Doomsday Warrior 11 - American Eden by Ryder Stacy Read Free Book Online Page A

snow, but they had some resistant quality. Schecter had synthesized the material the parkas were made of. Good old Schecter.
    There were some small gnarled tree stumps in the rock shelter, “Joshua trees,” said Detroit. “Thousands of years old.”
    Rock carefully unhitched the teams of dogs and tied them to the stumpy trees, then Chen and he applied ointment to the wolf-dogs’ big red saucer eyes.
    They seemed to sense that they were being treated for their own good, and the salivating teeth-aplenty creatures docilely accepted the ministrations.
    That accomplished. Rockson said, “Maybe we can get a fire burning—there’re lots of broken branches and some dried grass in clumps here and there.” It was a good idea, for the temperature still hovered around sixty below. In no time at all, wood and kindling had been gathered and a roaring fire lit. Rockson sat down close to the fire on the bare earth. Ah, this was better.
    He felt something uncomfortable—maybe a root—under him.
    He stood up to see what the offending object was, and picked up what looked like the femur bone of a human skeleton. “Hey, look at this—seems like we’re not the only ones to ever stop here . . .”
    “Nor the unluckiest. I wonder what he died of.” Chen said.
    Rona said, “Maybe we’d better have a look around . . .”
    One of the bigger of the wolf-dogs, the one that Class Act seemed to always huddle with, began growling. His fierce red eyes, glowing in the campfire light, fixated on Rockson. The beast yowled and lunged forward, snapping his restraint, his salivating triple jaws heading straight for the Doomsday Warrior.
    “Drop the bone,” Rona said, throwing her weight against Rockson, pushing him aside in the nick of time. Rockson rolled and came to a stand. He had dropped the bone, yet was preparing for another onslaught from the wild dog. But the dog just lost interest and sat down.
    Chen put his exploding star-knife down. “I was just about to throw it at the damned animal. We would have been out one damned good dog,” he said. “Good thing it quieted down.”
    “I wonder what upset it?” Rockson mused, carefully going over and retying the creature. It didn’t even growl. Then Rock went over to the bone again and started lifting it. Instantly the dog began growling. He dropped it.
    “Looks like it isn’t you but the bone the dog doesn’t like,” Rona observed.
    “Okay with me,” Rockson said. “I’ll leave the damned bone alone.” He walked to the fire. “McCaughlin, do you have that dried caribou meat? The dogs might be a bit hungry. Maybe that’s what’s bugging them.”
    “I’ll get right to it. Rock. I’ll fix it up, roast it on a spit over this here fire. And I’ll fix us humans up some good grub too.”
    “Took the words right out of my mouth. Save the fatty parts for our dogs. They deserve some food. They sure are doing their job. Glad I thought to use them for this trek.” Rock shot a glance at Rona and winked.
    In a matter of twenty minutes, they were all chomping on the delicious dried meat of the caribou. The howling winds were subsiding outside, and they were warm. The snow had become white, and the hissing acid death was being dissolved by pretty white snow-flake crystals.
    Detroit took some of the gristle over to the dogs and fed them one at a time, in size order. That’s the way they ate in the wild. Biggest first. Feed them any other way and you’re a dead man.
    Then he hesitated. There were some funny noises. And Detroit felt the ground under them tremble. It wasn’t an earthquake, it was—
    “There’s something burrowing under us,” Detroit exclaimed.
    They all stood, drawing their shotpistols. The ground exploded all around them. And out of the exploding gaps came hurtling snarling creatures. Red-eyed, fanged creatures. They moved so fast they looked like blurs.
    One took a snap at Rock’s heels; he shot it with his pistol. “They’re some sort of gopher,” Rock said as