by James Axler
“Would have preferred Xena, myself,” Mildred snorted.
Doc blinked. “Who is that, madam?”
“Lucy Law… Tell ya later!”
Sitting among the laboring engines, the companions were tightly strapped into chairs firmly bolted to the corrugated floor. They were draped in crude ponchos made from plastic shower curtains, and completely surrounded by a lumpy metal cage composed of driveshafts and axles, reinforced by dozens of shock absorbers.
In spite of the cascading deluge from the walls and ceiling, the green mist began creeping around the bumpers, extending tiny tendrils into the Hercules. With a sputter, the front two engines died, and the rear four struggled to take up the slack. After checking the play on their hoses, Doc and Mildred stabbed out the broomsticks to sweep the cloud with the acetylene welding torches duct-taped to the ends, the thin stilettos of blue flame brighter than the sun. As the cloud retreated, the engines struggled back to life.
“Goggles!” Ryan shouted, pulling a sheet of window glass into place.
Moving fast, everybody did the same, with J.B. peering owlishly through his double layer of wire-rimmed glasses and car window.
As the makeshift war wag entered the defensive jets, the wall vents tried to change their angle to stay concentrated on the howler. However, that was soon impossible, and the powerful torrents of deadly steam eased, leaving only the sticky orange foam. In seconds, the companions were drenched, and a welding torch went out with a pronounced hiss.
Keening louder than ever, the howler shambled over the threshold and into the redoubt, only to slam into the moving wall of car bumpers. The Hercules jerked at the collision, and the companions were almost torn from their seats, but their safety harnesses held. Then a diesel engine coughed and stopped.
Kicking the starter on the Harley-Davidson motorcycle, Krysty got the Twin-V 88 auxiliary engine working, and a set of car generators attached to the tireless wheels revved into furious operation.
As the chrome started to peel off the bumpers, exposing the soft iron underneath, Ryan flipped a switch on the dashboard, and the full power of a dozen car batteries cut loose, augmented by a score of alternators and generators. Fat electric sparks snapped and crackled across the grille, and the moaning howler hesitantly retreated.
“Holy shit, it’s working!” Mildred shouted, using a road flare to ignite her torch once more. Then she glanced at the pressure gauge. The repaired tank was already down a third. Damn it, the hose was leaking again! At this rate they’d never reach the nuke crater.
“Only hurt, not chilling!” Jak shouted, trying to get the diesel working once more. A wrench slipped from his hands and dropped through the open gridwork of the floor.
“Don’t need to ace it! Just move the big bastard back a hundred feet!” Ryan replied, frantically working a choke, a throttle, stepping on a clutch and finally shifting into high gear.
The wag was almost at the blast doors, but a glance at the dashboard told Ryan the bad news. The power was dropping again, almost as quickly as the fuel supply. If there had been just one fragging nuke battery among the crashed mil wags, the Hercules would have been unstoppable. Now it was a contest between mutie and machine, with all of their lives riding on the outcome.
Reaching down among the complex array of controls on the floor, J.B. twisted a valve, then pressed a button. There was a low hiss of gas, then the gasoline engines revved with power, the Hercules surging forward as if jet-propelled to slam into the howler with prodigious force.
“Nitrogen gas!” he shouted, keeping a hand on the valve in case the engines started melting. “Found a bottle in the dentist office! Only a few pounds of pressure, but while it lasts…”
With a lurch, the howler fell back. The companions’ wag erupted from the redoubt and started streaking across the glass bottom of the nuke crater.
Twisting the steering wheel hard, Ryan banked sharply in a tight circle and headed straight back at the howler as it tried to reach the closing blast doors.
“You’re not getting inside!” he snarled, sweeping in from the side.
Just for a second, the world disappeared as the companions were engulfed by the swirling cloud. Then the grille of bumpers exploded off the front of the Hercules as they rammed the unseen mutie at full speed. Yellow blood splashed across the front of the wag as a pale, misshapen mutie flew through the air to land sprawling amid a cluster of crystal spires. Twinkling shards blasted everywhere, masking the mutie, and before the companions could get a clear view of the creature, the strange green mists returned to obscure it once more.
