Doomsday Warrior 14 - American Death Orbit by Ryder Stacy Read Free Book Online Page B

men abandon the nonfunctioning bikes when it became clear after two hours of trying to repair them that it just wasn’t happening. Which meant that they had to dump various non-essential supplies and have the men double up on another one of the vehicles.
    There were extra ’brids carrying other supplies, so they could even handle a few more mechanical disasters. But supplies were precious. And if it came down to it, they’d have to give up food and medicines and other such luxuries. For their own lives were expendable. It was the firepower, the space tools—these were the things that had to make it. They were just fodder for the cannons if it came down to it—every one of them. And slowly they were starting, the ones who hadn’t seen heavy travel or combat, to see just what they had gotten themselves into: A hard trek towards death.
    Still, under Rock’s firm leadership they made pretty good time considering the damned mechanical failures and the natural elements they were up against. He marched them until their fingers and hands felt like they would fall off—and then marched them some more. He knew the ’brids could take days of it at the slow pace they were going, not even stopping for sleep—as long as water and food bags were attached around their necks in motion. In fact, the animals liked nothing more than a leisurely mountain stroll munching up slow mouthfuls. For a hybrid it was just about the closest thing to heaven. Like eating popcorn in front of the VCR, when there had been such things. But Rock kept an eye on the two whiz kids, using them basically as his “guides.” Meaning map readers. They were not expendable either. The two of them were game enough, that was for damned sure—but they were just kids whatever their brainpower. And he could see after about twelve hours of riding they couldn’t take anymore. Even Rajat’s cocoa-colored skin was turning a shade paler, while Connors’s Irish freckled skin was already into the purplish range.
    By day four, they’d covered about two hundred miles, without major incidents other than a few cases of frostbite of fingers and toes which were given extra coverings. But when the shit hits the fan it usually hits fast, spraying out into the world in lightning splatters its heavy enlightenment spray.
    Rock was in the lead and he heard it first, a sound like the very earth was ripping itself apart piece by screaming piece. He ripped his glance up to the slope of a snow-covered granite slope to his left that rose up a good thousand feet above them at about a 50-degree angle. For a few seconds he couldn’t see anything as he slowed the ’brid slightly and it jumped around startled.
    But as his eyes focused they followed the source of the noise. Far up, at the peak of the mountain above, a white puffy mist was rising, shot up as if under pressure. And it was growing fast.
    “Avalanche,” Rock screamed out as he raised his left hand and circled it fast—the team signal for primo #1 trouble coming in from nine o’clock. Though many of the others didn’t, the core men of the Rock team spread out among the force, saw it immediately. They’d been out with Rockson too many times not to know that failure to react instantaneously to dangers meant death. And they’d seen a lot of men die because they froze like squirrels, instead of hopping like mad jackrabbits.
    “Move, move!” Chen, Detroit and the others shouted out at everyone as Rock, making sure the two whiz kids had heard him, kicked Snorter hard in the ribs and screamed out epithets.
    “Move, you son-of-a-bitch, like you’ve never moved before!” The ’brid tore ahead with the rest of the force slowly accelerating right behind him. Rockson scanned ahead for the slightest sign of any possible shelter. Nothing. The roar above them was growing both louder and more spread out. He twisted his head to the side, having to crane up. The wall of boiling white was about halfway down the slope and gaining