David L. Robbins - Endworld 25 - Spartan Run

VIP免费
2024-12-24 0 0 361.83KB 173 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Scanned and proofed by ZB.
Additional proofing by Highroller.
Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.
Spartan Run
#25 in the Endworld series
David Robbins
Dedicated to…
Judy,
Joshua, and Shane.
PROLOGUE
"If one of their patrols spots us, we're dead."
"At least we'll have died trying."
The two men ran at a steady pace to the northwest, angling across a
wild field, the landscape surrounding them brightly illuminated by the
radiant full moon overhead. Both men were in superb physical condition
due to their grueling daily toil, and both breathed easily as they silently
ate up the distance to the next stretch of woods.
Off to the east an owl hooted.
"What if we don't make it, Ansel?" asked the shorter of the pair. He cast
repeated fearful glances to their rear, clearly far more nervous than his
companion.
"How many times must I tell you, Merle?" responded the other. "We'll
escape if we keep our wits about us. You must calm yourself. We've gone
fifteen miles already and there's been no sign of them."
"Their patrols cover a thirty-mile radius," Merle noted apprehensively.
"Then only fifteen more miles and we're free men," Ansel stated. "Free
for the first time in our lives."
"Freedom," Merle said softly, pronouncing the word with exquisite
delicacy, as if the very term was too fragile to withstand its utterance.
For two minutes they jogged onward, until ahead loomed a dark wall of
foliage typical of the lush vegetation found in the former state of Iowa.
"Can we rest when we reach the trees?" Merle inquired hopefully.
"If you must."
"I'm sorry, Ansel. I know I'm slowing you down."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm glad you came along. I don't know if I would
have had the courage to try alone."
"You would. You're naturally brave. Even they knew that."
"How do you figure?"
"They picked you to be an overseer."
"They picked me because I followed their orders better than most. No
other reason."
Merle scrutinized the forest and licked his thick lips. "I hope we haven't
made a mistake we'll live to regret."
"Isn't freedom worth the price?"
"Yes, but what if we're wrong. What if there isn't any place better?
What if the outside world is even worse? It's been one hundred and six
years since World War Three. Who knows what we'll find?"
Ansel regarded his friend for a moment. "It's too late to turn back now.
They've undoubtedly discovered we're missing and have sent trackers after
us."
"Do you really think we have enough of a head start to outrun the
dogs?"
"I hope so."
Merle ran a little faster.
Soon the fleeing pair reached the treeline. Scarcely slowing, they
plunged into the forest, swatting at branches that lashed their bodies and
plowing through undergrowth that tried to snare their legs. The heavens
were harder to discern, but every now and then they spotted the North
Star and knew they were still on course. Twenty strenuous minutes
elapsed, and at last they emerged from the oppressive gloom to find a
seemingly limitless expanse of open plain ahead.
"I could use a break," Merle commented, puffing from the exertion.
"I guess a rest can't hurt," Ansel said, and halted.
Expelling a breath in relief, Merle stopped and placed his hands on his
knees. "I'm glad I didn't eat much supper."
Ansel glanced at his companion. "So am I."
"Do you still think it was wise not to bring a food pouch along?"
"Yes. The less we carry, the better we run. That's the reason I insisted
on taking nothing except the clothes on our back." Ansel looked down at
his sweaty, torn T-shirt and his tattered jeans. "If I was one of them, I'd
strip off all my clothes and run naked just as they do during the contests
and processions."
"If you were one of them, you wouldn't need to run at all," Merle said.
Ansel cocked his head, listening.
"Did you ever wish you were?" Merle inquired.
"Were what?" Ansel replied absently, still listening.
"One of them?"
The question distracted the taller man and he gazed at his companion.
"Did you?"
"Every damn day. I'd love to have someone grow all my food for me. I'd
love to be able to lord it over Helots and have them do all my bidding.
Most of all, I'd love to wear one of those flowing red cloaks, bronze
helmets, and short swords," Merle said dreamily. "I'd love to have it easy
like they do."
"You really think they have it easy?"
"Sure. Don't you?"
"Not at all."
"I don't understand."
"Do you think it's easy for them to be taken from their parents at the
age of seven and forced to live in a barracks? Do you think it's easy for
them to devote almost all of their time to perfecting the arts of war? Do
you think not being permitted to marry or have children until the age of
thirty is easy?" Ansel asked. "I don't. I don't envy them one bit."
Merle uttered a light laugh. "You almost sound as if you pity them."
"In a way, I do."
"Amazing."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't hate them, if you sympathize with them, then why