Covered in golden blood and orange foam, Ryan swung the war wag around again for a second pass, the four car tires losing traction on the slippery surface, but the six military tires holding on tight. However, at the very last moment, the nitrogen ran out and the engines decelerated, the wag drastically slowing as if hitting an invisible wall. Easily, the howler moved aside. But there was a smear of inhuman blood on the fused soil behind, a contrail of lost life, and the protective cloud was much smaller than before.
Circling the creature, Ryan deliberately slowed this time, and the companions cut loose with their blasters. Then J.B. added a Molotov that had been poured into a vinegar bottle. Sounding almost human, the howler screamed in pain from the rear assault, and more blood spurted from the cloud, splashing across the crystalline earth.
Jouncing over a shallow ravine, Ryan snorted as he studied the dashboard. Every dial was either busted or giving wildly inaccurate data, with engine temperatures showing in the thousands of degrees, the wag’s speed at less than five miles an hour. The ground underneath flashed by in a blur.
“Blast doors?” Ryan shouted, swinging past an out-cropping of slagged bronze that bore a vague resemblance to a man riding a horse. It had to have been an airburst for anything on the ground to survive a thermonuclear explosion.
“Almost… Okay, they’re closed!” Krysty answered. “There’s no way it can get inside now!”
Grunting in reply, Ryan turned away from the howler and started across the bottom of the blast crater, soon leaving the wounded mutie far behind. Even if they had the spare brass, there was no reason to waste it on something they could easily outrun.
“Then good night, wretched boy, parting is such sweet sorrow!” Doc yelled, triumphantly brandishing the broomstick. “Let us say good night, till be it morrow!”
“Stop misquoting Shakespeare.” Mildred laughed in relief, turning off her torch to save gas. The cracked dial said that the tank was empty, but the flame was still bright and strong.
“Ah, but the Bard of Avon had no objection to his actors doing a bit of ad-libbing,” Doc replied haughtily, doing the same to his own torch.
“You’re old, but not that old!”
He grinned mischievously. “Am I not, dear lady?
“Not unless your real name is actually Dr. Methuselah Tanner,” Mildred answered back.
With a roar, the Hercules raced across the nuke crater, Ryan effortlessly dodging the spiky, jagged crystals that rose irregularly from the vista of rad-fused soil. Soon the rad counter on his lapel eased out of the red zone.
“Go left!” J.B. commanded, pulling out his compass to check the heading.
Shifting into a lower gear, Ryan took off in that direction. The sloping walls of the crater were noticeably lower there, and he started up the glass. But the going was extremely treacherous, and every couple of yards the top-heavy wag slid back a little. Only the military tires gave the Hercules any purchase, the civie tires spinning uselessly on the slick material.
“Walk faster,” Jak declared, removing his face shield to wipe the sweat off his face. Then he caught a reflection in the glass and turned around. “Incoming!” he growled, pulling the Colt Python and thumbing back the hammer.
“I see it. Save your brass!” Ryan ordered, both hands white on the steering wheel. “Only shoot when—if—the bastard gets close!”
“Lead doesn’t do anything unless we s
hoot it in the back!” Mildred reminded them.
“I know that!” Ryan snapped. “But mebbe we can…” However, he was out of ideas. If they didn’t reach the crest of the crater before the howler got ahold of them, it would be all over.
Only one choice then, Ryan dourly noted. He’d shift into Reverse and ram the bastard mutie, driving it all the way back down to the redoubt, then try to crush it between the machine and the blast doors. He would buy the farm, but the others could jump out along the way and might survive. Unlikely, but possible.
“Lighten the load!” J.B. commanded, ripping free the useless nitrogen tank and shoving it through the bars of the cage. It hit the fused soil outside with a ringing clang, then skittered away, rapidly increasing speed until it vanished in the distance.
“Doc, get the rear hatch open!” Krysty added, unearthing a wrench and kneeling alongside the Harley. She started undoing the restraining bolts.
