Doomsday Warrior 09 - America’s Zero Hour

by Ryder Stacy

  “Anyone alive? Anyone at all?”

  “Rock! Rock? Is that you?” a voice came back from the other end, sounding as dim and muffled as if it was from the moon.

  “Yeah, I hear you, thank God,” Rockson yelled, letting his taut gut relax for the first time. He had been sure they had all died except Archer.

  “It’s Chen, Rock. Believe it or not, we’re all here except Archer and Harrison. Bruises, blood. But everyone’s alive.”

  “Listen pal, there’s no time for talk!” Rock screamed back. “And there’s no time for digging you out. This whole area looks like it’s going to go anytime. And once it does, it’s curtains for all of you. I remember that this passageway comes to a dead end about fifty feet behind you, with nothing but solid granite mountain for a full half-mile. We have to go out my way—and it’s hell. There’s ten or fifteen feet of heavy debris between me and you. I’ve got to do something—drastic.”

  “Go ahead, Rock, we’re with you—whatever you decide,” Chen shouted back. “Good luck.”

  “I’d hoped you’d say that,” the Doomsday Warrior screamed, his lips pressed between the edges of cold stone. “Now get back—all of you. I’ve got two charges left on my belt. I’m going to wedge them about halfway down this wall here and try to blast the motherfucker open. Archer is playing Atlas beyond me. The moment the blast ends, run, you hear me?—run like wolves are on your ass, even if I’m . . . not around.”

  “Roger,” Chen yelled. “We’re heading to the back. Will rendezvous in about ten seconds. Hope I see you again.”

  “Me too,” Rockson muttered as he pulled back from the space and took the cylindrical charges out. The thought of their deaths at his hands wasn’t something he could let himself ponder. He pushed in with his arm, as far as he could, until the explosive packs were over a yard into the blockage. He shimmied backward until he was just shielded by a barrel-sized chunk of mountain that had fallen down, and pressed the detonation switch. The entire world around him shook as if he were in the grip of a vengeful God’s hand and it was being squeezed tighter every second. The roar, the dust, the powerful vibrations of the passage floor, all disoriented Rock for a few seconds as he barely realized where he was. Then it stopped, the echoes rolling down the myriad passages and tunnels of the mountain and a flood of thick dust pouring toward him. And in the midst of it—a running shape, and then another.

  “Should have known you’d be asleep on the job,” Chen said as he rushed to Rockson almost slamming into him in the near darkness. Chen helped Rock stand and move out.

  The rad-suit-clad survivors ran in half-crouches down the smoky passage. “Link hands,” Rock shouted. They did; it was the blind leading the blind in the impenetrable smoke. After thirty feet, the beam of the lamp somehow lit enough of a line of sight to just avoid the spearlike beams and twisted spears of metal that probed out from everywhere. Chen was holding Rock’s hand, and Detroit behind him his, so that all the way down the line, they were connected like a rock-climbing team. It was not the time to get left behind.

  Rock saw Archer ahead, straining with every ounce of his incredible strength to keep the tunnel entrance from collapsing down around them. When he reached him, Rockson squeezed alongside him and pushed with his back as well, as the line of men rushed past them into the more-open tunnel ahead. There was no time left. The charges had been the last straw. Though they pushed with their combined power, the entire frame was going—the support beam shrieking out a high-pitched sound as its hard wooden guts snapped in two. Archer suddenly jumped free from the side and threw his arms under the crossbeam as if trying to take the entire weight of the mountain. Titans had done less in ancient days of myth, than Archer did now. But he was just a man. And Rockson knew the loyal fool would stay there forever to save the rest of them.

  “I’m not leaving till you come,” he yelled out as he readied himself to move. “On the count of three, we both let go and get the hell out of here. Okay, you understand?”

  “Uu-nnd’rrstan,” the giant Freefighter managed to croak out through lips drained of blood.

  “One, two—three!” Rockson screamed, and they both shot away from the archway and toward the tunnel where the rest of the team was waiting for them. The arch gave way the moment they pulled free and came down toward them even as they moved away. The dust and the falling rocks and chunks seemed to almost reach out for the two fleeing humans as if not wanting them to get away. They both tore ass into the wider tunnel, the beams of the ceiling cracking just behind them, one after another, as if following them down the passage.