the hell are we out in the middle of nowhere running for our lives?"
Ansel cocked his head again. "I might sympathize with them, but that
doesn't mean I condone the status of the Helots. I'd rather be free. If I
can't be, then I might as well be dead."
Merle opened his mouth to speak.
"Hush!" Ansel cautioned, motioning for silence with his right hand.
"What is it?" Merle blurted anyway.
"Listen."
Merle did, and for several seconds he heard nothing out of the ordinary.
Then his ears registered the distant barking, and goose bumps broke out
all over his skin. "Oh, God!"
"The dogs," Ansel declared angrily.
"How far away?"
"I don't know. Maybe a mile. Maybe less."
"What should we do?"
"Keep going," Ansel suggested, and suited action to words by racing to
the northwest.
"Wait for me!" Merle bleated, and hastened to catch up, his short legs
pumping furiously.
"Our only hope is to find a stream or a river," Ansel said. "They can't
track our scent through water."
"Are there any in this area?"
"Not according to the old-timer I talked to, the one who drew us the
crude map."
"We're doomed!"
"Don't give up yet. Where there's hope, there's life."
Onward they sprinted, oblivious to everything except the barking of the
canines to their rear. Both their forms became caked with sweat, their
shirts drenched. The plain was unending.
"We're doomed," Merle repeated forlornly.
"Keep going."
"Maybe we should give ourselves up."
"Be serious."
"I am," Merle stated, breathing heavily. "If we stop now and let them
capture us, they might decide to go easy on us."
"Don't be ridiculous. You know the law. The Lawgivers stipulated that
any Helot who tries to flee should be put to death."
The reminder sparked Merle to increased effort. He looked over his
shoulder every ten strides or so, dreading the moment when he would spot
the lanterns. Three quarters of a mile later he finally did. "Look!"
Ansel glanced back and frowned. "Evidently I miscalculated."
"Miscalculated? Damn, man, we're about to die and you act like you
made a mistake on a math problem."
"We're not dead yet."
"I'm open to any bright ideas."
"Let me think."
"We're doomed, doomed, doomed."
Five minutes went by. The lanterns drew ever nearer, the barking ever
louder and louder.
Merle wheezed air out and gasped akin, his entire body strained to
limits he never imagined he could withstand. But he refused to slack off.
Surrendering was a stupid idea, a desperate step of last resort. He
imagined how it would feel to have a pack of dogs tear into his flesh, and
his terror of such a gruesome death eclipsed his fear of their pursuers.
"Trees!" Ansel suddenly stated.
Hope welling within him, Merle stared ahead and saw sprawling
woodland. "If we can make it…" he began, and wasn't able to complete the
sentence for want of breath.
"We'll make it."
Their feet pounding on the ground, their limbs constantly in motion,
they covered the thousand yards to the forest, and paused before entering
to ascertain the exact location of the patrol after them.
"Look!" Merle cried.
The lanterns were now less than five hundred yards away, and the dogs
were yapping excitedly.
"Come on," Ansel urged, and dashed into the woods.
Panic stricken, Merle followed, parting the brush with his forearms and
ignoring the branches that tore at his skin. He focused on his friend's back
and nothing else, because to dwell on anything else might inadvertently
cause him to slow down and he couldn't afford to slacken the pace for an
instant, not if he wanted to live, which he most definitely did. At that
moment life was the sweetest, headiest nectar he'd ever known, a priceless
treasure he would never relinquish. If he could help it.
How soon would the dogs be released?
Merle knew the routine. The patrol would close to within a hundred
yards or so, then the officer in charge would give the command and the
four dogs would leap clear of their leashes to chase down the targets with
unerring, instinctual precision. He knew there were four dogs because
there were always four dogs. Four big black dogs, any one of which could
hold its own against a bear or a cougar or even a mutation.
The thought almost made Merle stumble.
Mutations!
What if they stumbled on a mutant the darkness? They wouldn't stand
a prayer without weapons. Mutations were not only extremely aggressive,
they were hard to kill, as if the radiation or chemical warfare toxins
responsible for the genetic deviates conferred a feral hatred of life and an
astonishing capacity for brute endurance.
Please, God!
Don't let there be mutations abroad tonight!
More minutes went by. Not a creature stirred in the woods. Every living
thing seemed to be aware of the tableau unfolding under the starry canopy
and none made the slightest sound.
Merle glanced behind them and saw the flickering lanterns moving
through the trees, the lights appearing to blink on and off as the men
carrying them were briefly obscured by tree trunks or dense thickets.
The dogs were in a frenzy.
With his eyes rearward, Merle didn't realize his fellow Helot had halted
until he accidently collided with Ansel, ramming the taller man in the
