Citadel Run

Chapter Twenty-Two

Yama was helpless to intervene, relegated to standing on the sidelines and observing one of the most spectacular fights he’d ever witnessed. The flow of combat was so swift, with the two G.R.D.’s shifting positions so rapidly, there was no way he could squeeze off a shot without running the risk of striking Lynx.

The two opponents were instinctual enemies, one the result of a human embryo genetically altered to produce a hybrid canine, the other a living embodiment of feline fury.

Shep was the larger by far, and ostensibly the stronger. He slammed Lynx to the cement walk and lunged, the claws on his right hand flicking at Lynx’s, eyes.

Lynx rolled to the left, his left arm slashing sideways as he did, his own claws raking Shep’s shins and eliciting a howl of commingled pain and rage. Lynx leaped to his feet as Shep backed off several steps.

It was the first chance Yama had to fire, but the pair closed again before he could snap off a round.

Lynx and Shep went down in a thrashing, snarling, ripping, and tearing ball of fur, rolling this way and that, neither one gaining a decided advantage but both inflicting numerous severe cuts and gashes on each other.

Yama took his gaze from the conflict long enough to scan the area. This section of the parking lot was evidently deserted and the nearest major artery was the crowded pedestrian sidewalk almost seventy-five yards to the west. A hedge and a small stand of trees provided cover between the pedestrians and the battle royal. Yama concentrated on the fight.

The combatants had rolled into the parking lot, still embroiled in their intense life-or-death struggle.

Neither one seemed to have an edge. The fur and hair, not to mention the sweat and blood, were flying fast and furious.

Yama began to wonder how long the fight would take. Every moment they wasted increased the likelihood of discovery and apprehension.

Suddenly, Shep appeared to be getting the better of his opponent. He was obviously pressing Lynx, who sported a nasty wound on his right temple. In a blur of arms and legs, Shep managed to come out on top, astride Lynx’s narrow chest, his legs pinning Lynx’s arms underneath them.

“Now!” Shep hissed, and clamped his claws around Lynx’s neck.

Yama, ready, brought up the Wilkinson, even as Lynx shifted. Lynx’s hands were hidden from view under Shep’s thighs, and Yama could only imagine what transpired as Shep unexpectedly straightened, his currish features distorted in unmitigated agony. He grunted and clutched at his loincloth, doubling over.

Lynx heaved, hurling his adversary to the pavement. In a flash, Lynx pounced, burying his pointed teeth in Shep’s throat and then jerking backwards, rending the neck wide open. Lynx moved to one side, spitting blood and hair from his mouth.

Shep was experiencing convulsions, his left hand over his groin, his right hand pressed against his ruined throat. His mouth moved soundlessly until, with a final shudder and a quivering of his eyelids, he expired.

“So long, ol’ Shep,” Lynx said softly, more to himself than to Yama. His own breathing was ragged, the strain taking its toll. “You were tough. The toughest I’ve ever fought. Chalk up another one I owe the Doc for.”

Yama walked to Lynx and touched his left shoulder. “We must be going,” he prompted.

Lynx looked up and vigorously shook his head, as if striving to clear his mind of troublesome thoughts. “Yeah. Right, chuckles. I almost forgot. You were sayin’ something about a thermo.”

“Would you know how to use one if we found one?” Yama asked him.

“I think so,” Lynx responded, sounding winded. “The Doc made all of us, all of his little pets, take classes on firearms and other hardware. The Doc doesn’t trust old Sammy too much, and he knew even we couldn’t go up against the Army unarmed. Where’s this thermo of yours:

“Are you up to traveling?”

“I could outrun you,” Lynx bragged.

“Then let’s go.”

Yama headed due north, electing to swing around the sidewalk he’d encountered trouble at before. Unfortunately, the design of the immediate area thwarted his intention. The V.A. Hospital was located due east of the Biological Center. To the north, west, and south were the huge parking lots currently filled with military vehicles and equipment. The pedestrian sidewalk was situated to the west of the Center, but it actually ran north and south. So there was no way Yama could get to the west parking lot from the north parking lot without crossing the sidewalk.

