David L. Robbins - Endworld 03 - Twin Cities Run

VIP免费
2024-12-24 0 0 425.1KB 219 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Scanned by Highroller.
Proofed by the best ELF proofer.
Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.
Twin Cities Run by
David Robbins
OUR STORY SO FAR …
It's one hundred years after World War III.
There are survivors.
Before the inevitable came to pass, a wealthy filmmaker named Kurt
Carpenter established a survivalist retreat in northwestern Minnesota,
near Lake Bronson State Park. Carpenter planned wisely, providing ample
provisions for the Home, as he dubbed the site, and detailed instructions
for his followers, the ones he called his beloved Family. One of those
instructions: to protect themselves, the members of the Family should not
attempt to contact the outside world until it became absolutely necessary.
It's necessary.
A form of premature senility is affecting Family members. The current
Leader, wise Plato, decides to send one of the Warrior Triads out on a
dangerous mission. Using the SEAL, a prototype vehicle Carpenter spent
millions developing before the war, the Warriors must travel to the Twin
Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul and attempt to find certain scientific
and medical equipment and supplies.
Life after World War III has done a radioactive flip-flop, and between
the radiation and the chemical weapons unleashed on the environment,
those still alive never know what to expect next. Menace is everywhere.
There are the clouds, mysterious green vaporous substances, appearing
out of nowhere, devouring all flesh in their path. Hordes of mutates roam
the land, deformed former mammals, reptiles, or amphibians, endowed
with ravenous appetites, attacking every living thing. Inexplicably, bizarre
strains of giantism have developed in select species. New threats arise
daily.
Before the Warriors can leave for the Twin Cities, the Home is
assaulted by the vicious, plundering Trolls. The conflict between the
Family and the Trolls is chronicled in The Endworld Series #1: The Fox
Run.
A month after the battle with the Trolls, three Warriors and another
Family member set out in the SEAL for the Twin Cities. They manage to
reach Thief River Falls, where their trip is abruptly curtailed by their
confrontation with the enigmatic Watchers and the deadly Brutes. This
adventure is related in The Endworld Series #2: The Thief River Falls
Run. The Family Warriors, and a woman they rescue, a resident of the
Twin Cities, are injured in their fight with the Watchers, and they elect to
return to the Home to recuperate before attempting to reach the Twin
Cities.
Which brings us to: The Endworld Series #3: The Twin Cities Run .
Chapter One
"Did you guys just hear something?"
The four men stopped their activities and listened for a moment.
"I didn't hear a thing," the lean gunman in buckskins replied. His blue
eyes twinkled as he grinned at the beautiful, muscular woman standing
next to their vehicle. "You must be getting jumpy in your young age!" He
placed his hands on the pearl grips to his Colt Pythons, one revolver in a
leather holster on each hip, and chuckled. "I knew you'd get antsy," he
stated, "the closer we got to Home."
"I ain't jumpy, White Meat!" the woman responded indignantly. "I
thought I heard something move in the woods."
"Did you hear anything, Geronimo?" the blond Warrior asked one of his
friends.
Geronimo, a superb hunter and tracker, and the only member of the
Family with any vestige of Indian blood in his veins, shook his head.
"Nope. Sure didn't. But I was talking to Blade." His dark hair swayed as he
turned his head, his brown eyes probing the surrounding forest.
Blade, the head of the Warrior unit known as Alpha Triad, rose from
his kneeling position by the fire he was preparing for their midday meal.
His massive muscles rippled in the sunlight, his brawny hands hovering
near his prized Bowie knives, as he faced the woman. "Are you positive you
heard something, Bertha?" he demanded.
The dusky woman nodded, her curly hair bobbing. "I'm a soldier with
the Nomads, remember? I know my business," she affirmed with
conviction.
Blade ran his left hand through his wavy dark hair, his gray eyes
scanning the nearby trees. It was possible Bertha was mistaken. After all,
she had spent her entire life in the Twin Cities, and she was not
accustomed to the outdoors and the normal sounds associated with the
creatures inhabiting the tall timber.
"I wish we were back at our Home," the fifth and final constituent of
their party said, a tall man with flowing brown hair and a beard and
moustache.
"We'll be there by tonight. Josh," vowed the gunman. He raised his
right hand and felt the stubble on his chin and the corners of his blond
handlebar moustache. "Good thing too. I can use a bath and a shave."
