Doomsday Warrior 19 - America’s Final Defense (3 page)

When they had first arrived, one couldn’t even see it. Then, it was just a ruin. He’d almost despaired at its condition. But Killov had selected Machu Pichu as his new capitol for a good reason: there were secrets here, the power secrets of the Incas—secrets that enabled the ancient Indians to raise hundred-ton stones and fit them perfectly into place. With such power Killov could regain his life. He could defeat the Americans. So he had cleverly set up a double of himself to delay and confuse the worldwide search for him. The false Killov who roamed the Re-United States of America was a brilliant invention. The false Killov would lead Ted Rockson on a merry chase! Smirskov, the double, was buying Killov time while Killov reconstructed his power base in this ancient power place. While Killov gathered strength.

Now, as Killov ran his hands on the cold slab of stone, he thought, “I will not be a fool like the Incas!” They had come here and perished—isolated, despairing. They had been unable in this high-altitude, rocky terrain to eke out a living on the poor farmland.

They had also failed in their attempts to use the local tribes as slaves—so the recently discovered ancient “Codex of Machu Pichu” related. The Incas had let the local Indian tribes slip away. Well, Killov had anticipated the need for slaves to do his bidding, to work and die for his greatness. He’d discovered from overflights by his seven Spoor-97 air transports the exact locations of populous Indian villages. He’d believed he could make the populous tribes of the lowlands hereabouts useful, if he was clever.

Killov, by means of air-dropped land mines, had the perimeters made secure for a thousand miles. Then, upon landing his men, who were dressed much like the conquistadors to make the local natives think they were gods, he’d rounded them up.

Now the captive Indians slaved among his men who worked the high-tech equipment. Sometimes an Indian slave fell under the crushing tire of a tractor or backhoe. So what? There were so many of those little ones. The Indian men were cheap labor. The women and children natives were used for recreation by his men, as toy-things to abuse to their heart’s content!

The native slaves actually seemed to enjoy receiving pain from the “gods” the KGB forces were mistaken for! Killov sighed as he sat down on the altar of blood now and watched the city reappear out of the mists. Yes! All around the Sacrifice-Pyramid on which Killov sat, the ancient city was being reborn!

He had dreamed of this. Killov had seen it all like this in his mind’s eye. A spanking-clean, new capital city, devoted to the arts of pain and death—devoted to the ultimate destruction of the universe. Killov’s lord, the Dark One, had bid Killov to be the instrument of the world’s purgation. So be it!

Killov took up his binoculars and scanned to the south city-wall. It was already totally rebuilt. The slides where ancient Incas had slid the decapitated carcasses of their sacrifice victims out of the city to the massive, waiting jaws of the jaguar-gods were clearly visible. Those jaguars, which wore emerald collars, ate the bodies to keep the city clean. The slides were now mossy, not coated with blood and torn skin. But when the first slave workers were too worn out to work, they would be sacrificed, as in days of old . . . for the Dark One. And for the amusement of Killov’s men.

Killov laughed. Why not begin now? It would be good luck to christen this brilliant, warm sunny day with the blood of sacrifice. Surely some of the slaves were too tired, too worn to be of use. But first he would need a little pep-me-up. He snapped out orders on his wrist radio to the doc, who was always less than two minutes from Colonel Killov, waiting with his bag of drugs. That was a standing order.

Sure enough, as Killov stood up, he heard the rapid footfalls, the huffing and puffing of a man climbing the huge flight of steps of the pyramid. Doc Carter was climbing up from a lower area, where he’d been waiting the call.

“Good,” Killov smirked, “I need you, Doc, I need an IV right here and now. I need the enervo-dexagon drug! Fifty ccs! I want to fully enjoy what I’m about to do! We will have sacrifices this morning, Doc, but it’s no kick to kill when you’re not high!”

“K-kill?” the white-haired, depressed-looking Vermont country doctor stuttered. His face was heavily lined, with bags under the eyes.

“Sacrifice,” Killov smiled, “is
cleansing.
You will watch and learn! Now the drug! Give me the new one, the enervo-dexagon! Get it into me quickly! I need a boost!”

“Again? But it’s too soon. It could k—” Then Doc Carter shut up . . . better that the bastard devil did die from the drug, right here and now. Maybe, the doc thought, I should kill him. But Killov was cunning. He would know by his eyes, by his trembling, if he delivered a lethal dose. Oh, how he wanted to. To stop this man who killed everyone in the town of Bennington, Vermont, and made Doc his slave would be a great act of courage—courage he didn’t have.