“What’s wrong, bub?” Lynx asked when Yama stopped and frowned.

Yama told him.

“Is that all?” Lynx chuckled. “Stick with me, kid. You might learn something. Come on.”

So saying, Lynx made directly for the thronged sidewalk.

“Did you sustain brain damage in that fight?” Yama facetiously inquired. “We can’t cross that sidewalk. We’ll be seen. What do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see, pal,” was all Lynx would reply.

As they neared the bustling activity on the sidwalk, Yama again speculated on the possible reason the people were all crammed together instead of giving themselves elbow room by using the parking lot. He posed the question to Lynx.

“It’s against the law,” Lynx explained.

“You have laws governing where your citizens can and cannot walk?”

“They’re not my laws, chuckles. The Government makes ’em, and the Government controls every aspect of life in the Civilized Zone. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but the Government keeps a file on everybody. When you were born, what schools you went to, if you’re married or not, how many kids you’ve got, how much money you make and how much in taxes you pay, if you ever broke a law, how much you weigh, how tall you are, what color your hair is. You name it, the Government knows it. Sammy doesn’t miss a trick. As far as the sidewalk and the parking lots go, it’s illegal for a civilian to use a military parking lot for any purpose, not even to cut across. Hell, Yama, they even tell you which side of the damn sidewalk you must walk on. You can only enter the sidewalk at designated entry points. If you should spit on the sidewalk, and you’re caught, it’s five years at hard labor. They’ve even got sidewalk cops to enforce their pedestrian laws.” Lynx sighed. “I was born into a world gone mad.”

“I had no idea you were such a philosopher,” Yama remarked.

“You can’t help but think about the way things are,” Lynx said as they walked past a row of jeeps. “Not if you have a mind, anyway.”

“I’m amazed the people put up with it,” Yama stated.

“What choice have they got?” Lynx rhetorically queried. “The Army has all the guns. The Doc backs up Sammy with the Genetic Research Division, not to mention his other toys. A lot of people don’t much like the status quo, but there ain’t too much they can do about it. You dig?”

“What about the rebels?”

They were ten yards from the sidewalk. “There aren’t enough of ’em. They’re like a bee stinging a bear. The bee can irritate the bear no end, but there’s no way that bee can ever whip the bear.”

Yama scanned the crowded sidewalk as they drew nearer. No one was paying any special attention to them.

Lynx slowed. “Stay real close to me,” he said. “We should be able to make it, no problem, provided none of these dummies saw my picture in the paper.”

“I’ll be right beside you,” Yama promised. To play it safe, he pulled a fresh magazine from his right rear pants pocket and replaced the used clip in the Wilkinson.

Lynx walked right up to the sidewalk, never breaking his stride. When he was still a foot away, he cupped his hands around his mouth. “Make way!” he shouted. “Coming through!”

Yama was startled by the reaction of the pedestrians.

The people on the sidewalk stopped, only a few inadvertently bumping into others as the traffic flow abruptly ceased. A narrow space was cleared, and Lynx and Yama strolled across the walk to the west parking lot. No sooner were they clear of the sidewalk than the flow of people resumed.

“Incredible,” Yama commented.

“It’s no big deal,” Lynx said as they continued bearing west. “You just gotta understand how the people feel about us, about the Doc’s menagerie. They’re scared to death of us. We’re allowed to go where we please, when we please. Even the military is afraid of us. Give ’em another hundred years and they’ll probably make us their gods.”

“And you want to give up godhood?” Yama grinned.

“A slave by any other name is still a slave,” Lynx declared harshly.

“Enough of this yappin’. Where’s the thermo?”

“The trucks we’re seeking should be to the southwest,” Yama replied.

They walked in silence. Lynx alert for soldiers, Yama scouring the vehicles for the munitions trucks he’d seen earlier.

“Can’t you find ’em?” Lynx questioned after a while.

“There are so many trucks,” Yama answered, “and they all look alike. I came across five soldiers loading explosives into some trucks. One of them said they had tactical units capable of firing a thermo a mile or more,” he quoted from memory.

