Hickok patted the Henry rifle he had brought. “Anything so much as growls at them, it eats lead.”
“How far to the chamber I must examine?” Tesla asked.
“It’s at the very top,” Blade informed him.
“Figures,” Hickok said. “Nothin’ is ever easy with us.”
Girding himself, Blade switched on the beam to the flashlight strapped to his head and stalked into the Tower. The Family had acquired a dozen, along with the batteries to energize them, back when the Home conducted regular trade sessions with other factions of the Freedom Federation.
The light played over the dimly glowing green walls, over furniture scattered in disarray, over dust motes that hung suspended like so many insects. A musty scent was mixed with other, less pleasant, odors.
The walls appeared to be seamless but Blade knew better. He remembered every detail of his last visit to the madman’s lair, remembered that by pressing a recessed stud on the back wall, he could activate the elevator. Striding over, he stabbed his finger out.
“Do you think it will still work after all this time?” Geronimo wondered. He had planted himself facing the entrance, the hammer on his Marlin cocked.
As if in answer, a low hum rose from behind the wall and a distant clanking sound.
“What power source did Thanatos use?” Tesla asked. “It can’t be solar. The sun never penetrates those clouds.”
“How would we know?” Hickok said. “All we cared about was killin’ him.”
The hum grew louder.
“It must be nuclear,” Tesla said. “Perhaps one of the fusion generators manufactured before the Big Blast. Or perhaps he built his own.” He stepped past Blade and put his hand to the wall. “Feel that? The thrum? Perhaps I’m mistaken. Perhaps it’s not a generator but a reactor.” Chuckling, he said, “I feel like a child about to be given his first taste of candy.”
“You’re weird,” Hickok said.
“As if you’re a paragon of normal,” Geronimo quipped.
Socrates clasped his hands in front of him and a rare smile tweaked his thin lips. “I’ll remind you gentlemen that Tesla has the highest intelligence quotient of anyone in the Family. He’s our only true Scientist, and we are fortunate to have him.”
“I never said we weren’t, Leader,” Hickok said peevishly.
“Please, it’s Socrates. I’ve told you Warriors that time and again.”
“Sure,” Hickok said. “But if you can call us by our title, we can call you by yours. Tesla, here, we’ll just call Doofus.”
“Behave,” Blade said.
“Don’t I always?” Hickok replied.
Tesla, to his credit, took their banter in stride. “That’s all right. I find your antics to be quite cute.”
“Cute?” Geronimo said.
“Enough talk,” Blade said. He turned back to the wall just as the elevator arrived and the hidden door slid open. He went to take a step and drew up short, his skin prickling as fetid breath fanned him.
The elevator was occupied.
By a creature born of science gone amok.
CHAPTER 4
The thing was ovoid in shape. Bristly quills, much like those of a porcupine only with a metallic sheen, covered every inch of what might be called its torso. Where a neck should be was a thick leathery stump that supported a head unlike any ever conceived. Impossibly, its features were a mix of species. It had the eyes of a crocodilian and the hooked beak of a raptor. Below the beak, defying all biological reason, was a wide mouth rimmed with shark’s teeth. It possessed tentacles for arms, with crab claws where hands would be. Its legs were goat-like, even to the extent of having hooves.
“My word!” Tesla exclaimed. “How fascinating.”
Blade was in no position to appreciate the wonder of the thing. Barely did he set eyes on it than a horrid screech tore from either its beak or its mouth—he wasn’t sure which—and the thing raised its claws and came at him in a rush.
“Lookout!” Hickok bawled.
Blade backpedaled but only managed couple of steps when he collided with Socrates. Their new Leader stumbled and nearly fell, and Blade, in reflex, grabbed him to keep him from falling.
A claw clamped onto the Commando’s barrel and the creature literally tore the weapons from Blade’s grasp. Instantly, Blade grabbed for a Bowie but the thing was on him before he could unlimber the big knife. A tentacle wrapped around his arm, holding it in a vise of steep, even as the other claw, spreading wide, sought his throat.
Geronimo’s Marlin boomed, the 45-70 slug striking the quilled body—and glancing off.
Those quills, Blade realized, must in fact be metal, although how Thanatos had achieved the feat was beyond him. He swooped his left hand for his other Bowie, only to have the creature’s other claw close on his wrist. The pain was excruciating. He was pulled, violently, and was suddenly nose to beak with the living horror.
The thing’s shark’s teeth spread to engulf his face.
Out of the corner of his eye, Blade glimpsed Hickok. The gunfighter shoved his Henry at a startled Tesla and drew his Colt Pythons in a blur of motion. He fired each from the hip, the two shots sounding as one.
The creature’s crocodilian eyes exploded. The thing tottered, its goat hooves clacking on the floor, its tentacles flailing and then going limp. Raising its beak to the ceiling, it uttered an inhuman cry, part wail and part in rage.
Blade’s arm was suddenly free. He went to draw his right Bowie but there was no need.
The hybrid monstrosity had fallen to the floor. A green ochre oozed from its ravaged sockets, and one claw twitched.
Hickok was already reloading. “I don’t know how many times I’ve told you and Geronimo, both. Go for the head. Nothing kills as quick as a bullet to the brain.”
“I didn’t have a clear shot,” Geronimo said.
“Excuses, excuses.”
Blade took stock. His left wrist throbbed but the bone wasn’t broken. “I owe you,” he said in gratitude.
“Since
