David L. Robbins - Endworld 27 - Chicago Run

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2024-12-18 0 0 340.56KB 157 页 5.9玖币
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Chicago Run by David L.
Robbins
PROLOGUE
"If you want my opinion, Sarge, these patrols are a waste of our time,"
Corporal Lyle Carson commented while trudging along a secondary road
located five miles southwest of Technic City. He squinted up at the bright
January sun, glad he was wearing his thermal combat fatigues. Even with
the sunshine the temperature hovered only in the twenties. If he didn't
have the thermal protection he'd be freezing his butt off after seven hours
of patrol duty.
"I didn't ask your opinion, Carson," the sergeant responded stiffly from
his position at the head of the six-person column. He glanced over his left
shoulder, his weathered features creasing in a frown. "And from now on
keep them to yourself."
"Sorry, Sarge," Carson said, and leaned forward to whisper to the
dark-haired woman in front of him. "What's eating the sarge today,
Lavender?"
"I don't know," the woman replied. "And it's Private Lavender to you."
"Boy, what a bunch of grumps," Carson mumbled, adjusting the strap
to the Dakon II slung over his left shoulder. He patted the fragmentation
rifle affectionately, thankful for its devastating firepower. Who knew what
they would run into outside the city? Mutations. Scavengers. Raiders.
Monsters. There were endless possibilities. They might even run into him.
Soon the patrol came to a junction, and the seasoned sergeant held
aloft his right hand, signifying a halt. He moved to the center of the
intersection and gazed in each direction.
Carson consulted his watch. "It's two P.M. Four more hours and the sun
will be down," he commented softly so the sergeant wouldn't hear.
"Afraid of the dark, are you?" Lavender said sarcastically.
"Of course not," Carson countered. "But they say the Shadow does most
of his dirty work after the sun sets."
"Most, but not all," Lavender reminded him.
The sergeant returned. "At ease, people. Take five."
"At last," Carson said, pushing his helmet back on his head and
scratching his brow.
Private Lavender removed her helmet, displaying her short, curly red
hair, and rubbed the nape of her neck. "I can't wait to get back to the
barracks and take a nice, hot shower."
"Care for some company?" Carson asked.
"Dream on, asshole."
The three other soldiers laughed.
"Sergeant Sikes," Carson said to cover his embarrassment, "do you
think there's any chance this Shadow character will hit another patrol?"
"The higher-ups wouldn't have squads patrolling outside the perimeter
fence if there wasn't," Spikes replied. He extracted a map from a shirt
pocket and unfolded it.
"I heard tell the Shadow has killed thirty-seven already," Carson
mentioned.
"Then you know more than I do," Sikes said, studying the map. "The
top brass isn't about to reveal the exact figure. You've been listening to too
much scuttlebutt again."
Lavender chuckled and poked Carson in the arm. "As usual you don't
know what the hell you're talking about."/p>
"Oh?" Carson snapped. "Shows how much you know, Ms. Stuck-Up. I
happen to be good friends with Jessie Malovich, and I bet you've heard of
him."
All the rest now focused on the corporal.
"Malovich was the guy mentioned on the news," one of the men
remarked. "The only grunt who survived the Shadow's first attack."
Carson squared his shoulders and nodded, pleased at being the center
of attention. Despite his stripes the others, except for the crusty sergeant,
tended to look down their noses at him because he was career military and
they were young brats who were begrudgingly pulling the two-year stints
required of all Technic City citizens. Once they'd put in their time they'd
go on to lucrative civilian jobs. "That's right," Carson declared, sticking
his thumbs under his web belt.
"You really know him?" Lavender asked.
"I don't make it a habit of lying," Carson said.
Sikes stepped closer. "What did Malovich tell you, Lyle?"
"I went to visit him in the hospital," Carson disclosed, automatically
lowering his voice although they were in the middle of the Clear Zone, the
ten-mile-wide uninhabited strip bordering Technic City. By executive
decree, handed down initially by the very first Minister approximately a
century ago, not long after the global Armageddon referred to in the
history books as World War Three, no one was permitted to reside in the
Clear Zone. Whenever squatters moved in, an army patrol immediately
went out and an officer offered them the opportunity to reside in Technic
City. If the squatters refused, they were expeditiously eliminated.