“At once, dear lady!” Slapping open the buckle on his safety harness, Doc slipped free and lurched to the rear of the war wag by holding on to the overhead cage.
Ryan fought the shuddering, fishtailing wag yard by yard up the wall of the blast crater. The howler continued after them, steadily moving faster, as if its wounds were healing.
With a creak of tortured metal, Doc got the rear hatch open and pushed it aside, only to have it come swinging right back and almost clip off his hand. Scowling in annoyance, he pushed it open once more, and J.B. tied the hatch to the bars of the cage with a length of fuse.
“Give me a hand,” Krysty grunted, trying to lift the Harley-Davidson from its cradle.
The other companions stumbled over to assist, then awkwardly manhandled the motorcycle to the rear door.
“Careful! We only get one chance at this…” Krysty said through gritted teeth, trying to estimate trajectory and speed amid the constant waggling.
By now the howler was only a hundred feet behind the war wag, the green cloud pulsating as it expanded.
Suddenly, Jak shoved the bike through the door. It hit with a crash, loose parts breaking off to fly randomly away as the machine tumbled down the smooth slope, rapidly building speed. Caught between a ravine and a stand of crystal spires, the howler paused for a spit second in confusion, and the Harley slammed into the creature, pushing it down the crater wall, careening helplessly through an endless array of shattering crystals. Reaching the bottom, the cloud slid along for quite a while before finally coming to a rest near the bronze statue. The ancient metal immediately began to change color.
“Nice shooting, Tex!” Mildred said, patting him on the shoulder. “Ever done any professional bowling?”
Arching a snowy eyebrow, Jak could only stare at her in a complete lack of comprehension.
“That was a compliment,” J.B. told him, pushing back his poncho. Then he grinned. “At least, I think so.”
Slowly rising, the howler shambled forward once more, as unstoppable as the dawn.
“How very annoying. Shall we try the chairs next?” Doc asked, brushing back his long silvery hair.
“Let’s use one of the diesels,” Krysty suggested, flexing her hands.
Jak nodded. “Sounds good.”
Just then, the Hercules stopped fishtailing and with a hard jerk went level again, the speed increasing dramatically.
“Made it!” Ryan sighed, easing his grip on the wheel. Flipping switches on the cracked dashboard, he attempted to turn off a few of the engines to save fuel, but they continued running. “Somebody ace those things!”
“On it!” J.B. replied. Walking over to the nearest engine, he placed a hand on top of the air filter, then reached down and yanked out the distributor cap. With a gasp, the machine stopped, and then he did the same thing to both diesels. There was a lot more juice for the car engines than for the big Detroit power plants, which was a shame, since they got much better mileage.
The hard ground was fused and cracked for hundreds of feet around the nuke crater, something the Trader used to call the dinner-plate effect, but in the distance Ryan could see a vista of growing plants, and past that a scattering of trees.
“We’ll go slower in the woods,” Krysty stated, removing her splattered poncho. “But it sure will be nice to see green again.”
“On the other hand, we better not stop until we are very far away from here,” Mildred advised, gratefully dropping into her chair.
“Now, that could prove to be most unwise, madam,” Doc said, loosening the knotted fuse and closing the hatch to lock it tight. “We should briefly halt to remove as much of this cage as possible. While iron bars do not a prison make, the sheer mass of the metal is slowing us considerably.”
“Agreed,” J.B. stated, wiping his glasses clean. “Speed is our best defense against that mutie.”
“That’s brass in my blaster,” Ryan agreed, pulling throttles and pushing in chokes before applying the brakes. The wheels squealed in protest, and smoke rose from the front tires, but gradually the rattling vehicle came to a full stop near the edge of the grasslands. The ground below was a mixture of fused earth and rich loam.
“Okay, Krysty and Mildred on guard,” Ryan directed, gratefully releasing the steering wheel to flex his sore hands. “J.B. and Doc, cut the cage. Jak and I will do the engines.”