“Keep looking,” Lynx urged. “If we can find ’em, we’ll give the Doc something to remember us by.”

Very few troopers were still in the parking lots. Most were either asleep in preparation for rising early the next day, or else enjoying a wild night on the town, one last fling before going into combat.

Yama stopped, something tugging at his mind.

“What is it?” Lynx asked.

“I think we’re close,” Yama said, studying the nearby vehicles. “I have the feeling I’ve seen this row of trucks before.” He walked south along the row.

“Take your time,” Lynx urged. “I didn’t have a hot date tonight, anyway.”

Yama turned, facing some supply trucks he viewed as vaguely familiar.

“These may be the ones.”

“Keep watch,” Lynx directed, and darted between two of the trucks.

Yama could hear Lynx moving around in the backs of the trucks as he went from one to the other, hunting for the thermo they needed. About thirty yards to the south a trooper came into sight, moving in the direction of the Biological Center.

There was a thump and a crashing sound from within one of the supply trucks.

“Are you all right?” Yama called as quietly as he could while still making himself heard.

“Fine!” was Lynx’s muffled response. “Tripped over a damn crate!”

Yama chuckled. He glanced at the Biological Center, thankful he was out of that horrid edifice, and wondered if the manhunt for Lynx and himself was still in progress. Probably. Would the Doktor be notified and hasten back from the banquet to personally oversee the search? Possibly.

If so, and…

There was a whoop of delight from one of the supply trucks. A moment later. Lynx appeared. He was toting a large, rectangular metal box on his right shoulder. The box was at least five feet long and two feet wide.

Tucked under his left arm was a narrow wooden crate two feet in length and only nine inches wide.

“You found it?” Yama asked.

“Yep. We’re in business, bub. Now let’s find us a jeep. Do you know how to-drive?”

“I do,” Yama assured him.

“Good. Let’s get crackin’. They’re bound to find Shep soon, if they haven’t already, and when they do they’ll know we’re out here somewhere. They may order a general alert, and If they do this place will be swarming with Army types, cops, and G.R.D.’s.”

They hurried, baring to the south, passing trucks and flatbeds and several tanks and even some halftracks. But no jeeps.

“There’s gotta be jeeps around here someplace,” Lynx said with a touch of annoyance. “This thing is starting to get heavy.”

Another fifty feet and they discovered a dozen jeeps parked in a neatly ordered row.

“Find one with the keys in the ignition,” Lynx suggested. “There’s bound to be at least one.”

There was. The seventh jeep Yama checked had its keys in the ignition, ready to be driven off. The green jeep was outfitted with a roll bar, but it lacked a roof. A snap-on canvas top was rolled up behind the two front seats.

Lynx clambered into the back and deposited the metal box and the wooden crate on the floor. “Whew! I had no idea a tactical unit weighed so much!”

Yama sat in the driver’s seat. “Which way do we go?”

“Do you know where Pershing Boulevard is?” Lynx inquired.

“Just south of this parking lot.”

“Yep. Drive to Pershing and hang a right,” Lynx directed.

Yama started the jeep and slowly drove south, turning on the headlights as he left the parking space. He care-fully negotiated the many rows of parked vehicles before he reached Pershing Boulevard.

Lynx leaned forward. “Don’t drive too fast,” he advised, “and don’t drive too slow. Either way, we’ll have the cops on us. Stay at the speed limit.”

“What’s a speed limit?”

Lynx pointed at a white sign with black numbers near the parking lot exit to Pershing. “You see that sign over there? It says the speed limit is forty-five. That means you don’t drive this heap over forty-five miles an hour. Got it?”

“I comprehend,” Yama said. He’d seen a few such signs on his trip from the Home to Wyoming and been puzzled as to the purpose of a sign in the middle of nowhere with only a number on it. Most road signs and highway markers, after a century of abandonment, had blown over, rusted out, or faded to the point of illegibility. He turned the jeep right onto Pershing.

The vehicle traffic, like the pedestrian traffic, was very heavy, although it seemed to Yama the volume was slightly less than when he had arrived in Cheyenne.

