Green Bay Run

by David Robbins

  “No way,” Yama said confidently. Blade and Samson would be safe inside the transport. But what if one of them had stepped outside and been surrounded? Troubled by the possibility, he resumed racing toward the highway.

  Melissa flew beside him.

  They pulled far ahead of the pack of walking dead, and shortly came to State Highway 54. Yama moved to the center of the road and surveyed the highway for as far as he could see. The SEAL was gone.

  “Where are your friends?” Melissa asked urgently.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure we’re at the right spot?”

  Yama nodded, certain they were at the point where he had jumped from the SEAL.

  “Maybe they’ve left you.”

  “They would never desert me,” Yama stated stiffly.

  “Then maybe the Technics got them.”

  The Warrior’s features shifted, perceptibly tightening. “We’ll head for Green Bay,” he announced, and walked eastward.

  “We’ll what?” Melissa asked. She balked at the idea, hesitating, then gazed at the foreboding woods and hastened after him. “Now hold on, handsome. Going to Green Bay isn’t a very bright idea.”

  “My friends and I were on our way to Green Bay. Since they’re not here, they must be on their way into the city. Even if they’re not, they’ll show up there eventually.”

  “But the Technics have taken over the old University of Wisconsin campus. They control Green Bay.”

  “I know.”

  “The walking dead come from there.”

  “I know.”

  Melissa blinked a few times in astonishment. “And you still intend to go there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I take back what I said about hardheaded men. You’re all a pain in the tush.”

  The Warrior looked at her. “You don’t have to come with me. Hide in the forest until I return.”

  The proposition seemed to shock her. “You’d leave me here alone?”

  “You have the Smith and Wesson. Since you were raised here, you must know this area well. Find a place to hide where the walking dead can’t get you. Climb a tree if you have to.”

  “You’d really just up and leave me?”

  Yama halted and faced her. “I don’t want to leave you. In the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve grown rather fond of you.”

  “You have?” Melissa responded, even more shocked than before.

  “If you don’t want to go into Green Bay, I can’t throw you over my shoulder and cart you there. I’d rather that we stay together, but I’ll respect your wishes. If you stay here, it’s your decision, not mine.”

  “How do you mean you’re fond of me?”

  “I like you,” Yama said, and resumed his trek.

  Melissa beamed for a moment, then adopted a serious expres-sion and stepped to his side. “You like me how?”

  “I think you’re attractive.”

  “You do? In what way?”

  The Warrior glanced at her. “Aren’t you the least bit embarrassed talking about yourself?”

  “No. Why should I be? I haven’t had that many men show an interest in me. I want to know what it is about me you like.”

  “I can’t believe many men haven’t been interested in you,” Yama remarked. “You’re extremely attractive.”

  “You think so?” Melissa asked, and grinned.

  “I know so.”

  She regarded him critically for several seconds. “I suppose a good-looking guy like you has had a lot of experience with attractive women.”

  “No.”

  “Oh? Do you have a girl friend back where you come from?”

  “No.”

  “A wife?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t the women there know a good thing when they see it?” Melissa asked bluntly.

  Yama grinned, then seemed to stare off into the distance. “There was a woman once, but she wasn’t from my Family.”

  “Were you in love with her?”

  “Yes,” Yama confessed.

  Melissa studied his face, noting a tortured aspect to his eyes. “What happened to her? Did you break up?”

  “No,” Yama said softly. “She died.”

  “Disease?”

  Yama bowed his head, then cleared his throat and gazed straight ahead. “She was shot.”

  The agony reflected in his strained tone awakened Melissa to the depth of his inner torment. Finally, here was a man to whom she was strongly attracted, and he obviously had something eating at him. Intense curiosity filled her. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” Yama replied, scanning the woods for any sign of the walking dead.

  “Sometimes it helps to get things off your chest.”

  “I’ve never discussed this with anyone. Alicia’s death was too personal.”

  “Alicia was her name?”

  “Alicia Farrow. Lieutenant Alicia Farrow.”

  “She was an officer? Where? At the place you’re from?”

  “Alicia was a Technic soldier.”

  The revelation stunned Melissa. Her eyes narrowed and she gripped his arm. “You were in love with a Technic?”

  “A Technic who was a woman first, a soldier second. She betrayed her people for me, and she died trying to save my life. Say whatever you want about the Technics, but never insult her.”

  Melissa released his arm and struggled to compose her swirling emotions. “Were in you Technic City when this happened?”

  “No. I’m from a compound located in northwestern Minnesota known as the Home—”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Alicia Farrow and another Technic, a Captain Wargo, came to our Home and made an offer to the Family Elders. They claimed to come in peace. Their leader, the Technic Minister, had allegedly sent them as his emissaries to request our aid in a joint venture that would ultimately benefit all humankind. They said they knew where we could find the Genesis Seeds.”

  “The what?”

  “According to the story they told us, a group of scientists had succeeded in perfecting a new strain of seeds shortly before the war, seeds radically different from those already in existence. There were supposed to be fruit, vegetable, and grain seeds that could grow in barren soil and only needed minimal amounts of water. The Technics said the Genesis Seeds were stored in an underground vault in New York City. They wanted us to venture to New York in the SEAL, that van you saw,” Yama related, then sighed. “At least, that was what they claimed.”