With trembling hands, Doc Carter set up the porta-stand for the intravenous feeder. Then, as Killov made a tight fist, the doc found one of the few unscarred places on Killov’s arm and stuck in the IV needle. He fed the drug into the IV.

“Good, feels good! Don’t you see it, Carter?” Killov’s eyelids fluttered. “A new empire! I can see my new empire spreading out right before my eyes! These old Inca walls will be totally rebuilt; the glory of Montezuma’s city will be enhanced with high-tech additions. I have the vision, Carter, old man, and that’s all I need. That, and the force of will, the willpower of a Hitler. No! I have five times that force!” Killov lifted his unencumbered arm and plucked at the doc’s lapel, extracting the white gardenia there. He crushed the flower in his hand and snickered like a hyena as the drug fed down the tube and hit his bloodstream.

The doc stepped back and was about to say, “Why do you crush my flower?” But he knew why: madness! Killov should be dead. Any ordinary addict would be dead; but drugs seemed only to
energize
the KGB madman. It was as if Killov wasn’t human. When will he die? Carter thought. When can I go back to being a country doctor in Vermont, treating kids with scrapes on their knees, and old ladies with chilblains? Maybe never.

Killov smirked as he opened his fist to let the crushed petals fall. The doc was puzzled by his health . . . no, more than that, Carter was frightened. Killov had kept Carter as his private physician—since the doc was picked up in that small Vermont town on a KGB slave raid. They had needed a few women—and a doctor. Carter was commandeered for the glory of the New Soviet Order. He should be happy he was alive! Yet he wasn’t. The doc looked positively mournful as he worked to adjust the flow of the IV solution.

Killov watched the fluid drip-drip, felt the energy of a god flow into his brain. Life wasn’t worth living without energy, without powerful drugs . . . wonderful drugs . . .

Killov caught the doc’s brief, fearful glance out of the corner of his eye and smiled.

Good
that he fears me! The doc can’t understand why I’m so healthy. He doesn’t know about my source of renewal, out beyond the galaxy. The Dark One helps his friend . . . always. Praised be his unmentionable name! The Dark One will help build this city, Killov thought, and I shall make it capital of my new Dark Empire!

Killov sighed and just enjoyed it as the drug continued dripping down from the bottle. The drug sent streams of what would to others be toxic thrills. These thrills of sexually-arousing sensations coursed through the emaciated loins of Killov, master of death and torture, giving him the energy he needed.

“Now,” Killov said, “I am ready to have some fun, Doc. Fun for me, and for my hard-working men, too!”

Killov spoke into his wrist radio: “Tekkamaki! Bring those women slaves that are over working with the bricks in Section B up to the Pyramid of Pain. They are pitifully inept little creatures. Round them all up. They must be prepared for the blood christening of my reborn city. Be quick about it, lackey, or you’ll join them!”

Shortly after giving his order, Killov caught a glimpse of the group of five little naked women, all trussed together, elbow to elbow, being herded up to the top of his pyramid. They stepped quickly, either unaware of their fate, or perhaps eager to be sacrificed to Killov—the God.

He saw that one of the five was particularly beautiful. “Let that one die first,” Killov ordered. “Put her down on the altar.” Tekkamaki stepped back as soldiers pushed her forward.

Her head fit snugly into the indentation on the cold stone. Killov had the IV disconnected. Then he took out his long KGB blade from its belt hasp. He raised the sacrificial knife above the whimpering woman. “Perhaps for the first time in 2000 years there should be fresh blood on this altar!” He looked up into the deep purple sky.

“For you, my master,” Killov said, and plunged the knife down into her chest, between her swelling little breasts. Not a neat cut. She screamed, and her body heaved, but the soldiers held her down. In a death rattle, she began kicking her legs up to heaven. Tekkamaki, the Japanese servant, stared on, impassive.

Killov heard the doc vomiting.

“You’re a wimp, Doc!” Killov said. “Watching this will do you good. Bring on the next one.”

Two

“H
e’s coming out of it now, thank God,” said Schecter. “That was a pretty close one for Rockson—his closest yet.”

The blond nurse, Charity Birdell, said, “But is he going to be, you know, crippled? Will he need cyborg implants?”

