Doomsday Warrior 13 - American Paradise (22 page)

Rock put down the binocs and said, “You can put your shotpistols back into your holsters. They’re goners. Let’s get the hell out of here; I don’t like the way that lava pit is bubbling and rising. I think the volcano might—”

Before Rockson could finish his words, a titanic geyser of molten lava and hot steam—more voluminous than the last eruption—shot from the central lava lake. The mountain shook anew.

“Run for it. The whole shebang is gonna blow,” he shouted. “Get to the boats!”

Running down the slope, they could see the
Surf City
and the
Dragon
sailing into dockside at the city pier. It was a wonderful sight!

They made good time running down the volcano and were glad to find some vehicles scattered about in the street. Many had been abandoned with the keys in them, either during the fighting or when the tower collapsed. Rock got one old Mazda van started, and the team piled in. They drove madly toward the docks, on sidewalks when the streets were blocked.

When they arrived at the waterfront, people were already pouring onto the pair of sailing ships. The ships were over-filled with frightened islanders and threatening to capsize.

The citizens had good reason to be frightened; but this had to be stopped, or they’d all perish, Rock realized.

Rockson screeched to a halt and jumped out of the truck. He turned to see towering plumes of black smoke erupting upward out of the volcano. Red rivulets of lava slid down the mountain. The roar of the explosion washed over the dock area.

“This isn’t gonna work,” Rock yelled. “Two vessels can’t evacuate the whole island. We have to get some of the people
off!”
Then Rockson saw, out at sea, heading their way, a vast fleet of junks. “The fisherman and his friends are coming! That will help.”

He saw his Bushido leader friend wave in his direction from a piling and pushed through a scramble of bodies to reach him. “Morimoto,” Rock shouted into his ear, “you have got to tell them in Japanese that only women and children get on these ships. More ships are coming.”

He pointed to the sea. Morimoto nodded. “When they see the extra ships, it will calm them. We have found some KGB megaphones. I will try to organize the evacuation.”

The ground shook repeatedly, and rising waves started tossing the docked ships. Morimoto and several other swordsmen started haranguing the masses over the confiscated loudspeakers. In a matter of a few minutes, some order was created. The men on the sail ships got back ashore, while the women and children were placed aboard and sailed off on the two ships. The crews headed the craft for the coral atolls ten miles distant. They would quickly disembark the refugees and then come back for more passengers, Morimoto told Rockson. In the meantime, the first of the many fishing vessels entered the harbor to the sound of wild cheering.

The Freefighters and their allies directed the orderly loading of the fishing boats. These sturdy vessels, too, were filled and started off through the choppy seas. Rock worried about time; they needed more time. Behind, at the edge of the city, houses were starting to catch fire as the lava rivers reached them.

Detroit, coming up alongside Rockson, said, “It looks like this is the end of New Tokyo.”

Rock said grimly, “Yes. I hope the docks last until the ships return.”

The streets nearest the docks were afire with running streams of lava by the time Rock and his Freefighters jumped aboard the last crowded fishing boat. No one had been left behind—at least they hoped so.

The small creaking junk raised its broad sail and made rapid speed away from the holocaust on rising winds, as the sun was blotted out by thick smoke.

Within ten minutes their craft neared the coral islands. Rock was concerned about two things now: He had lost track of Leilani, and also, would the volcano send its deadly gasses in the safety isle’s direction?

He waded ashore with the other man. Rock looked back at New Tokyo Island as the fiery spectacle unfolded. Geysers of red lava and plumes of mushrooming orange flame thousands of feet high were coming up now all over New Tokyo. The volcano had obviously opened up the fissures lacing the island. The sky filled with lightning, and it grew dark, though it was nowhere near sunset.

Rockson ran up and down the beach, shouting, “Leilani! Leilani!” Soon he despaired. Was she somehow left behind? Could it be that she was lost to him?