"They let you in?" Lavender inquired skeptically.
"I got there the day after it happened, before the bigwigs clamped a
security net around him," Carson explained. "He'd been part of a ten-man
unit assigned to escort the Director of Intelligence to a Gypsy camp
located twelve miles northwest of the city."
"Why would the Director of Intelligence be visiting a bunch of lousy
Gypsies?" wondered one of the men.
"Who knows?" Carson said. "My buddy and the soldiers with him had
to wait outside a wagon while the Director went in and shot the breeze
with the head Gypsy. The meeting took about an hour, and the Director
headed back." Carson paused and let his voice drop even more. "The
attack took place just four miles from the west gate."
"Did Malovich actually see the Shadow?" Lavender queried, caught up
in the narrative.
"Yes, but not a good look," Carson said. "He told me this big son of a
bitch appeared out of nowhere, blocking their path. He asked if they were
Technics. The Director informed him they were." He stopped.
"What happened then?" a stocky man asked.
"Yeah, don't keep us in suspense," Lavender added.
Suppressing a grin, Carson said, "The big guy spoke four words and cut
loose, mowing them down where they stood."
"What four words?" Sergeant Sikes asked.
"This is for her," Carson quoted.
"Her? Her who?" Lavender asked.
"How the hell should I know?" Carson answered. "I'm only relaying
what Malovich told me. He swore it was the truth."
For half a minute none of them bothered to speak. At last Sikes cleared
his throat.
"Well, even if the bastard is still lurking out here, sooner or later a
patrol will nail him."
The stocky man frowned. "If this Shadow is so damn dangerous, why
don't they send out the Elite Squads instead of common grunts like us?
Why use fifty patrols made up of ordinary troopers when the Elite
commandos are ten times better?"
"Because there are only ten Elite Squads and they can't be everywhere
at once," Sikes replied, and touched the radio clipped to his belt above his
left hip. "Why do you think we have this? If we spot anyone suspicious, all
we have to do is call in and an Elite Squad will be out here to help us
within two minutes."
"I just hope that's enough time," the soldier said.
Sikes folded his map. "Okay. Enough gabbing. We have a lot of territory
to cover before we can head back, so let's get our butts in gear."
"The sooner we're in Technic City, the better," Carson stressed. He
watched Lavender replace her helmet, wishing she would be friendlier,
longing to have her accept just one of his many advances. She gazed past
the sergeant and suddenly froze, her mouth slackening. Puzzled, he looked
in the same direction and his breath caught in his throat.
"We go left, people," Sikes informed them, and turned, discovering the
stranger.
He stood calmly in the middle of the intersection, a huge man with
penetrating blue eyes, striking silver hair, and a sweeping silver mustache.
A one-piece dark blue garment covered his superbly muscled form. On his
left hip rode a survival knife; on his right an unusual curved sword in a
leather scabbard. In a shoulder holster under his left arm rode a revolver;
in a similar holster under his right nestled an auto pistol. Clutched in his
brawny hands was a carbine with an exceptionally long magazine.
"It can't be!" the stocky soldier blurted out.
"No one make a move," Sergeant Sikes warned in a whisper. "We all
have our Dakon II's slung and he'd cut us down before any of us brought
our weapons to bear. Wait for an opening, for my signal."
Carson absently nodded. He couldn't understand where the man in blue
had come from. The nearest cover was over a dozen yards away. How had
the guy managed to get there without being spotted?
"Hello," Sikes said, much louder than necessary given the fact only 20
feet separated the patrol from the mystery man. "May we help you?"
Without responding, the man in blue came forward ten feet and halted.
His eyes seemed to bore into each one of them.
Sikes casually placed his right hand on the sling to his Dakon II. "What
do you want? Who are you?"
"You know who I am," the man replied in a low tone.
"Oh, God!" the stocky grunt blurted out, completely overlooking the fact
it was illegal for any Technic City citizen to ever refer to any deity.
