Green Bay Run

by David Robbins

  “We were alerted to a series of disappearances.”

  “Might I ask how you found out?”

  “A little birdie told us.”

  “Fair enough. I wouldn’t tell if I were you. But you really have no idea about our true purpose for being here, do you?”

  “Not a clue,” Blade confessed.

  The Director sat back and chuckled. “How ironic.”

  “What is?”

  “That the ancient adage should prove so correct.”

  “Which adage?” Blade asked.

  “Have you heard the one about curiosity killing the cat?”

  “I have no intention of dying,” Blade stated.

  “Please, let’s not be morbid. We have so much to discuss before nine tonight.”

  “What happens at nine?”

  “I’ll save that for a surprise,” Darmobray said. “In the meantime, I’ll provide the reason for our being in Green Bray, and later I’ll take you on a private tour.”

  Blade’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you being so kind?”

  “Because Captain Perinn is not the only one who respects you. Men of our caliber rarely encounter peers of an equal stature. When we do, we should treat one another with the respect we deserve. You and I are not simple-minded idiots.” He paused and folded his hands on the desk. “At this very moment, Warrior, you are indisputably the most famous man on the North American continent.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “I’m serious,” Darmobray stressed sincerely. “Your wide-spread travels, your encounters with most of the major players on the world stage today, and your adventures in the Outlands have all conspired to make you the favorite topic of conversation around many a hearth and campfire. We know about you, the Russians know about you, you’ve had dealings with the Leather Knights, the Androxians, and many others. You’ve probably traveled more extensively across the continent than anyone else. Why should you express surprise at being famous?”

  “I didn’t come here to hear about my past escapades.”

  “I know you didn’t. You are understandably eager to learn the reason for my activities in Green Bay.”

  “So what are you Technics up to this time?” Blade inquired.

  Quinton Darmobray grinned, his eyes sparkling, and placed his big hands on the desk. “You’ll appreciate our purpose, I’m sure. We—more precisely, I—have discovered a technique that, in a few short years, will enable us to rule the world.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “What’s your next move?” Melissa asked.

  “We’ll sit tight until nightfall, then enter the city,” Yama proposed, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel.

  They were on the western outskirts of Green Bay, the jeep parked in an alley between high buildings, hidden in the shadows. Their ride into the city had been uneventful. Neither the Technics nor the walking dead had put in an appearance.

  “Is it wise to stay here while Blade is in their custody, my brother?”

  Samson queried. “Every minute we delay could mean the difference between life and death for him.”

  “There are too many Technics patrolling the streets for us to venture out now,” Yama said. “Under cover of darkness, we should be able to penetrate their security easily.”

  “Maybe so,” Melissa interjected, “but waiting for nightfall is a dumb idea.”

  Yama glanced over his right shoulder. “Oh?”

  “There are more of the walking dead abroad at night. They used to only come out after dark, but that changed a couple of weeks ago and some of them started hunting in the daytime too. If you wait until after the sun sets, the city will be crawling with them,” Melissa detailed.

  “Where do these walking dead come from?” Samson wanted to know.

  “That’s easy. The Technic Research Facility.”

  “Which is where they have undoubtedly taken Blade,” Samson said. “I vote we head there right now and try to get inside before nightfall.”

  “I agree with him,” Melissa said.

  “Do you think you’re coming with us?” Yama asked her.

  “I know I’m coming with you.”

  “This isn’t your fight,” Yama told her.

  “The hell it isn’t!” Melissa declared. “Those bastards are responsible for the deaths of my parents and my brother. I owe them. I want in.”

  Yama looked her in the eyes. “This promises to be extremely dangerous.”

  “So?”

  “I might not be able to protect you.”

  Melissa wagged the Smith and Wesson. “I’ll look out for myself, thank you.”

  “I’d prefer for you to remain with the jeep.”

  “No way. You’re not leaving me alone.”

  Yama frowned and drummed his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. He gazed at the Nazarite. “Tell her this is no job for amateurs.”

  “She appears to be determined to go along,” Samson observed. “And it has been my experience that trying to change a woman’s mind is like beating your head against a brick wall.”

  “Men don’t have any room to talk,” Melissa interjected.

  Yama reached out and touched Samson’s shoulder. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

  “You don’t?” Samson responded, pretending to be shocked by the news.

  “You don’t?” Melissa said, sounding delighted.

  “No, I don’t,” Yama reiterated, and regarded her tenderly. “You were raised on a farm, Melissa. You’ve spent your entire life tending livestock and growing crops. You’ve never killed anyone and you don’t know the first thing about surviving in combat. If you go with us, you’ll be committing suicide.”

  “I’m going, and that’s final.”

  Yama took hold of the keys in the ignition, then hesitated.

  “We’d better get our butts in gear,” Melissa urged. “The Technics won’t be playing patty-cake with your friend.”

  “She has a point,” Samson noted.

  The man in blue started the jeep and slowly drove to the mouth of the alley. After scanning the street, he pulled out and headed northward.