"You sure can, Hickok," Geronimo said.
Blade was still trying to detect movement in the nearest undergrowth.
Nothing. Bertha must be wrong. He could feel the burning sunlight
warming his naked chest, soothing his wounds. The run-in with the
Watchers and the Brutes had been costly. He still experienced sharp pain
every time he moved, both in the gaping tear in his right shoulder and the
bullet crease in his right side.
"You're not exactly a rose either, pard," Hickok commented to
Geronimo.
Blade smiled, wondering how Hickok was holding up, knowing the
Family's supreme gunfighter was in even worse shape, with a nasty gash
over his right eye, and four relatively minor bullet wounds: a nick on his
neck, a scrape on his left heel, a furrow along his left side, and a hole in the
fleshy part of his left shoulder, almost in the same spot where he had
sustained another gunshot during their struggle with the Trolls. If his
injuries were bothering him, Hickok was doing a superb job of disguising
the fact.
Bertha, the woman they'd saved from the Watchers, had also been hurt.
Her left arm was heavily bandaged, the legacy of a Brute's attempt to
consume her, to literally eat her alive. Bertha was wearing a baggy flannel
shirt, covering the bandage, and jeans confiscated from one of the dead
Watchers.
Geronimo, still attired in a green shirt and loose-fitting pants sewn
together from the remnants of an old tent, had received several bumps
and bruises, but nothing serious.
Of all of them, only the Empath, Joshua, was uninjured. He was
standing calmly at the rear of the transport, his hands folded in front of
his waist, serenely gazing at some white clouds on the far horizon. Even
his clothes, faded brown pants and a light blue shirt made from a
discarded sheet, were the least torn and worn. Joshua wore a large Latin
cross around his neck.
Blade lazily stretched, relishing the peace and quiet. He had taken a
pair of green fatigue pants from one of the larger Watchers, to replace his
ragged jeans. Like Hickok, Geronimo, and Joshua, he wore moccasins.
Bertha had placed new black boots, again from one of the vanquished
Watchers, on her scarred feet, toughened from years of going without
shoes. She had giggled when she placed the boots on, delighted at the
luxury.
"While you're getting the fire started," Hickok said, addressing Blade, "I
reckon I'm going to go water a tree."
"Water a tree?" Bertha repeated, puzzled.
"It's his quaint, if dumb, way of saying he's going to take a piss,"
Geronimo explained.
"I still can't get used to the way he talks sometimes," Bertha mentioned
as Hickok strolled off.
"He thinks he's talking like the real Wild Bill Hickok would," Geronimo
said, grinning. "Let's keep it as our little secret that he sounds like a jerk."
He winked at Bertha and she laughed.
Hickok had reached the line of trees and he glanced over his shoulder.
The SEAL, resembling for all the world the picture of a vehicle called a van
he had seen in an automotive book in the enormous Family library, was
parked in the center of Highway 59, or what was left of the roadway after
a century of neglect and pounding by the elements. If all went as planned,
after a quick repast, they would continue north until they hit Highway 11,
head east, and be at the Home by dark.
The vegetation at the side of the road was dense. Hickok pushed his
way through, searching for a suitable tree. While still a youngster, he had
developed a penchant for urinating on the biggest, tallest tree he could
find. The habit had become almost a ritual, his way of telling life to get
screwed for the bum steer he'd been handed. Why couldn't he have been
born before the Big Blast, before everything bit the dust?
Several chickadees were chirping nearby, and two flies buzzed around
his head as he approached his intended target.
Why, he wondered, was he suddenly peeing so frequently? Did it have
something to do with the constant bouncing around in the SEAL? Maybe
he should have the Healers check him over after they returned to Home.
Hickok reached the towering Northern Red oak he'd selected and
stared up into the branches high above his head. Had this particular tree
been standing before World War III? Would it still be here a hundred
years after he passed on to the higher worlds, as Plato referred to them?
What would it…
The chickadees abruptly ceased their singing, and the entire forest
went quiet.
Danger.
Something made a snorting sound, and before the gunman could react,
before he could even think about concealing himself, the terror of the
woods, the scourge of the land since the Big Blast, ambled around the
expansive trunk of the Northern Red oak and stopped four feet away.
Hickok froze.
The creature was a mutate.