back.
"Watch it!" Ansel snapped, almost falling.
"Sorry."
"Do you hear it too?"
"Hear what?"
"Listen, damn it."
Merle did, and almost shouted in delight when he heard the distinct
gurgling of rushing water. "A stream?" he queried hopefully.
"Let's find out."
They moved forward, the sound increasing in volume, and covered only
15 yards before they came to the bank of a shallow creek. It was only three
feet wide, the water five or six inches deep at most, and then only in the
periodic pools.
Merle stood above one such pool and surveyed the flow in both
directions. "Which way?"
"You go right. I'll go left."
"I don't want to split up," Merle said, horrified at the very notion.
"We have a better chance if we do."
"Please, Ansel. Don't make me do it."
The former overseer took but a second to decide. "All right. We'll go to
the right. Stick close."
"You don't need to tell me twice," Merle stated, smiling, starting to
turn. Out of the corner of his eye he detected movement, something
coming from their rear, and his mind belatedly perceived the reason a
second after the charging Doberman pincher hurtled into Ansel and
bowled him over.
A throaty snarl rent the night, becoming a sustained bestial snapping
and growling as the canine sank its white teeth into its prey again and
again and again.
Merle took a step toward his friend, his terror rendering his movements
sluggish.
"Run!" Ansel yelled, fighting the Doberman, rolling and punching.
Unwilling to desert the man he considered his best friend, Merle took
another stride, his eyes casting about for a potential weapon.
"Run, Merle!" Ansel shouted. "Please!"
Loud barking came from 20 yards away.
The other dogs! Merle realized, and suddenly there was no question of
staying, of sacrificing himself needlessly. Ansel was as good as dead. Why
should he die too? He pivoted and stepped into the creek, then ran to the
right, splashing noisily. What if the dogs came after him? He had to pray
they concentrated on Ansel and failed to pick up his scent in the water.
The creek abruptly curved to the left. He stayed right in the middle, terror
lending him speed, and ran, ran, ran.
CHAPTER ONE
The giant clasped the steering wheel loosely, his seven-foot tall frame
relaxed as he skillfully threaded the huge van he was driving through a
gauntlet of gaping potholes and wide cracks that marred the crumbling
surface of the aged highway. A comma of dark hair hung above his
penetrating gray eyes. His bulging muscles threatened to burst the seams
of his black leather vest and his green fatigue pants. Combat boots covered
his feet. Strapped around his lean waist were two big Bowie knives, a
matched set, snug in sheaths on either hip.
"We should be there within a few hours," commented the small, wiry
man in the front passenger seat. He was dressed all in black, his features
revealing an Oriental heritage. He rested his right hand on the hilt of the
sword propped between his legs and draped his left arm on the console
between his seat and the giant's. His eyes and hair were both dark.
"At least we'll be in the general vicinity, Rikki," responded the driver.
"If the man spoke the truth."
"Why would he have lied?"
"Who knows, Blade?" answered the man in black.
"Maybe he concocted the whole story for the benefit of the Cavalry, to
make them feel sorry for him so they'd permit him to stay in their
territory."
Blade smiled and studied the small man's features. "Becoming cynical
in your young age, huh?"
"Realistic. Honor and truth are dying ideals in the Outlands. Out here
people live by their wits or their brawn. The survival of the fittest is the
unwritten law of the land."
A chuckle came from behind them. "Don't let him fool you, Blade. He's
a grump because Lexine got on his case about doing this."
Hie giant glanced over his right shoulder at the man occupying the seat
running the width of the vehicle. Six feet in height, the speaker wore
forest-green apparel. His hair and beard were both blond. The former was
tied into a ponytail with a thin strip of leather. The latter had been neatly
trimmed and jutted forward on his pointed chin. His green eyes
perpetually danced with an inner mirth, an unrestrained zest for life.
Propped on the seat to his right was a Ben Pearson compound bow. Lying
next to his left leg was a quiver filled with arrows. "How do you know,
Teucer?" Blade inquired.
摘要：

ScannedandproofedbyZB.AdditionalproofingbyHighroller.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.SpartanRun#25intheEndworldseriesDavidRobbinsDedicatedto…Judy,Joshua,andShane.PROLOGUE"Ifoneoftheirpatrolsspotsus,we'redead.""Atleastwe'llhavediedtrying."Thetwomenranatasteadypacetothenorthwest,anglinga...

展开>> 收起<<
David L. Robbins - Endworld 25 - Spartan Run.pdf

共173页,预览35页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：173 页 大小：361.83KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-24

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 配电装置 动力学连接体 力的合成 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 173
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注