“Keep headin’ west until I tell you,” Lynx said.

Their jeep traveled a mile from the Biological Center before Lynx recommended they turn down a side street. The traffic density thinned considerably, but the pedestrians still jammed the sidewalks on either side.

“Hey, Yama,” Lynx said at one point.

“What is it?” Yama was concentrating on his driving.

“After we blow the Biological Center, and if we can get out of the Citadel, what are your plans?”

“I intend to pick up some friends and return with them to the place I came from,” Yama revealed, still unwilling to impart any information concerning the Family and the Home.

“If we get out of this alive,” Lynx said, “the Civilized Zone will be too hot for yours truly. Do you think…” he began, and paused. “Do you suppose I could…”

“Spit it out,” Yama prompted when Lynx inexplicably balked.

“Do you think I could come and stay with your people for a spell? Would they mind?”

Yama perceived that his companion had been embarrassed to pose the question. For what reason? Was Lynx afraid of rejection? “Do you know a G.R.D. by the name of Gremlin?” he asked.

Lynx appeared surprised by the query. “Yeah. I know him. We’re not the best of friends, but we’ve talked a few times. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him in some time. Why?”

“Because Gremlin is living with my people,” Yami elaborated. “We actually think of him as one of our own.”

“Gremlin? Living with you?” Lynx shook his head. “No way,” he stated emphatically. “The Doc removed my collar because he knew I’d try to remove it and wind up committing suicide. But the Doc never removed Gremlin’s collar. I would have heard about it. And if Gremlin turned against the Doc, the Doc would have fried him with a flick of a switch.”

Yama glanced over his right shoulder at Lynx. “I don’t make it a habit of lying,” he said, his tone low and hard.

“I never called you a liar,” Lynx replied quickly. “I didn’t mean anything by what I just said. I find it hard to swallow, is all.”

“Then you’ll find this next tidbit even harder,” Yama predicted.

“Gremlin isn’t the only G.R.D. residing with us. There’s also one called Ferret…”

“Ferret!” Lynx exclaimed. “He’s a pal of mine! I heard he was dead.”

“You heard wrong. Both Gremlin and Ferret are living with us and neither have their collars.” Yama neglected to mention that Ferret was being held under house arrest because the Family wasn’t certain they could trust him. Yet.

“Gremlin and Ferret… free,” Lynx said, his voice abnormally soft and expressive. “It’s my dream come true.” He looked up and found a bright star overhead. “Maybe there is a God up there, after all,” he mused.

“How much farther?” Yama inquired, snapping Lynx back to reality.

Lynx suddenly gripped Yama’s right shoulder. “Turn! Turn right! Now!”

Yama spun the steering wheel, the jeep turning right into a quiet cul-de-sac devoid of other vehicles. The cul-de-sac ended in a small park, and even at this time of the night dozens of people were using the park, some strolling arm in arm, other walking and talking, and still others seated on the park benches, savoring the cool night air. The park-goers idly looked around as the jeep approached, and hastily glanced away once the occupants were identified.

Yama parked against the curb and switched off the motor.

Lynx put his left hand on Yama’s shoulder. “Before we make another move, chuckles, let me give you some advice. If something should happen to me, head for the west wall of the Citadel. They will probably lock Cheyenne up tight as a drum after we play with our fireworks here, but you may be able to shoot your way through the west gate, or talk your way past the guards since you’re in that officer’s uniform, or…” Lynx gazed at the tactical unit, an idea forming. “Or you could bluff ’em. Pull up near the gate and tell ’em to open up or you’ll launch a thermo into the wall. Believe me, they’ll think twice before they open fire on you.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Yama told Lynx, “but it’s a bit premature. We’re going to get out of here together.”

Lynx climbed down and lifted the tactical unit from the jeep. “Bring the wooden crate, sunshine,” he said, and walked to the grass.

The people nearby studiously ignored him while many of them started to edge away.

Yama carried the wooden crate over to Lynx.

“This is the spot,” Lynx announced, depositing the tactical unit on the ground. “I’ll set it up here, but first…” He scanned the park and pointed at an elderly couple sitting on the bench fifteen feet away. “Hey! You two! Yeah, you! Come here!”

