.”
“Hand it over!” Wargo commanded.
“No way.”
Captain Wargo’s features contorted into a furious mask. “When I give an order—”
“The Zombies!” Private Kimper interrupted. “Ten yards and closing fast!”
The five men spread out, facing the way they came, their rifles trained on the opening.
Blade looked over his left shoulder. There was a doorway five feet away, lacking a door. Good. They had a way to escape if the Zombies—
Two Zombies rushed into the room, hissing, their arms extended. A barrage of fragmentation bullets ruptured their chests and heads and they collapsed, spewing green fluid.
“Hold them!” Captain Wargo yelled.
Four more Zombies were framed in the opening, and a hail of bullets dropped them on the spot.
Blade frowned. This was easy. Too easy. Almost as if it was a trap. But that would mean the Zombies were behind them—
“Look out!” Geronimo shouted in warning.
Blade crouched and whirled, the Dakon II at hip level, and the movement saved his life. Zombies were pouring in the doorway, and one of them had clawed at the Warrior’s neck even as he ducked. Blade let the mutation have it, blowing its face off.
The Technics were firing with total abandon, shooting as quickly as Zombies appeared at the opening or the doorway.
Geronimo, unarmed and feeling utterly helpless, stayed close to Blade.
The Warriors and Technics held their own for a while, downing Zombies until bodies were stacked on both sides of the room.
But then the tide turned.
Blade felt something strike his left shoulder, then his back, and he glanced up at the ceiling in time to see a slavering Zombie plummet through a narrow aperture. “They’re above us!” he cried.
Private Kimper was standing three feet from Blade, and he turned to confront this new menace.
Too late.
The Zombie landed between the two men, and with an agility belied by its emaciated appearance, it coiled and pounced, hurtling at Private Kimper, brushing the Technic’s Dakon II aside, and fastening its fingers in his throat.
Blade held his fire, concerned he would hit Kimper.
Kimper screamed as he was knocked to the floor, ineffectively flailing at the Zombie with his fists.
Blade closed in and hammered his stock onto the Zombie’s head. Once.
Twice. Three times, and the Zombie released Kimper and rose, its eyes gleaming savagely. Blade shot it at point-blank range, and his arms and face were pelted with more green gore.
Kimper, gagging, stumbled to his feet and grabbed for his Dakon II.
Three Zombies came through the doorway, and one of them reached Kimper in one mighty bound. The Technic was lifted from his feet and his head was brutally wrenched to the right.
Blade heard the snap of Kimper’s vertebra even as he shot the Zombie in the forehead.
Geronimo saw his opportunity. He darted forward and grasped Kimper’s Dakon II, then spun, firing, decimating the other two Zombies.
The attack unexpectedly ceased. Dust floated in the air. A preternatural quiet gripped the underground tunnels.
“Blade!” someone gasped.
Blade turned.
Captain Wargo was on his back, a dead Zombie straddling his legs.
Four more of the mutations lay near his boots. The Technic was staring at the giant Warrior with a resigned expression, a fatalistic acceptance of his impending demise. “I blew it,” he said softly.
Wargo’s left arm was gone, missing, severed from his body, no doubt taken by a Zombie intent on consuming the limb as a tasty snack.
“Where’s the last commando?” Geronimo asked Blade.
The two Warriors were the only ones standing.
Blade moved to Wargo and knelt next to the officer. He cradled Wargo’s head in his left hand, watching the blood pump from the ragged stump where once the left arm had been.
“I’ve bought it,” Wargo stated in a strained whisper.
“We’ll get you out of here,” Blade told him. “I’ll carry you.”
Wargo’s brow furrowed. “You’d do that for me? After what I’ve done? After the way I’ve treated you?”
Blade glanced at the Zombie on Wargo’s legs. “We can’t let them have you.”
Wargo moaned and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were rimmed with tears. “I want you to know I was only following orders.”
Is that any excuse? Blade wanted to retort. Instead, he smiled and nodded. “I know.”
Captain Wargo shuddered. “I’m so cold.” He groaned. “I wish… I wish…” His head sagged and his eyes shut again.
Geronimo was keeping them covered. “What are we going to do?” he inquired. “Get out of here, I hope.”
“We’re going after the Genesis Seeds,” Blade said.
“But why?” Geronimo rejoined. “You said you doubted they even exist.”
“But if they do,” Blade explained, “we owe it to our family, to the entire Civilized Zone, to do our best to retrieve them.”
Captain Wargo trembled and coughed, blood appearing at the corners of his mouth. He opened his ayes, which looked haunted. “Don’t,” he croaked.
Blade leaned closer. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t go after the seeds.” Wargo coughed some more. “They don’t exist.”
“Then why did your Minister go to so much trouble?” Blade asked.
“Why lure us to Technic City and force us to come here? Why?”
“The mind-control gas,” Captain Wargo disclosed as a crimson streak gushed from his right nostril.
Blade and Geronimo exchanged astonished looks.