by Ryder Stacy
The waters took all of it down. Took them all as Moses had commanded the Red Sea to take the pharaoh’s chariots. Of such things are legends born.
Twenty-Seven
The raging water released by the dam continued to churn debris downriver like clothes in a washing machine. The currents put in play by the super-tonnage of water rushed from bank to bank with bubbles and whitewater everywhere. Dead camels, troops of Killov’s army, a high priest here and there, white robe billowing out in the water—all floated by, bobbing up and down, spinning around in the mud-black river. A river of the doomed.
Already vultures roamed high in the sky in great arcing circles, slowly swooping lower down as the vanquished began rolling up onto the shores of the Nile, snagging among the weeds, dragging onto stumps that jutted out. Crocodiles, vultures, ants, bugs, and beetles of every size and description began feeding on them. Taking what was now theirs.
In the midst of it all, a small figure floated half submerged alongside a dead bloated camel. His gaunt face was hidden in the black waters that swirled around the slowly turning beast whose white stomach was distorted and had risen up like dough in the oven. The submerged figure’s eyes darted back and forth, continuously raking the waters for crocodiles. In one hand he held a length of broken sword by the dull end of the blade. The other hand clutched the soaked, thick hairy hide of the bloated animal’s side, pressing close against the camel so he couldn’t be seen. Colonel Killov kicked slowly to keep from going under as he floated along, dead center in the river, only occasionally allowing his mouth to reach the surface and suck in air.
As he floated, he cursed silently. He had been so close. He had had both sides of the power spectrum in his grasp. His armies were poised to sweep all of Africa. And then . . . Total and complete annihilation!
He would devote the rest of his life to taking out Rockson. Nothing else mattered now. Nothing.
And suddenly, from the pits of the darkest depression the skull-faced KGB butcher had ever known, he was released. He felt risen up into a kind of mad elation. An elation of revenge. And he began planning how he would kill him. Would he strangle him? Pour acid on him? Oh, the many ways that Ted Rockson could die! And in a bizarre way, Killov almost felt sort of happy as he fended off crocs and lashed out at vultures that swung too low. As his dead camel slowly spun down the endless black Nile, he realized that he had a reason to live.
NEXT:
Table of Contents
Back Cover
Preview
Titlepage
Copyright
DOOMSDAY WARRIOR #15 AMERICAN ULTIMATUM
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