  “Move, move,” Rock screamed at the stalled line, and Chen in the lead took off. They say sometimes the main part of valor is to know when to run, to run with every bit of strength and heart you have. And now was such a time. Eight of the toughest fighters in America tore down the half-blocked passages without a glance back. Ran as the lowest level of Century City collapsed all around them. Ran even as the noise at last receded behind them, and the cave-in came to a stop. At last they reached the ramp to the higher level and slowed down, collapsing in a gasping heap on the floor. They lay there long minutes, each man praying to his own private God, in thanks for another reprieve in the eternal chess game of death. They doffed their helmets. Rockson caught Archer looking at him with a pleased expression in his grime-coated eyes.

  “You did well, pal,” the Doomsday Warrior said as he rose to his feet. “I’m recommending you for the city’s highest decoration.”

  Archer growled, “Meee—goood!”

  Once back in the living levels of Century City, the men went through the decontamination procedure to ensure that no radioactive material was allowed to come into the city. They came to a room filled with telephone-booth-sized chambers and disrobed, putting the high-rad suits in special lead deposit boxes.

  Rock entered the enclosed glass chamber. The door closed with a slam, followed by a sudden rush of air as the atmosphere Rock carried with him from the radioactive area lifted and was replaced by Century City’s tri-filtered air.

  “Remove all rings,” a pleasant female voice purred from a hidden speaker.

  “I’ve done it already,” Rock answered in a tired voice, having gone through the same routine countless times.

  “That’s fine,” the voice replied. “Stage One will now begin.” A soft chime followed and then violet lights spilled over the floor and ceiling. From inset sprinklers, a shower of water cascaded down on Rockson, cleansing him with a mixture of suds and disinfectants. The water, shot down under high pressure, gave his body a rather pleasant, tingling sensation. After twenty seconds he was rinsed off with pure water.

  “Stage Two,” the voice intoned as dazzling violet beams danced over his body, creating hypnotic strobes of phosphorescent color. He sealed his eyes shut, viewing the light show through his lids. All personnel were equipped with dark glasses for the procedure, but Rockson knew that his mutant eyes could withstand the energy spectrum. His retinas were not the same as those of Homo sapiens. Rockson could look directly into the burning face of the sun without harming them.

  “Stage Three.” A low humming sound built up beneath his feet, growing in intensity until it filled the chamber with a physical presence. Rockson could feel the million-times-a-second vibration caused by the sound waves hold his body in a blurring grip. The sonic waves were literally shaking loose any bits of radioactive particles that were trying to take root in the Freefighter’s skin. At last it was over, and the door opened again with a flash.

  “Thank you,” the voice said softly.

  "Yeah, thanks, lady,” Rock answered the speaker as he stepped out. “I hope it was as good for you as it always is for me.” He put on the set of carefully folded coveralls that had been automatically deposited on a table next to the chamber. The lightweight white cotton one-piece outfit felt good, cool against his skin, after the anti-rad suit’s stifling coarseness.

  Two

  As he walked through the wide central square of th
e underground city, Rockson picked Rath and Shannon out of the crowd of milling workers and technicians who were observing a “street performer’s” magic act. Rath, the intel chief for the City, was a slow, stooped, gray-headed man. Still, he was a commanding figure somehow, with his hawklike nose and the heavy eyebrows, under which rested the deep gray eyes of a man of suspicious nature and high intelligence. Shannon, his assistant, was a well-endowed, strawberry-blond woman of about thirty years of age. She counterbalanced the dour, moody Rath with a bright-eyed efficiency and optimism. Rockson knew them both very well. Rock was about to pass them by, as he had things to do, but Rath’s keen eyes caught him, and the intel chief called him over with a brisk wave. Rock frowned. When Rath wanted to speak to you, it was hardly ever anything you wanted to hear. But it usually was important.

  “What’s up, Rath? How are you, Shannon?” Rock took in her red skin-tight one-piece. “New outfit?” he asked.