  “And you believed them?”

  “The Family had had no previous dealings with the Technics. We were skeptical, but we had no concrete reason to distrust them. They even agreed to leave one of their own people at our compound while the SEAL

  was away as a pledge of their sincerity.”

  Insight abruptly flared and Melissa did a double take. “Alicia Farrow?”

  “Alicia,” Yama confirmed. “We spent a lot of time together.”

  “You fell in love?”

  “We grew to love one another, yes.”

  “So what happened then?”

  “The Technics, you won’t be surprised to learn, were lying to us. They wanted to destroy the Family and confiscate the SEAL. They—”

  “Wait a second!” Melissa blurted out, amazement widening her green eyes. “The Home! The Family! Why didn’t I make the connection before?

  You’re the ones who took on the Technics and beat them. You’re the ones who killed the Technic Minister.”

  Yama nodded. “One of the Warriors took care of the Minister.”

  “Your Family was the talk of the Outlands.”

  “So we’ve been told.”

  “But what happened to Alicia?” Melissa pressed, feeling guilty about prying but needing to know the details. The Warrior was unlike any man she’d ever known. He radiated a supreme self-assurance and a virile, raw magnetism that attracted her intensely.

  “The Technics had a demolition squad lurking o
utside of the Home, waiting for a signal from her. They planned to sneak over our walls in the middle of the night and set their explosive charges. We found the signal device in one of her pockets, and we assume she sent the signal,” Yama detailed. “She came up on the rampart and bumped into me. I was on guard duty, filling in for another Warrior, and she was surprised to find me there.”

  Melissa remained silent, listening to every word, detecting every nuance.

  “She tried to lure me from my post and I became suspicious,” Yama went on. “At the last minute, when the demolition team was right outside the Home, she had a change of heart and warned me. The Technics scaled our wall. I had hidden on a flight of stairs, intending to jump them when they got closer. Unknown to me, the Technic commandos all had sensitive sound amplifiers in their helmets. They could hear a pin drop at fifty feet.

  Alicia must have suspected they knew where I was hiding and feared they would mow me down the moment I stood up.”

  Melissa scarcely breathed, enthralled by the tale.

  When Yama next spoke, his words were barely audible. “She drew their fire to save my life. One of them cut her to ribbons. I was able to dispose of the demolition squad.” He paused. “Alicia died in my arms.”

  They covered 20 yards without saying a word.

  “There’s something I don’t understand,” Melissa mentioned tentatively.

  “What?”

  “If Alicia loved you so much—and I’m not implying she didn’t—then why did she send the signal to the demolition team? How could she want to see your Family harmed, your Home destroyed?”

  The Warrior’s shoulders slumped. “She was under the mistaken impression I loved someone else, that I was using her.”

  Melissa digested the information for a minute. “She must have loved you very much to betray the Technics. I’ve never heard of a Technic soldier disobeying orders before. The Technic bigwigs impose strict discipline on all their people.”

  Yama gazed up at the blistering sun and mopped his left hand across his perspiring brow. “And now they’re up to their old tricks again.”

  “Actually, they’re up to new tricks,” Melissa said, and grinned.

  “Whatever it is, I’m going to put a stop to their scheme,” Yama vowed.

  “Do you want revenge for Alicia’s death?”

  “I’d like to see them suffer as I have suffered,” Yama admitted. “Thanks to the Technics, I experienced the greatest loss a man can know, the loss of the woman he loves. I’ve harbored resentment of them since Alicia was shot. Maybe if I can repay the Technics in some small measure, I can finally come to terms with her death.” He glanced at Melissa. “It’s time for me to get on with my life. I can’t mope forever.”

  “We should live so long,” Melissa said, staring at the forest on the left side of the highway.

  Yama looked in the same direction and saw the line of figures jogging toward them. He recognized the awkward gait instantly. The walking dead!

  Chapter Thirteen

  What should I do, O Lord?

  Samson crouched under the sheltering branches of a towering pine tree and watched the Technics load Blade into a jeep. He observed other troopers pile into four other vehicles, and he knew they would depart at any second. The soldiers kept Blade covered at all times. If he tried to rescue his friend, the Technics would probably shoot Blade on the spot.

  There were simply too many troopers, too many automatic weapons, for Samson to attempt to take them all on alone.

  Where was Yama when he needed him?

  The five jeeps roared to life. The drivers performed U-turns, and within moments the vehicles were speeding toward Green Bay. Twelve of the soldiers had stayed behind. They were huddled near three parked jeeps, listening to a noncom speak.

  Samson couldn’t hear the words, but he suspected the squad was about to search the area for the SEAL. He would have done the same if the situation was reversed. Since Blade had told him to stay with the transport, he felt obligated to protect the van. Consequently, he melted back into the vegetation and headed to the north.

  If only he could have reached the highway sooner!

  He’d heard shots, the familiar thundering of the Commando, and raced toward Highway 54. By the time he’d covered the yards to the road, the Technics had already arrived and were watching Blade battle a deformed Lynx, their Dakon II’s trained on the giant.