But the lovely island girl found Rockson, threw herself into his arms and said, “Oh—I thought you—oh, thank the gods you are safe.” She kissed him passionately. They turned and watched the volcano blow its entire 10,000-foot head off. Red plumes spread like a giant Fourth of July explosion a mile out to sea, obliterating the island and its proud city in one second. A thunderous roar shook the atoll’s sands.

Leilani asked, “Are we far enough away?”

Rock replied softly, “Yes. See, the wind is blowing the smoke
away
from us.”

The populace lit torches and went down on their knees on the long, red sand beach, weeping and wailing.

“They have no home now,” Leilani said sadly. Then she brightened up. “There is
lots
of room on Rarapani and its nearby islands. And much fresh water and breadfruit—and good land. We will take them there. My people will welcome them!”

Rock and the island princess stood watching the awesome spectacle of destruction unfold, arm in arm. After a while, Leilani turned to the Doomsday Warrior and said, “The Gnaa crystal is gone forever, Rockson. So I am no longer its servant. So I no longer have to be—
virgin.”

Rockson smiled, swept her up in his arms and carried her off toward a secluded palm grove.

Epilogue

K
illov picked himself up off the cold metal floor of the strange chamber he had found inside the tunnel. In the diffuse light that seemed to come from everywhere or nowhere, he patted his uniform in place, adjusted and buttoned the askew collar and took stock of the situation:

He was in one piece. That was something he hadn’t counted on when the volcanic explosion had knocked his feet from under him! He tried to remember the exact sequence of events leading up to this point . . . He remembered his entering the metal room, a sliding door shutting suddenly behind him . . . He remembered pounding on the door, shouting for release until—a force hit him!

Yes—he had been hit by something—and he had been pinned to the metal floor like a bug under a paperweight for a
long time.

What the hell had happened?

He gingerly took a step. That’s
odd
. . . his foot didn’t reach the floor when he put it down again. Instead, the ceiling floated down at him, at an angle.

Frantically, he reached out to grab air. The room tumbled slowly now, and he realized he was floating in the air like a feather.

He tried to right himself, but every panicky motion of his arms or legs sent him twirling in the opposite direction.

No gravity.

Now he saw the source of the diffuse light: a round window. He was drifting toward it, and so he stopped fighting the movement. He floated slowly past the—porthole. That’s what it was!

Outside, a globe of blue and white—the
Earth.

He knew it wasn’t just a projection. He was in weightless space. The volcano’s room must have been inside a space craft. That explained being pinned down. The thing had taken off, the pinning-down was the acceleration.

He moaned in fear. No human being, as far as he knew, had been above the atmosphere since the space age ended with the nuclear war, over a hundred years ago.

Whose spaceship was it?

He did not wait long for the answer to his question, for the metal door slid open again, and he beheld a tall lean shape with a large bulbous head. It was immersed in shadow; he couldn’t quite make out—

“Greetings,” the shape said. “Welcome aboard the
Talon.”

“W-who—are you?” Killov stuttered.

The shape took a step forward into the light, and Killov screamed in fear and tried to get away. But he merely tumbled in the air, bouncing off a wall.

The thing that had spoken had the body of a man—but it had a rounded fish head and finned hands and feet.

Killov remembered the native superstition about a walking fish that devoured people. It was
true!

The colonel resigned himself to the
end.
He tumbled uncontrollably closer to the thing until it reached out its webbed hands and snagged him. Killov stared into a pair of glassine eyes.

The walking fish held on to Killov with one hand and pulled its own head
off
with the other.

Inside the head—obviously a helmet, Killov now realized—there was a very ordinary face. A man with a bald head and a thin brown moustache. He had puffy dark bags under his eyes, like he was not well.

“Perhaps you would like a pair of magnetic shoes?” the man offered. “And then we can talk of why I brought you here. You owe us your life, you know. And we mean to make you pay for your deliverance!

Killov thought of striking out at the man until he saw the others who had come in the door. They had some sort of guns in their web-fingered gloves, and the barrels of those weapons were all pointed his way.

“We—can talk about what you—want from me,” Killov said. “I—I’m sure
some
sort of arrangement can be made.”

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