No one, not even the wise Family Elders, not even Plato, knew what
caused the dreaded mutates. There was speculation the mutates were the
result of the combined impact on the environment of the radiation and
the chemical weapons unleashed during World War III. But no one really
knew, for sure. It was common knowledge the mutates were once reptiles,
mammals, or amphibians, transformed into deformed, rampaging killers
possessing insatiable appetites. While the animals retained their former
size and shape, their entire bodies were covered with large sores, oozing
pus everywhere, their skin turning brownish and dehydrated, cracked and
peeling. Their ears were mucus-covered stumps, and they breathed in
great wheezing gasps. Mutates attacked and consumed any living thing
they could catch, and they were utterly fearless. A mutated frog once
hopped out of the moat within the Family Home and immediately
pounced on the first Family member it saw.
Hickok vividly recalled that incident, and others, and mentally ordered
his body to remain immobile. His hands were holding the rawhide tie
string to his buckskin pants, and he debated whether he could draw and
kill the mutate before it reached him. He enjoyed unquestioned confidence
in his speed and ability with his Pythons, but if the mutate didn't die
instantly and managed to bite him before it expired, he was as good as
dead. Over the years, several Family members had been charged by
mutates and survived. Or so they thought. Because if any of the mutate
pus managed to enter the human bloodstream, that person died a slow,
agonizing death. The pus seemed to cover the area near the mutate's
mouths, so any mutate bite was invariably fatal.
What the blazes do I do? Hickok asked himself. Go for his guns and
hope he blew the critter away before it sank its gleaming teeth into him?
Or wait and see if the mutate noticed him?
This mutate hadn't. Yet. It appeared to have been a fox, probably a red
fox, before the mysterious transformation. With its ears covered by the
reeking pus, its hearing was diminished, leaving its nose as its primary
organ for detection and identification. The mutate's eyesight was
unimpaired but, like many animals, it relied on motion to pinpoint other
creatures.
I may be in luck here, Hickok speculated. The air was deathly still and
would not carry his scent to the mutate. The former fox was not looking at
him, but was warily eyeing a leafy bush in the opposite direction. If he
didn't move, the mutate might actually walk away.
Instead, the bestial demon turned and looked directly at him.
Hickok involuntarily tensed. He could see the beady brown eyes
studying him, the tiny nostrils quivering, as the mutate strove to register
this new presence. Maybe the thing would decide he was another tree and
leave. He watched the mutate's eyes, anticipating a reaction.
He got it.
The mutate's eyes suddenly widened, the fox snarled, and it came at
him, leaping.
His hands a blur, Hickok drew the Colts, using his thumbs to pull back
the hammers as he leveled the Pythons, his fingers pulling their respective
triggers as the mutate reached the apex of its jump. The blast of the .357
Magnums shattered the forest, the slugs catching the mutate in the face
and causing it to tumble to the ground at Hickok's feet.
The demented beast snapped at his moccasins.
Hickok stepped back, already cocking the Pythons again.
The mutate thrashed and rose to its feet, wobbly, growling and hissing.
It prepared for another spring.
The Colts bucked as Hickok fired each gun twice more, the bullets
slamming the mutate to the turf.
The fox twitched briefly, wheezed, and expired.
Close, brother! Too close! Hickok leaned against the tree and sighed,
relieved.
"Over here!" someone shouted. Sounded like Joshua.
"No!" another person yelled, and this time Hickok definitely identified
Geronimo's voice. "It came from over here!"
There was a crashing in the underbrush, and Blade, Geronimo, Joshua,
and Bertha broke from cover and abruptly stopped at the sight of Hickok
and the dead mutate.
"Lordy!" Bertha exclaimed, grimacing. "An Ugly!" The residents of the
Twin Cities referred to the mutates as Uglies. Her vocabulary was
peppered with street slang and what Joshua called "cute colloquialism."
She was carrying a Smith and Wesson Model 3000 Pump shotgun taken
from a Watcher Geronimo had killed.
"Thank the Spirit you're not injured!" Joshua stated, his right hand
holding a Ruger Redhawk .44 Magnum.
Blade was frowning at the body of the mutate, cradling his Commando
Arms Carbine in his arms. He hated the mutates; one of them had been
responsible for slaying his father. In addition to the Commando and his
Bowie knives. Blade carried two Solingen throwing knives in a leather
sheath fastened to his belt, secured in the small of his broad back. Never
satisfied with just a few blades, he also had a folding Buck knife in his
right front pocket as well as a dagger strapped to his right calf and
another to his left wrist. Fortunately, he had been able to retrieve most of
his weapons after the battle in Thief River Falls.