Schecter chortled a bit. “Naw, don’t think so, though I don’t think cyborg implants are such a bad thing.” Schecter slapped his metal legs. “I sure wish I could replace Rockson’s brain with a more logical one sometimes, you know. He takes way too many risks.”

Nurse Charity shrank back at the very idea. The young raven-haired nurse with a too-tight uniform protested. “Really? What’s wrong with Rock’s brain? He’s a brilliant, wonderful man—and so handsome.” She looked down at Rock angelically.

“Mebbe so, mebbe so.” Schecter winked at the buxom nurse. “You’ll have plenty of time to check out his health tonight. I want you to keep a watch on Rock; not that he’s in any danger, thanks to my surgical skills. Give him a sponge bath, if you want. I never finished cleaning him off, ’cept around the wounds.”

She blushed, “I—I guess I can do that.”

“The man is a glutton for punishment,” Schecter said as he moved to the door. “Rockson’s obsession with Killov has led him to take chances he has no reason to take. The damned KGB rat doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Charity started dabbing Rockson’s forehead with a sponge. “There were times when the very survival of this city,” she said, “depended entirely on Rockson. We’re all alive because of his obsessions, because of his irrational hunches, Doctor Schecter.” She seemed inflamed at any criticism of her hero.

“Sure, Nurse. I’m just joking, don’t you know that? Thank God he’s alive, that we got him in time. I’m recommending the medivac heli’s team for a medal from the council, for stabilizing Rockson and getting him here so fast.”

“Well,” Nurse Birdell said, “as long as you were just kidding . . . are you sure he’s okay? He sleeps so soundly.”

“Any ordinary man, I’d say he was sleeping too much,” Schecter admitted. “But Rock here is the most recuperative of all the mutants that are replacing us normal human beings. He sleeps off injuries that would kill anyone else.” Schecter chuckled and shook his head. “Once I patched his holes, stopped the blood, he started mending. He’s a walking self-repairing macho-machine.”

Charity’s chest swelled in a long sigh. Schecter left the room as she kept watch over her hero. Rock had been Charity’s heartthrob for several years . . . ever since she’d transferred from Pattonville Medical to this top-notch medical lab. She’d come to Century City to work with old Doc Schecter. For Schecter was more than a doctor; he was an inventor of medical miracles. He had invented his own cyborg legs—after his own legs were blown off, years ago. Schecter also revolutionized surgery with his micro-laser scalpels that were partly computer directed.

Charity looked down at the bare-chested hero. Rock was breathing easy. He’d sleep well. And when he awakened, he’d see
me,
she thought proudly. Good old Charity would be here, instead of those hotheaded girlfriends of Rock’s. Kim, the blonde, didn’t even know Rockson was hurt. She was off in Pattonville. That redhead Rona, then, was Charity’s main competitor for Rock’s attention. She’d been trying to sneak into the medical facility for hours. She gave up only when Schecter told Rona that Rockson was fine, and that he’d be discharged soon.

Charity whistled softly as she dabbed at Rockson. She watched the readout screens too, the screens that showed his strong pulse and respiration, that monitored his blood sugar and white blood cells. This was her time to get him. Charity was determined to have the hard-muscled hero for herself.

Coming into focus in Rock’s eyes was a buxom beautiful nurse. Rock recognized her. “Charity!” he smiled, “how are you? Or more important, how am I?”

“You’re in one piece,” she replied, and said, “but don’t sit up.”

He started to disobey her, winced, thought twice of it, and stayed prone. He felt cool, and no wonder. He used his hands to cover up.

“How come I’m—er—”

“Naked?” She didn’t blush. “You needed a bath. Don’t worry, Mr. Rockson. I’m a professional. There isn’t going to be any hanky panky.”

“Oh . . . too bad.” Rock reached for her thigh, which was swathed in sheer white pantyhose. She didn’t pull away very fast, but let him have a squeeze. Then she straightened her miniskirt.

“Now, now,” Charity said. “You need some rest—and more treatments from Schecter—before you can do anything.”

“Killov,”
Rock said, snapping his finger, “I didn’t kill Killov! The man was an impostor! Does Central Command know that?”

“Yes, of course,” Charity said. “Time for your temperature.” She leaned over slowly to plunge the thermometer into his mouth, revealing plenty of cleavage. When she removed the thermometer Rock smiled wanly. “When can I leave here?” He tried to sit up again. “Ouch, what the hell hurts so much?”