Sting swung to the right, then the left, seeking its prey, and finally the two eyes on top of its cephalothorax spied the pair standing 40 feet away. Its legs pumped, driving the tank of a body toward them, and its pincers snapped in anticipation.

  "Not yet," Grizzly said.

  "I wish I had a bazooka," Blade said, unable to take his eyes from the onrushing monstrosity. Doubt assailed him. How could he ever hope to prevail over such an invincible natural engine of destruction? Pitting his sinews against the armored behemoth seemed certain suicide. Grizzly began to backpedal. "Get set," he said. Nodding, Blade did the same. On came the hideous mutation.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  "Now!" Grizzly barked.

  Together he and the Warrior whirled and raced toward the south wall, eliciting jeers from the throng who assumed they were fleeing from the scorpion. But they halted shy of the wall, standing directly under the lip of the platform where they were screened from the eyes of those on top. Instantly Blade cupped his hands and crouched.

  "I'll drop down a weapon," Grizzly said, and took two strides, placing his right foot in the giant's palms and leaping upward at the same second that the Warrior's bulging arms flung him on high. The combined momentum shot him toward the platform like an arrow.

  Blade saw the bear-man straighten, saw the hybrid's fingers go rigid and the claws snap out, and watched as Grizzly sailed past the edge of the platform, missing it by a hair. And then he had to whirl to confront the monster bearing down on him, now only 10 feet away.

  The scorpion's left pincer arced at the giant's head.

  Blade ducked and felt the pincer brush his hair even as he threw himself to the right onto the dirt floor and rolled several yards before rising to his knees. The scorpion had kept on going and was beginning to turn.

  A shriek sounded on the platform and suddenly a body pitched over the side and landed with a thud below.

  The Warrior recognized Nelson. Five razor claws had reduced the man's throat to ribbons and blood still gushed forth. He darted to the gunner's side and flipped him over, glancing at the scorpion as he did.

  The beast had rotated and was advancing again.

  Profound relief washed over Blade as his hands closed on the Bowies. Out they came and he rose, smiling, hearing a series of tremendous roars from above mixed with screams and angry curses. He longed to be at Grizzly's side but he had to preserve his own life first.

  Its pincers waving, the scorpion closed on Blade.

  Even with the knives, Blade knew he was at a profound disadvantage. He retreated, avoiding a pair of mighty swipes, and tried to parry a third swing with his Bowie. The jarring impact of the massive claw almost tore the knife from his grasp and made him stumble.

  General pandemonium reigned in the stands. There were screeches of terror, a chorus of frantic yells, and shots.

  All of which Blade barely heard. He concentrated exclusively on evading the scorpion's pincers. The thing was fast, but it invariably telegraphed its intent by drawing back the pincer it planned to use to strike before doing so, enabling Blade to dodge five more swings.

  His knives were next to useless against such a foe. If he tried going for the thing's head, one of its few vulnerable parts, those pincers would undoubtedly crush him to a pulp.

  The scorpion abruptly bent its body low to the ground and speared its tail at the Warrior.

  Blade narrowly missed being impaled. He darted to the right, trying to keep track of both pincers and the tail simultaneously. That wicked stinger lanced at him again, then a pincer, then the tail, and each time he succeeded in sidestepping by a fraction of an inch.

  As if frustrated by its failure, the scorpion intensified its efforts.

  Again Blade skipped out of reach of a pincer. The tail. A pincer. Twisting and weaving, he was holding his own until the unexpected transpired. Blade's left foot encountered a slick spot on the arena floor, a patch of blood spilled by the previous contestant, and with a sickening sensation in his gut, he slipped and crashed onto his back.

  Immediately the scorpion moved in, standing astride its prey, its pincers lowering.

  Blade looked up at the monster's head and saw its mouth working. The pincers were swooping in from both sides. He couldn't scramble out or to the right or left—to do so meant certain death. The only alternative was to use his elbows and legs to move under the monster. He slid frantically beneath the cephalothorox and discovered its soft underside wasn't protected by an iron exoskeleton.

  Apparently puzzled by his disappearance, the scorpion stood with its pincers swinging from side to side.

  The Warrior drove both Bowies deep into the creature's body, not knowing if he would hit a vital organ or not, but determined to do a great amount of damage as swiftly as possible. He stabbed again and again, thrusting and twisting each knife repeatedly, opening large holes and grimacing as gore and a pale fluid splashed onto his face and chest. Eight, nine, ten times he plunged the Bowies into the monster.

  In a burst of motion the scorpion ran forward a dozen yards and halted, its tail and pincers jerking frantically.

  Blade jumped up and swung around to face the beast, his Bowies held at waist level, prepared to renew the battle, but a most astonishing event transpired. The scorpion started stinging itself with its own tail! He watched in gratified bewilderment as the monster sank its stinger into its broad back a half-dozen times in rapid succession. Then it lumbered toward the west wall, gathering speed as it went. At the base of the wall, it clawed upward, using its stout five-foot-high rear legs to push its bulk from the ground. By extending to its full length and reaching out as far as the pincers would go, the scorpion managed to grip the lip and began to haul itself laboriously from the arena.