  “Rockson,” Rath sneered, “I heard about your near disaster in the tunnel. I’d like to discuss with you soon—in private—your tendency to foolhardy reckless adventure for the sake of adventure. Not just today, but at Fort Minsk—on many occasions. You seem to forget your rank, your responsibilities, your—”

  “This doesn’t sound very private,” Rockson cut him off. “So how about tomorrow, at lunch, in your office? I’ll bring the sandwiches. That all?” Rock turned on his heels.

  Rath shouted after him as he left, “You be there tomorrow at noon. You hear? Be there. No man’s bigger than the whole. You’ve got to obey the rules.”

  Shannon seemed torn for a minute between her boss and Rockson, but then took after the Doomsday Warrior, catching up to him out of sight of Rath. “Please don’t be mad at me for Rath’s bad mood—what he said . . .”

  Rockson stopped in mid-stride and said, “I can’t see how you can work with the man. He’s nasty, and gets nastier every day—and besides that, he’s opposed to and continues to oppose almost every idea I have for waging the war against Killov and Vassily.”

  “He works so hard . . .” Shannon said softly. “The responsibilities of his job are immense. That’s why he is the way he is. Give him the benefit of the doubt. You know how invaluable his network of spies and saboteurs in the Russian fortress cities are. He is really a very sensitive, compassionate man. That’s his problem. He hides the fact that his heart hurts every time he finds out that one of his operatives is caught and tortured to death. Rath is responsible for us knowing when Zhabnov so much as twitches, or where Killov is slinking around. And he feels the weight of all of it—of the whole damned war against the Reds—on his shoulders.”

  Rockson softened to her. “You’re right. Things have been bad—one disaster after another. The strain must be too much for him. God knows how any of us stay sane in all of this. I’ll cool out, Shannon, I promise. And you—give him less coffee, or else put tranquilizers in his cup, okay?”

  Shannon agreed with a laugh and Rock headed on to one of the spacious cafeterias, the Starlight, where he pressed buttons for a tray full of simple but nourishing food—rabbit stew, soybean cheese, and two big slabs of whole-grain bread. But he had barely made it off to a secluded corner table and lifted a steaming spoonful to his mouth when a finger tapped insistently at his shoulder. He smelled jasmine perfume. “Okay, Rona, you seem to want to tell me something . . .”

  Rona Wallender, all red-haired, stacked five feet ten inches of her leaned over the table. He turned to see that her bright green eyes were watery. “Oh, Rock, when I heard that there had been a collapse in the tunnel you were working in, I—” She finished the sentence by lightly kissing him on the cheek. She stared into his intense eyes, the eyes that she knew had seen so much pain and suffering. She quivered with emotion. “I told myself, and God, that if you came out of the tunnel all right, I would stop this silly staying away from you, stop it and tell you I love you. I don’t care if you love Kim too. As long as you want me, I’ll be yours.”

  “Rona,” Rock said, pecking her on the cheek, “I’m glad. I do love you. I’ll always love you. What I haven’t liked is your trying to be the only woman in my life. It—can’t be—now. You understand—since I met Kim . . .”

  Rona touched his brawny tanned arm on the table, squeezing it hard. “I want to come to your room tonight—at nine. Is that okay?”

  Rockson put his hand over hers. “Yes.”

  She grew suddenly bright and smiling. “But don’t tell Kim I gave in. We promised each other that neither of us would sleep with you until you made up your mind which one you wanted as a lover.”

  “Mum’s the word,” Rock grinned, knowing he was heading for trouble again.

  Rona unbuttoned her blouse. Her full breasts and their cream-white nipples seemed to swell like ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. Flushed with desire, she boldly put her long hands out and tore at his pants until they fell to the floor in a heap. She slowly got down on her knees and kissed his manhood, making it stand up, eager, ready, steel-hard. Moans of pleasure came softly through her lips as her tongue slid down the swollen shaft. Rock held Rona’s head, his fingers ran through her fiery locks.