"What happened?" Geronimo asked Hickok. "Did you take a leak on
it?" He was armed with a Browning B-80 Automatic Shotgun, an
Arminius .357 in a shoulder holster under his right arm, and two genuine
Apache tomahawks tucked under his belt.
Hickok grinned. "Not quite, pard," he replied. "We argued over which
of us was going to use the tree first, and he lost."
"Did it bite you?" Blade inquired, concerned.
"Nope," Hickok answered.
"Are you positive?" Blade pressed him.
"Don't you think I'd know if it did?" Hickok retorted.
"I don't see why we're worried," Geronimo noted.
"What do you mean?" Joshua asked.
"If the mutate bit Hickok," Geronimo cracked, "the poor mutate would
be the one to kick the bucket."
"Very funny," Hickok rejoined.
"Where's your Henry?" Blade wanted to know, alluding to Hickok's rifle,
a Navy Arms Henry.
"Left it in the SEAL," Hickok admitted sheepishly.
"Next time," Blade advised him, "don't go into the woods without it."
Hickok twirled the Pythons and slid the Colts into their holsters. "These
babies took care of it. I didn't need the Henry."
"What if it had been something larger?" Blade demanded.
"I can handle myself, pard." Hickok smiled. "You know that."
"I know." Blade nodded. "I also know you're overconfident, and one day
that character flaw will get you into trouble."
"Why don't you head back to the SEAL?" Hickok said, changing the
subject.
"Aren't you coming?" Bertha asked.
"I've got something to do," Hickok told her.
"Like what?" she questioned.
Hickok grabbed the tie string. "Three guesses."
"Oh." Bertha turned away.
"What about you guys?" Hickok glanced at Geronimo, Joshua, and
Blade. "You planning to stay and watch?"
"No. thanks," Geronimo declined. "We left our magnifying glass at the
Home."
Blade and Bertha laughed, and all four of them strolled off, heading for
the transport.
Hickok rolled his blue eyes skyward. "Comedians!" he muttered. "The
world is full of comedians!"
Chapter Two
"Wow!" Bertha declared excitedly. "I just can't believe I'm really here!"
Blade had braked the SEAL at the edge of the cleared field bordering
the western wall of the Home, the wall containing the only means of
entering and exiting the compound, a drawbridge.
"You better believe it, Black Beauty," Hickok assured her. "This is our
Home."
Blade was driving, Geronimo sitting in the other bucket seat in the
front of the SEAL. Hickok, Bertha, and Joshua were seated in the back
seat. A large space in the rear of the vehicle was devoted to storing their
provisions. At the moment, it was filled to the roof with the items they had
confiscated from the Watchers in Thief River Falls.
"The Home is so big!" Bertha marveled. "It's even bigger than I
imagined it would be."
"Our Home embraces thirty acres," Joshua explained to her. "It's
completely enclosed within a twenty-foot-high brick wall. We keep the
area outside the walls, about one hundred and fifty yards all around the
Home, free of trees and brush and boulders, anything an enemy could
utilize in an assault. Notice the top of the wall." Joshua pointed with his
right hand. "That's barbed wire." He sighed. "We certainly exemplify the
concept of spiritual love, don't we?"
"Give me a break, Josh!" Hickok responded. "If the Home wasn't as well
protected as it is, the Family wouldn't have survived this long after the Big
Blast."
"I suppose you're correct," Joshua reluctantly agreed. "Anyway," he
continued, "we receive our water from a stream. It enters the property
under the northwest corner of the wall, and flows out under the
southeastern corner. By digging a trench along the inner base of the wall,
the Family has constructed a moat, another line of defense in case of an
attack."
摘要：

ScannedbyHighroller.ProofedbythebestELFproofer.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.TwinCitiesRunbyDavidRobbinsOURSTORYSOFAR…It'sonehundredyearsafterWorldWarIII.Therearesurvivors.Beforetheinevitablecametopass,awealthyfilmmakernamedKurtCarpenterestablishedasurvivalistretreatinnorthwesternMin...

展开>> 收起<<
David L. Robbins - Endworld 03 - Twin Cities Run.pdf

共219页,预览44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：219 页 大小：425.1KB 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
/ 219
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注