Doomsday Warrior 10 - American Nightmare by Ryder Stacy Read Free Book Online Page B

has also agreed in principle to the U.S.-Chinese proposal that Japan be allowed to develop a small nuclear capability strictly for peaceful purposes, and to maintain security in its worldwide trading zone.
    Rockson smiled. Everyone is agreeing, all is well. He sighed and tried to relax his muscles. The soothing music drifting from the stereo set over the dresser was helping dispel some of the tensions—the smell of the steak from the kitchen, the gentle humming of Kim along with the music; “Don’t let the stars get in your eyes,” was the refrain. The kids were in their room, probably quietly playing like they always did. The dog was half asleep at his feet. All was well.
    Rockson picked up the newspaper again. He glanced at the date: Thursday, September 7, 1989. Something seemed odd about that.
    He put the paper down, “Kim? Could you come in here?”
    Kim came out of the kitchen. “What did you say, dear?”
    “What date is it?” Rockson asked. “Is this right? Look at this newspaper.”
    She took the paper from his hand and read, “Thursday, September seventh. That’s right, dear. Why? Did you think it was Wednesday?”
    Rockson smiled, “Yeah. I guess I did . . . Funny, isn’t it?”
    “Really, dear, the Herald never makes a mistake. It’s been Thursday all day!”
    Rockson closed his eyes, “Of course. Guess I should rest . . . Thanks, dear.”
    “Mistakes happen.” She smiled, and winked.

Five
    “T here’s the bell on the microwave; the synthosteak is ready, dear! You sit still; I’ll roll in the TV table, and you can eat and watch Twenty Questions with me snuggled against your knee. Oh, Rock, I’ve been so happy these past few years—since our marriage.”
    TV? Rock looked up at the make-believe Spanish-oak cabinet with the big greenish screen. TV. That was a good idea. He went over and turned on the switch. He sat back in his chair and watched the screen brighten. A commercial came on. “Ruffy dog food is good for your pet.”
    “Ruffy, Ruffy,” said the black-and-white pooch. Rockson smiled. How the hell do they do that? “This is KREK in Salt Lake City, Channel Two. Stay tuned for TWENTY QUESTIONS.”
    The logo of a spinning word that blew apart to form the words “Twenty Questions” came upon the screen in a dazzle of color.
    “And now your host, Jeri Jet!” The smiling emcee, a twentyish thin man with gold hair, in a pink suit, came on the screen. “Good day to you all out there in TV Land . . . Are you ready to play Twenty Questions?”
    “Yes!” came the roar of approval from an unseen audience.
    “Well, let’s go! Now, for our first contestant!” said Jeri Jet, stepping aside. The vermilion curtain parted, and a naked man trussed to a chair appeared. He looked a lot like the derelict who had led Rockson to the fountain the other day—a coincidence, no doubt. The man had electrical wires taped to his ankles.
    Jeri Jet walked over, leaned down at the man in the chair, and said, “Contestant, are you ready for Twenty Questions?”
    The man cried out “No!” but was overwhelmed by the roar of “Yes!” from the audience.
    Rockson leaned forward, intensely interested. Kim came into the room rolling the synthosteak and broccoli out on the TV tray. She sat down beside him on the floor, “ Oooh , has it started?” she asked.
    Rock said nothing. His knuckles were white; his hands gripped the plush arms of the chair. What the hell was this?
    “First question,” said Jeri Jet, jabbing a finger at the man. “What are you for?”
    “I’m for freedom!”
    “WRONG!” Jeri Jet yelled, and his hand dropped down. The contestant suddenly convulsed as if electricity had shot along the wires leading to his body. For an instant, his tangled, black hair stood on end.
    “Is that a jolt of electricity?” Rock asked.
    Kim laughed. “Don’t be silly—it’s just special effects. Nothing is real on TV.”
    “The correct answer is . . ." Jet smiled. The audience yelled “SOCIAL