The man took several more strides. "Place all of your weapons on the
ground at your feet and raise your hands over your heads."
"We can't do that," Sergeant Sikes said, inching his hand a bit higher.
"Do it or die."
"There's six of us and only one of you," Sikes blustered, and swallowed
hard.
"I know the odds are in my favor," the man said matter-of-factly. "Your
superiors have been grossly negligent in sending out such small patrols."
"We've heard about you, Shadow," Sikes revealed, stalling, his hand
sliding higher on the sling.
A lopsided smile curled the big man's lips. "Is that what they're calling
me? How appropriate. But by the time I'm done they'll be calling me much
worse."
"You're the one who has killed thirty-seven Technics," Sikes noted.
"Fifty-three."
The stocky soldier whined. "Oh, God! Oh, God!"
"Lay down your weapons," the Shadow repeated. "Either comply or use
them."
Carson couldn't move. His limbs were locked in place, his mind stuck in
neutral. Fear dominated his being, filling every pore, every cell. He knew if
he twitched he'd be dead, and he desperately wanted to live.
"Go to hell!" Sikes suddenly barked, and attempted to bring his Dakon
II into play.
It all happened so incredibly fast. Had Carson blinked he would have
missed the fight. He saw the sergeant sweeping the Dakon II down and
around, but the guy in blue already had the carbine leveled. The automatic
burped. Heavy slugs tore into Sikes's torso, and burst out his back to hit
the stocky grunt even as the impact propelled Sikes rearward. Both men
went down.
Private Lavender had her Dakon II only partially off her shoulder when
several rounds drilled into her forehead and toppled her on the spot.
The remaining pair of troopers tried to unsling their Dakon II's, but
they each died on their feet, their brains cored in a millisecond of time.
Silence descended.
Feeling his heart thumping wildly in his chest, Corporal Carson stayed
rooted in place. The big man's Carbine swung to cover him and he
flinched, expecting to feel searing pain in his chest or head an instant
before he plunged into oblivion. Amazingly, no shots were fired. He
glanced down at the bodies all around him, marveling at the Shadow's
marksmanship. When he glanced up again the man in blue was striding
toward him.
"What's your name?"
Taking a deep breath and licking his lips, Carson managed to squeak,
"Lyle Carson, sir."
"Do you want to live, Lyle Carson?"
"Yes. Oh, yes."
The big man stopped and studied the corporal's face. "Curious, isn't it,
how fear can be a lifesaver given the proper circumstances?"
"What?" Carson mumbled, struggling to get his mind to function.
"Your fear saved your life," the Shadow elaborated, and pointed at the
soldier's groin.
Bending his neck, Carson was stunned to find a wide wet stain on the
front of his pants, and realized he'd emptied his bladder. How could he do
it and not even know it? He looked at the man in blue and mustered a
feeble grin. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize to me. I'm not the one who's going to smell like the
hind end of a horse until those pants are washed." The Shadow extended
his left hand and said, "Now hand over your Dakon II or suffer the same
fate as your fellows."
Nodding vigorously, Carson complied, bothered by how the guy knew
the name of the special weapon used only by the Technic troops. Not many
outside of Technic City were familiar with the unique rifle.
The Shadow cast the Dakon II aside. "I've spared you for a reason. So
long as you cooperate, you'll live."
"I'll cooperate," Carson said quickly. "Anything you want, you get."
"I want answers. Lots and lots of answers."
Carson stared at Lavender, at the ragged hole in the back of her head,
at the brains and fluid oozing out of her cranium, and felt a chill ripple
down his spine. "Ask away."
"Somehow I knew I could count on you."
CHAPTER ONE
The quaint settlement was located 15 miles northeast of the former
town known as Rochester, Minnesota. It consisted of a mere nine
buildings that had been constructed from whatever had been handy at the
time the buildings went up. To most wanderers passing through it seemed
as if a strong, gusty wind would flatten every structure. Optimistically
dubbed Second Chance by its grizzled, cantankerous founder several
decades ago, the settlement now served as a gathering point for all the
farmers, trappers, and others living within 50 miles.