As everybody got busy with their assigned tasks, Ryan took a few minutes to try to massage some life back into his aching muscles. As a young man, he had once killed a cougar with his bare hands, the bastard fight of his life, but trying to control this ramshackle piece of homemade salvation was starting to rate a close second. He felt as if he had been beaten with a club. Even his bones ached from trying to control the machine. With six different engines all running at the same time, it was a miracle his arms hadn’t been yanked out of their sockets.
It took J.B. and Doc almost an hour to cut away as much of the cage as they dared without weakening the structural integrity of the Hercules. Meanwhile, Ryan and Jak removed both of the big diesel power plants and their fuel tanks, then did the same thing to one of the gasoline engines, which had cracked its block sometime during their escape. The engine was still running, but it wouldn’t for long at the rate it was losing oil. The removal cost them a lot of horsepower, but hopefully, the decrease in weight would balance everything out.
“Done, and done!” J.B. announced, turning off the acetylene torch. “We cut away anything more from the frame, and the wag might fall apart.”
“It might anyway,” Doc said in disdain, tossing aside an empty fuel tank. Then he softly added under his breath, “By Gadfrey, we should have named this the vehicle Frankenstein instead of Hercules.”
“The doctor was named Frankenstein, not the creature!” Mildred replied smugly.
“No, madam, the creature was called Adam and took the last name of Frankenstein for himself. Go read the book again.”
“Sure, just let me pull a copy out of my ass!”
Sliding his leather jacket back on, Jak scowled. “How far next redoubt?” he asked, returning to the subject at hand. He really didn’t give a damn about predark whitecoats and their bastard experiments.
“About six hundred miles or so, as the crow flies,” J.B. replied, not bothering to check the map in his munitions bag. “And we have a lot of bad country to cross, too,”
“Want me to take the first shift driving, lover?” Krysty asked, sitting on a nearby tree stump.
“No, I’m good for a couple more hours,” Ryan replied, wiping his greasy hands clean with a gasoline soaked rag. “Just let’s have… Fireblast!”
A glowing green cloud was rising over the rim of the crater, and the wind carried to them a low, inhuman moan.
Chapter Eight
Scrambling back into the stripped-down Hercules, everybody grabbed a seat, and Ryan quickly got the wag moving. The handling was much easier for him with only three engines to contend with, and the speed was considerably faster. He had no accurate way to gauge the velocity, but the grasslands were c
rossed in only a few moments, and soon the crater was lost in the distance behind them. Out of sight, but never out of mind.
Entering the forest, Ryan discovered the remains of an ancient road and followed it deeper into the woods. The trees were well spaced, with lots of sunlight coming through the branches, so lack of headlights didn’t slow them in the least. Miles passed in restful quiet. It was cool among the trees, with squirrels darting about on the ground, and birds singing in the upper branches. The companions smiled at the sweet sounds, as it meant there were no major predators in the area, which was always good to know. There were a lot of bushes alongside the road, blueberry, hydrangea and laurel, along with the occasional wreckage of a partially melted skyscraper, the windows smashed and the interior alive with insects and weeds.
Startled, Mildred sat upright as something flashed by the hurrying wag. “This was a park!” she said, spotting the rusted remains of a wrought-iron bench.
“Most excellent news! Parks indicate the presence of a major city, or even a metropolis!” Doc said with a grin. “And we shall need an abode for the evening. It would be far too dangerous to risk driving across open country at night without working headlights.”
“Even if I had put in a set, they never would have survived ramming the howler,” J.B. said with a dismissive shrug.
However, noon came and passed without any sign of a city. Eventually, Krysty replaced Ryan behind the wheel, and then Jak took his turn wrestling with the mighty Hercules. Coming across a babbling creek, the companions stopped for a break, but then quickly decided against it and moved onward as the creekwater registered hot on the rad counters.
“Lover, what are we going to do if the mat-trans in the next redoubt is also down?” Krysty asked, unscrewing the cap from a canteen to take a drink.
“Check another,” Ryan replied gruffly, rubbing his bristly, unshaved jaw. “But we gotta consider the possibility that the whole bastard system has crashed, and that we walk from now on.”