  The crowd went crazy, realizing its purpose and fleeing in terrified abandon, men and women shoving and fighting as they struggled to be first to the exits.

  Blade heard a roar and turned.

  Only one living being remained on the platform. Death Master's entourage were all dead, their bodies cut and ripped and hacked to pieces, lying in spreading pools of blood. A severed arm lay here, a leg there, while fingers and hands were scattered everywhere. Vank and Drazil had been sliced wide open; they were lying on their backs with their entrails oozing out.

  At the edge of the platform stood the blood-spattered form of Grizzly, his chest heaving from his exertions, his fur marred by a dozen minor wounds, a knife jutting from his left thigh. He held aloft the object clutched in his right hand, a grisly trophy commemorating his triumph, and beamed proudly. Then his head bent back and he voiced his primal challenge again, the roar carrying the length and breadth of the arena, spurring the departing spectators to go faster.

  Blade glanced at the stands and saw the scorpion thrashing wildly, in its death throes. The seats were emptying on all sides and soon the crowd would be gone. A loud thump sounded nearby and he looked down to see something rolling toward his legs. It came to rest a yard away, its features locked in a defiant snarl, its disparate eyes lifeless, its tongue protruding from between its teeth. It was Death Master's head.

  An hour later Blade and Grizzly hiked through the empty streets of the subterranean town toward the entrance. Snug in their sheaths on the Warrior's hips were his Bowies. In his arms he held an Uzi taken from Death Master's armory. Slung over his left shoulder was a Marlin 45-70. He wore a backpack crammed with supplies needed for the impending trek through the desert. "There might still be some hiding out," he said.

  "I don't care," the hybrid said, his countenance a study in forceful resolution.

  "Neither do I."

  They slowed as they neared the outer tunnel, wary of an ambush.

  "I can't believe they won't retaliate," Blade said, trying to prevent his friend from dwelling on Athena's death by keeping the conversation going.

  "They're a bunch of wimps," Grizzly responded. "They didn't stick around to see Sting die, so they probably figure the thing is running loose in Mesaville."

  "And don't forget that most of them saw you kill Death Master. I wouldn't be surprised if they're equally scared of you."

  There was no one in the tunnel and no guards on duty outside. Stars sparkled in the heavens and a cool breeze blew in from the northwest.

  Grizzly inhaled and smiled wanly. "I haven't been out here in ages. Forgot how beautiful it is."

  Blade led the way westward. Muted voices sounded on both sides, and he discovered gang members hiding among the boulders lining the bottom of the mesa. None made a move to interfere. Most pointed and whispered excitedly.

  "Like I said. Wimps," Grizzly said.

  They never broke stride. Soon they were several hundred yards from Mesaville and they stopped to gaze back. Dozens of toughs were heading into the tunnel, evidently believing the coast to be clear.

  "You don't plan to warn them, do you?" Grizzly asked.

  "Warn them about what?"

  The hybrid began to grin, then sighed. "I should have been the one who died, not her."

  "Just don't let her sacrifice be in vain."

  Grizzly glanced at the giant. "I'm going back, aren't I?"

  "Jag will be glad to see you," Blade said. He resumed walking, thinking of Havoc and Athena, his soul filled with melancholy.

  "Are you sure you can handle having two hybrids on the Force?"

  "It promises to be an educational experience."

  Now Grizzly did grin. After a bit he said, "You know, I felt a little better after I took that scumbug's head off. It sort of confirmed my true purpose in life."

  "You'll have plenty of similar opportunities in the months ahead."

  "I know. I'm looking forward to it."

  The breeze picked up. They covered a quarter mile before the hybrid spoke once more.

  "Shouldn't it be soon?"

  "Any minute," Blade confirmed.

  "It was nice of the bastard to have such a well-stocked armory."

  "Yeah. I particularly admired his explosives."

  "And the timer. Don't forget the timer," Grizzly said. "How many do you think we'll bag?"

  "All of them, I hope."

  "That's what I like about you."

  "What?"

  "You're always talking about the Spirit and how everybody is supposed to seek truth and all that garbage, but deep down you like to waste lowlives just as much as I do."

  "Think so?"

  "I know so."

  Behind them arose a muffled, thunderous blast, and a stream of fire shot from Mesaville's maw, lighting up the desert in all directions. A second explosion occurred, and a third, each progressively louder. Mesaville shook and shuddered as if in the grip of an earthquake, and then, with a turbulent uproar that would have done justice to an erupting volcano, the mesa collapsed upon itself, the walls and top buckling inward, irretrievably burying the caverns under tons and tons of earth and stone.

 

 

  Death Master Strike (v1.1) (html), David L Robbins - [Blade 12]

 

 

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