  “You’ll need to direct us to the University of Wisconsin,” he said to Melissa.

  “No problem. Just keep your peepers peeled for the damn Technics.”

  Samson checked his Auto Rifle and Bushmaster Auto Pistols, ensuring each weapon was fully loaded. He stared to the west, estimating they had an hour of daylight remaining. Not much time.

  “Mind if I ask you guys something?” Melissa queried.

  “Anything,” Yama replied.

  “What are the chances of your taking me back to live at he Home?”

  Yama looked at her.

  “I’m serious,” Melissa stated. “There’s nothing left for me around here. My family is dead.”

  “What about friends and relatives?”

  She shrugged. “I have a few, but not any I’m really close enough to that I’d consider living with them. And a woman by herself in these parts is fair game for every wacko who comes down the pike.”

  “The Elders must approve every application submitted by persons who would like to live at our Home,” Yama informed her. “The final decision will be up to them.”

  “Do you think they’d accept me?”

  “You possess talents that would benefit the Family. We can always use another Tiller,” Yama said.

  “I believe the Elders will accept you,” Samson added. “If Yama sponsors you, they will give the application special attention. And I’ll second his sponsorship, if necessary.”

  Melissa studied the Nazarite’s rugged features. “Why would you do that for me? You hardly know me.”

  “I know Yama.”

  Creases appeared on her brow. “I don’t understand.”

  “As well you shouldn’t,” Samson said, and let it go at that.

  Yama kept to the side streets and alleys as he drove ever further into Green Bay. Adhering to Melissa’s directions, he bore on a
northeasterly course, drawing closer to the bay. As they were about to take a left from a narrow alley, Melissa pointed to the right and cried, “Look!”

  Both Warriors saw a jeep approaching from the east, filled with soldiers, perhaps ten blocks distant.

  Yama quickly shifted into reverse and backed from view.

  “Do you think they saw us?” Melissa asked anxiously.

  “We’ll soon know,” Samson said.

  They waited in a tense silence for over a minute, but the jeep never appeared.

  “Stay here,” Yama advised them, and hopped to the ground. He dashed to the mouth of the alley and peeked out to discover the street clear. The Technics must have turned off on another street, he realized, and he returned to the jeep.

  “Are they gone?” Melissa queried.

  “They’re gone,” Yama verified. He drove from the alley, hung a left, and resumed their cautious but steady progress toward the Research Facility.

  A succession of turns brought them to a former city park, a three-acre area overgrown with weeds and brush, located to the south of the site where Melissa claimed the university would be. He angled into the heart of the vegetation and killed the motor. “From here on out we go on foot.”

  Samson slid down and stretched, his camouflage covered arms resembling stout tree limbs. “I pray the Lord will grant us victory.”

  “I’m beginning to believe there isn’t any God,” Melissa said as she jumped from the jeep.

  “Why would you say such a thing?”

  “Where was God when my parents and brother were being torn apart by those monsters? How could a loving Deity allow such atrocities to happen?”

  Samson extended both arms, his hands clenched. “Pick a hand.”

  “What?”

  “Pick a hand,” Samson directed.

  Hesitantly, uncertain of the Warrior’s intention, Melissa walked over and tapped his right fist. “This one.”

  “Now you know,” Samson said, and smiled.

  Melissa glanced at Yama. “Did I miss something here?”

  “Now you know how a loving Deity could allow such atrocities to happen,” Samson elaborated. “Now you know why God has taken the blame for the evil humanity has perpetuated on this planet. Now you know why God is always made the scapegoat.”

  “Uh-huh. Would you mind explaining whatever it is I supposedly know?” Melissa asked.

  “You just exercised your free will when you picked one of my hands, the same free will every man and woman uses every minute of every day. We use that free will to live a life according to the guidance of the inner spirit or we use it to foster evil. Whoever is behind the walking dead used free will to create a legion of evil. You can’t blame Our Lord.”

  “Excuse me,” Yama interrupted. “Could we save the rest of the theology class for later? Right now we have a mission to accomplish.”

  “All of a sudden he’s in a hurry,” Melissa said to the Nazarite.

  “He’s not much for philosophical discussions,” Samson responded, grinning.

  Yama cradled the Wilkinson and trekked to the north, moving soundlessly, a scowl plastered on his countenance.

  Samson leaned closer to Melissa and whispered, “Don’t worry. He’ll feel a lot better after he’s eliminated a few Technics.”

  “He told me about Alicia.”

  Samson did a double take. “He did? Already?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing. We’d better take off before he has a conniption,” Samson advised, and pointed to where Yama stood a dozen yards away impatiently stamping his left foot.

  “Is he always this grumpy?”

  “Only when his life is in complete turmoil.”

  The two Warriors and the farmer’s daughter advanced through the brush for over a hundred yards before they saw the barbed-wire fence and the buildings of the University of Wisconsin campus. Technic soldiers were everywhere in evidence: at the gate, patrolling the fence, and walking to and from various structures.

  Yama crouched in the shelter of a hillock, studying the layout and planning their assault on the Technic stronghold.