  There had been nothing Samson could do.

  He came to a thicket and paused to look back. Sure enough, the 12 troopers were fanning out. Six were walking toward the forest bordering the south side of the highway and the rest were coming to the north, coming toward him.

  Samson smiled and eased into the thicket. He lowered himself to the ground and waited. A beetle crawled past his right arm, and somewhere a cricket chirped. While he waited, to compose his mind, he mentally recited one of his favorite Psalms. “Save me, O God, by thy name, and judge me by thy strength. Hear my prayer, O God; give ear to the words of my mouth. For strangers are risen up against me, and oppressors seek after my soul: they have not set God before them. Behold, God is mine helper: the Lord is with them that uphold my soul. He shall reward evil unto mine enemies: cut them off in thy truth. I will freely sacrifice unto thee: I will praise thy name, O Lord; for it is good. For he hath delivered me out of all trouble: and mine eye hath seen his desire upon mine enemies.” He smiled, relaxed and ready, and added, “And grant this humble prayer, O Lord. Give me the strength of ten men that your loyal servant might smite those who have transgressed your ordained order.”

  A pair of soldiers materialized 15 feet off, walking around a tree, their Dakon II’s held at waist level. They advanced warily.

  Samson watched them intently. He gently placed the Bushmaster Auto Rifle on the ground, then snaked silently to the edge of the thicket.

  Shielded by the branches and leaves, he put his hands underneath him and coiled his massive arms.

  The soldiers came ever nearer, unaware of the proximity of the Warrior, his camouflage clothing rendering him invisible in the thick vegetation.

  Samson let them come within a yard of the thicket before making his move. He shoved erect and burst from concealment, stepping between them and looping a brawny arm around each man’s neck. His sinews rippling, he swung them almost back-to-back and squeezed.

  Both Technics were startled by the abrupt assault. Feeling their breath choked off and unable to employ their assault rifles, they instinctively clutched at the steel bands encircling their throats, endeavoring to break loose. But they might as well have been striving to pry off a boa constrictor.

  Samson lifted both men effortlessly into the air, raising their wildly kicking combat boots six inches from the soil. He gritted his teeth and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed. The Technic on the right succumbed first, twitching and sputtering and then going limp. Seconds later the other soldier gasped loudly and stiffened. Samson applied pressure for an additional ten seconds, to be certain, then allowed both men to sprawl on the grass.

  Had the other Technics heard the struggle?

  The Warrior crouched and listened. Satisfied he hadn’t been detected, he retrieved his Auto Rifle and moved stealthily through the trees, seeking other foes. He didn’t have far to look.

  A lone Technic stood next to an oak tree, yawning, plainly bored by the detail, wishing he was in Technic City instead of a godforsaken forest in the middle of nowhere. Because he considered their search to be a waste of his precious time, he failed to exercise the proper degree of caution.

  Consequently, he was more than mildly astonished when a pair of iron hands clamped on the sides of his head and twisted sharply. The last sound he heard was the snapping of his own neck.

  Samson released the trooper and continued his hunt. He spotted the three other soldiers two dozen yards to the east. They were moving northward, sticking close together, professionals in every respect. He realized he would be unable to catch them unawares, which left him little recou
rse. Unslinging the Bushmaster Auto Rifle, he sighted on the Technic on the left and fired.

  To their credit, the trio displayed superb reflexes. Each man spun toward the Nazarite, and each man received a hail of lead for his effort.

  They were flung to the earth to convulse and die.

  There was no time to lose!

  Samson turned and raced toward the highway, anticipating that the remaining six Technics on the south side of the road would hasten to the aid of their companions. He traversed ten yards and came abreast of the wide trunk of a deciduous tree. Stepping to the right, he slid behind the tree and pivoted sideways.

  Now all he could do was wait some more.

  “Where did it come from?” an anxious voice shouted from the vicinity of Highway 54.

  “I don’t know,” another soldier responded.

  “This way! This way!” cried a third.

  The Nazarite stood stock still, listening to the pounding of 12 combat boots as the troopers drew closer to his hiding place. Their concern for their comrades had made them careless. When he judged them to be within range, he popped into view and cut loose, sweeping the Bushmaster from left to right.

  The tactic worked flawlessly.

  Only one of the Technics snapped off a few rounds from his Dakon II, and the shots went wild and smacked into the tree next to the Nazarite.

  The rest all took several rounds in the head or chest and toppled in a ragged line. A tall trooper screamed and thrashed for half a minute before expiring.

  Samson ejected his spent magazine and slapped in a fresh one from the pouch he carried on the back of his belt. He ran to the highway, pausing just long enough to ensure all of the Technics were dead. At the edge of Highway 54 he gazed to the east, but the five jeeps were out of sight.

  Now what should he do?

  His Warrior training dictated his course of action. Whenever a Warrior in the field was separated from his fellows, that Warrior should make every effort to rejoin his companions. The Elder who taught the Warriors had stressed the point repeat-edly. His only problem entailed the fact that he was separated from both of his friends. So which one should he go find?

  Blade or Yama?

  The answer became obvious.