On the Sunday afternoon of the raid there were 65 people in Second
Chance. Thirty-one belonged to various families that had traveled in by
horse and wagon to hear the bearded man who called himself a preacher
discourse on the reality of Heaven and Hell. His late-morning sermon
stressed the fact they were all living in a hell spawned by a vile humanity,
a hell that surpassed its Biblical counterpart for sheer wickedness and
despicable brutality. He urged them to turn to God if they desired to
escape the nightmarish legacy bestowed upon them by war-crazed leaders
106 years ago.
The preacher's sermon had concluded two hours before, and the
families were strolling about along the dusty main street—if such it could
be called—as was the custom in Second Chance on comparable lazy
Sunday afternoons. The bartender at Glisson's Shine and Feed was doing a
brisk but discreet business as many of the men came in ostensibly to see
about purchasing supplies, and quite naturally slaked their thirst while
contemplating their expenditures.
Into the town from the north rode the colorful prospector called Old
Jerry astride his ancient donkey Jeffrey, waving his arms, his tattered coat
flapping, and shrieking at the top of his ancient lungs that they should all
flee to the woods. He reined up in front of Glisson's, spilling from his
mount rather than taking the time to dismount properly. From all
directions hastened everyone in town, aroused by his cries and anxious to
determine the cause.
Through the handcrafted batwing doors strode burly Dee Glisson,
wiping his hands on his apron and bestowing a baleful glare on the man
who had done more than any other living person to keep him in business.
"What the hell is all this racket, then? Are you drunk again, Jerry?" he
demanded.
"They're comin'! They're comin'!" Old Jerry croaked, rising unsteadily
and motioning to the north. "For God's sake, get everyone out of town!"
"Who is coming?" inquired one of the bystanders.
"Raiders," Old Jerry answered. "Dozens of 'em. Saw 'em with my own
two peepers."
The news electrified the bystanders. Exclamations of alarm erupted,
and mothers scooped their small offspring into their arms.
"Now hold on, folks," Ike called out. "Let's get the facts straight before
we get into an uproar." He waited for them to quiet down a bit, then
stepped down the wooden steps and towered over the prospector. "Have
you been hitting the shine again, old-timer?" he politely inquired, and
sniffed loudly.
"I ain't had a drink since sunrise," Old Jerry replied angrily, his eyes
blazing resentment.
"Where did you spot these raiders?"
"About two miles north of my shack. I went up the hill behind my place
to get me some wood for my stove, and I was sittin' there restin' after
doing a bit of choppin'," Old Jerry related. "I happened to look to the
north and there they was, a whole bunch of mounted men ridin' toward
me."
Ike chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds. "How many riders were
there?"
"I stopped countin' at twenty-four."
Another man interjected a question. "How could you tell they were
raiders if they were two miles off?"
"I took a gander at 'em through my binoculars," Old Jerry responded.
"What do you think I am, stupid?"
No one bothered to give an honest answer.
"Were they armed?" Ike asked.
Jerry snorted. "Do you think I'd be this excited if they was totin'
flowers? Of course they had guns, you blamed idiot. Rifles and automatics
and the whole shootin' match."
One of the sturdy farmers moved forward. "It must be raiders."
"What are we going to do?" a woman named Linda demanded.
"We don't stand a chance," commented a companion of hers.
A general commotion broke out again. Some of the youngest children,
sensing the panic in many of the adults, provided the proper background
chorus for the occasion by crying and whimpering.
"Calm down!" Dee thundered, moving to the top of the steps. "We've
got to stay calm and plan on how best to defend Second Chance."
摘要：

ScannedbyHighroller.ProofedbyHighroller.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.ChicagoRunbyDavidL.RobbinsPROLOGUE"Ifyouwantmyopinion,Sarge,thesepatrolsareawasteofourtime,"CorporalLyleCarsoncommentedwhiletrudgingalongasecondaryroadlocatedfivemilessouthwestofTechnicCity.HesquintedupatthebrightJ...

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