  Her lips moved up and down the long stiff rod, trying to fit its entire length in her throat. Rock reached down and squeezed her firm, full breasts, and then, putting his arms around her, he lifted her up to him as if the slender woman were as light as a feather. He grabbed her behind each of her tan thighs and pulled her up onto him. She guided the long spear of flesh into her, slowly. Rona groaned, her eyes closing, her head dropping back as the stiff organ penetrated her to the core. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, then locked together. He began pumping, slowly at first, and as their passions grew, faster, until he was a jackhammer inside her, her triangle of red hair dripping with the juices of passion. Rock gripped her even closer to him, moving her legs apart, pushing into the deepest recesses of her supple body, taking her to the peak of pleasure.

  Grinding against him, crushing her breasts against his muscled chest, Rona went into her special kind of mutant frenzy, as waves of sensation steamed up from her core. Her head thrashed back and forth, her eyes closed as the softest of catlike noises escaped from her pink lips. Rockson hadn’t made love to Rona for months. Yet their bodies followed each other’s slightest nuance. Perfect. His eyes shut, he felt his life-giving fluid rise up and shoot through his male organ, pumping into her with powerful thrusts. As he came in a violent eruption, her entire form went rigid and then jerked wildly against him. The woman seemed to be trying to push him all into her—completely. For a moment, they merged into one being, joined together in the mindless bliss as old as time itself. Then they lay down spent, exhausted, fulfilled.

  An hour after Rona left, there was a gentle knock on Rock’s door. He thought perhaps she was back and went to the door nude, opening it a crack. There, clad in a gold semi-transparent halter and an equally thin and clinging miniskirt, was Kim. She lifted her sky-blue eyes at Rock and whispered to the man towering over her five foot two inch ultra-feminine form, “Can I come in?”

  Rockson gulped, let her in. Kim moved gingerly, as the only illumination in the room was from the glow of the twisted elk horns he had on his dresser, a souvenir of one of his treks into the unknown lands. Its dull glow didn’t disturb sleep and was enough to move around the room in.

  “Rock,” she said softly, grabbing him around his muscular waist, “Don’t turn on the lights—there is enough—for making love.” Rockson had lived long enough in this world to know that sometimes one had to just go with the flow. Having both women he was in love with in Century City at the same time had its problems, but it also had its pleasures. Double pleasures.

  She undid a hidden clasp and her halter slipped down and fell on the floor, revealing her creamy large breasts and upturned nipples. Another quick movement and the gold miniskirt likewise dropped to the floor displaying Kim’s wispy platinum hair in the vee of her legs. The area caught the red glow of the horn. “Please don’t
tell Rona I broke our agreement. But I had to come. I had to—feel you. You’re not mad, are you?”

  “No,” Rockson smiled weakly. “Not at all.”

  “I can’t stay more than an hour—Rona is so jealous that she sometimes checks on my room to make sure I’m there and living up to our agreement to not sleep with you until you decide which one of us—” She didn’t finish her run-on sentence because Rockson had lifted her up and carried her effortlessly to the bed. “No, I won’t tell,”—he pressed his lips to hers—“if you won’t.”

  Three

  Rock had no idea what time it was, but he awoke to an insistent knocking on his door. Kim was gone—and the sheets were thick with sweat and the sweet, animal smell of sex. Rock stumbled to the door grabbing a towel which he wrapped around him. He opened it. One of the graveyard-shift communications techs was standing there, his hand raised up with a typewritten paper in it.

  “Message, sir,” the tech said, snapping to attention at being face to face with Ted Rockson—among other things, Century City’s ranking military officer. “We picked this up just twenty minutes ago on one of our standard Russian radio interceptions. It was for your attention, sir. I hope I didn’t disturb you!”

  “No, you did the right thing, thanks.” Rock took the message and held it up beneath the low light of the ceiling lamps along the hall . . .

  Ted Rockson: In return for Freefighter help in defeating Colonel Killov at Fort Minsk and for helping to clear other KGB-held areas of the United Soviet States of America, I am going through with my promise to remove all nuclear weapons from the American continent. I know you have sufficient intelligence sources to verify the fact that they will be hauled out by airlifter and boat over the next 2 weeks. But I must warn you, Killov has seized 5 truck-mounted cruise missiles from an arsenal in Idaho Sector. He has headed north. We lost track of him in Canada. Make contact with me in order to coordinate our efforts to neutralize Killov and these weapons. End of message.