“What are you doing?” Yama inquired.

“Leaving our calling card,” Lynx replied.

The elderly duo drew near, doing their best to hide their obvious terror.

“Yes, sir?” the man timidly inquired. “How may we help you, sir?”

Lynx grinned, displaying his sharp teeth. “Citizen, I need you to do me a favor.”

“Whatever you want,” the man promised.

“Thought you’d see it my way. Listen up. I’d like you to go back to that bench and sit down. Stay there. After we leave, some soldiers are going to show up and ask everybody a lot of questions. I want you to give them a message for me. Will you do that?”

“What is it?” the woman asked.

Lynx winked at Yama. “I want you to tell them this. Say to them: Lynx and Yama send their love. Got that?”

“Lynx and Yama send their love,” the man repeated verbatim. “I’ll remember it,” he pledged.

“Fine, Citizen. Thanks. Now go sit on that bench and watch the fireworks.”

“Oh! There’s going to be fireworks?” the woman said excitedly.

“The loudest and the brightest you’ve ever seen,” Lynx confirmed. “Now go and sit down.”

“Anyone ever inform you that you have a warped sense of humor?”

Yama commented as the elderly couple departed.

Lynx laughed. “Let’s get crackin’!” He knelt and began assembling the tactical unit.

Yama looked to the southeast. The Biological Center was clearly visible, rising above most of the surrounding structures.

Lynx worked quickly, his task facilitated by the light from a nearby street lamp. First, he unfolded a collapsible tripod from underneath the rectangular metal box and elevated the unit to a standing position. He swiveled the box, aligning it in the general direction of the Biological Center. The top of the metal box housed a retractable tube, or barrel, and Lynx extended this tube to its full three-foot length. The side panels on the metal box flipped outward, revealing vents on both sides of the unit. Lynx unhinged a panel covering the bottom third of the unit, displaying a miniaturized control board complete with colored lights, meters, silver switches, and buttons.

“Looks complicated,” Yama remarked.

“Keep your fingers crossed, chuckles.” Lynx twisted a button and the meters lit up and a loud hum emanated from the unit.

“You’ve done it,” Yama congratulated him.

“Not yet,” Lynx corrected. He picked up the wooden crate, his claws digging into the wood along one edge, and strained. With a resounding crack, one side of the wooden crate split open. Lynx placed the crate on the grass, removed the remnants of the splintered side, and extracted a gleaming missile. The thermo was two feet long and six inches in diameter. Four fins extended several inches from the base of the missile.

“This is it!” Lynx stated. “We only get one chance.”

“What’s next?”

“We lock it on target.” Lynx handed the thermo to the Warrior. “Place it in the tube with the pointed end up. Those fins fit into special grooves at the bottom of the tube.”

Yama held the thermo aloft and peered down the tube on the tactical unit. He could barely distinguish the grooves at the bottom. Slowly, he eased the missile into the tube and aligned the fins with the slots. “Done,” he announced.

Lynx was bent over the control board. “Let me see. This digital display here will give us the range if I flick this switch.” He did, and the indicated display began showing a series of numbers. “We’re just over a mile and a half from the Biological Center,” Lynx disclosed. He punched several of the buttons and threw another switch. A row of six red lights brightened.

“Good,” he stated, and glanced at Yama. His right index finger hovered near a yellow button. “Once I press this button, there’s no turning back. I’ve set the automatic timer for ten minutes. In ten minutes, this unit will automatically fire the thermo at the preset target.”

“What about them?” Yama indicated the people in the park.

“Don’t worry about them, chuckles. They won’t touch this thing. Are you ready?”

“Do it.”

Lynx pressed the yellow button and smiled mischievously. “I just hope the Doc is in when our surprise package is delivered.”

“Speaking of surprises,” Yama remarked, “we have company.”

Lynx straightened and turned.

A black and white patrol car had turned into the cul-de-sac and was heading their way.

“Cops!” Lynx hissed. “Not now! We’ve got to get out of here!”

The patrol car stopped next to the jeep.