  “We have about thirty minutes of daylight left,” Samson whispered as he came up on the right.

  “We’re pushing it too close,” Melissa commented, kneeling on the left.

  “The walking dead will be out in force soon. I’m surprised we haven’t seen some by now.”

  “Count your blessings,” the Nazarite said.

  “We won’t be able to scale that fence without being detected,” Yama stated.

  “How will we get onto the campus?” Melissa inquired.

  “We’ll go under the fence. Find a couple of thick, broken limbs or sticks we can use.”

  “Me?”

  “Why not you? You’re the one who can look out for herself, remember?”

  Melissa frowned but obeyed, slipping off to the west.

  The moment the brunette was out of sight, Yama turned to his friend.

  “Promise me something.”

  “Anything for you, brother.”

  “No matter what happens once we’re in there, no matter what it takes, you’ll protect her at all costs.”

  “Never fear. I know what to do.”

  “It’s strange. I hardly know her, and yet I’m extremely attracted to her.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  Yama’s eyes narrowed slightly. “For someone who is about to confront superior odds in a fight to the death, you’re in a very good mood.”

  “A healthy sense of humor preserves the sanity.”

  “Can I quote you?”

  “Anytime, brother.”

  “Just remember what I said about Melissa.”

  “What did you say?” the lady in question asked, coming around a bush on their left, several sticks in her arms.

  “That was fast,” Yama commented.

  “What did you say about me?” Melissa probed, refusing to let him divert her from the topic.

  “That you ask too many questions and never know when to be quiet.”

  Melissa glared and dropped the sticks at his feet. “Here. You know where you can shove these.”

  “Feisty wench, isn’t she?” Samson commented appreciatively.

  “Don’t call me a wench.”

  “Sorry. I meant no insult.”

  An uncomfortable silence descended for all of ten seconds, at which point Yama scooped up the sticks and moved to the top of the hillock, where he flattened and scrutinized the campus again.

  “I didn’t mean to snap at him,” Melissa whispered to the Nazarite.

  “He understands, I’m sure.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, no, but I thought I’d try and cheer you up.”

  They crept to the crest and joined the man in blue. The Technic soldiers were still going about their daily routine, and a change of guard was taking place at the gate. Four new troopers were relieving those who had been on duty.

  “It must be time for a shift change,” Samson said softly. “This could be the opening we need.”

  Pairs of soldiers appeared to replace those patrolling the barbed-wire fence. Idle conversations were started, and none of the Technics were paying the slightest attention to the outer perimeter. Believing they had the population cowed, and after months without a disturbance, they had grown careless and smug.

  “Follow me,” Yama directed. He crawled toward the fence, using every bit of available cover, skirting bushes and thickets. In five minutes he came to a clump of weeds and paused to take his bearings. He parted the weeds and received two swift shocks.

  Not ten feet away, between the park and the campus, was a wide road.

  And approaching from the east, shuffling in a compact mass, their eyes empty and their arms limp at their sides, were hundreds of the walking dead.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Once you see my accomplishment with your own eyes, you won’t be so skeptical,” Quinton Darmobray stated proudly
.

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Blade responded.

  They were following a cement walk toward a long, low building situated in the center of the campus. The sun hung above the western horizon and a cool breeze blew in off Green Bay. Trailing behind them came an armed escort consisting of six Technic troopers.

  “I should think that you, of all people, should have learned by now not to underestimate our technological accomplish-ments,” the Director commented. “You’ve seen Technic City. You know what we’re capable of.”

  “You’re accomplished marvels with science and technology,” Blade admitted, “but you’ve lost sight of fundamental spiritual values in the process.”

  “Spiritual?” Darmobray repeated, and uttered a snorting noise. “Oh, yes. I must remind myself that the Family still clings to outdated concepts of truth, goodness, and spirituality. Your people even believe in a supreme Spirit Being, don’t they?”

  Blade nodded.

  “Fascinating. Perhaps, after we have subjugated the Home, I’ll prepare a dissertation on the superstitious beliefs of your primitive band of do-gooders,” Darmobray said sarcastically.

  The Warrior glanced at the Director, who stood six and a half feet in height and weighed a muscularly proportioned 250 pounds at least. “You should live so long.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “A prediction. Any society that denies the reality of the Spirit is doomed to extinction.”

  Darmobray snickered. “Is that another sophist tidbit taught by your vaunted Elders?”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Of course it is. And there’s a jolly old fat man who lives at the North Pole with his wife, eight reindeer, and one hundred and ten elves.”

  “What?”

  “Santa Claus.”

  “Who?”

  The Director almost broke his stride. “Your Family doesn’t believe in Santa Claus, that demented fart who travels around the world in a sleigh once a year scattering reindeer droppings all over the place and delivering shabby gifts to selfish brats?”

  “Oh. Him. We read about him during out schooling years, but our Founder didn’t perpetuate the practice,” Blade disclosed.

  “And what about the Easter Bunny?”

  “Rabbits don’t lay eggs.”