immensely,” Doc quipped,
Jak grinned. “Nope. She born ready, too.”
“Okay, we go on my mark,” Krysty said, stepping out of the cobbled-together war wag, and walking over to the keypad alongside the blast doors. “Three…two…one…go!” Slowly, she tapped in the access code.
At the sound of working hydraulics, she turned and ran for her life back down the tunnel as the blast doors started to ponderously move aside.
As the first thin crack between jamb and door appeared, a glowing green mist issued into the redoubt, and the howler cut loose with a hellacious wail, the noise echoing along the tunnel until it sounded as if there were a thousand of the things waiting outside.
Scampering up the front grille of mismatched car bumpers, Krysty reached the top of the chrome-plated barrier, and just barely managed to squeeze between it and the ceiling. The fit was deliberately tight and, for a split second, Krysty thought she wasn’t going to makeit. Then her snagged belt buckle came free and she slid forward to land on top of the domed cage.
Grabbing a bar, she swung through the open roof hatch and dropped into her seat as Jak moved forward to close the hatch. He then rammed home a thick bolt, locking it tight.
“Welcome aboard Flight 666, leaving for the ninth level of hell,” Mildred muttered, tightening the safety harness around her chest. “Please extinguish all cigarettes and prepare to kiss your ass goodbye.”
“What did you say, Millie?” J.B. asked, furiously working the hand pump on a pressurized container.
“Nothing, John. Keep working,” she said, raising the modified broomstick. “I’ve got your back!”
“Hope so,” he replied, redoubling his efforts.
As the flexing tip of an armored tentacle crossed over the threshold, the antiradiation systems surged into operation, hammering the howler with powerful streams of orange foam and blasts of live steam. Shrieking insanely, it struggled to gain entrance, but as the door continued to move, additional wall vents added their contents to the disinfectant torrent. Once more the howler was forced out of the entrance, but no farther. Its writhing tentacles latched on to any irregularity in the fused earth outside, holding the creature in place, until it started to inch forward once more.
“Fireblast, here we go!” Ryan cried, stomping on the gas pedal and shifting into gear. The rumbling diesel and gasoline engines struggled to synchronize their speeds, then the transmission engaged with an audible grind, and the wag lurched into action, the dozen exhaust pipes issuing thick plumes of oily smoke.
At barely a crawl, the cumbersome vehicle inched forward, the grille of the car and truck bumpers scraping along the walls and throwing off sprays of bright sparks.
“Onward, the mighty Hercules! ” Doc bellowed, waving a fist.
“What Hercules?” Jak asked with a scowl.
“From Greek mythology, a famous slayer of demons!”
“Would have preferred Xena, myself,” Mildred snorted.
Doc blinked. “Who is that, madam?”
“Lucy Law… Tell ya later!”
Sitting among the laboring engines, the companions were tightly strapped into chairs firmly bolted to the corrugated floor. They were draped in crude ponchos made from plastic shower curtains, and completely surrounded by a lumpy metal cage composed of driveshafts and axles, reinforced by dozens of shock absorbers.
In spite of the cascading deluge from the walls and ceiling, the green mist began creeping around the bumpers, extending tiny tendrils into the Hercules. With a sputter, the front two engines died, and the rear four struggled to take up the slack. After checking the play on their hoses, Doc and Mildred stabbed out the broomsticks to sweep the cloud with the acetylene welding torches duct-taped to the ends, the thin stilettos of blue flame brighter than the sun. As the cloud retreated, the engines struggled back to life.
“Goggles!” Ryan shouted, pulling a sheet of window glass
Jak grinned. “Nope. She born ready, too.”
“Okay, we go on my mark,” Krysty said, stepping out of the cobbled-together war wag, and walking over to the keypad alongside the blast doors. “Three…two…one…go!” Slowly, she tapped in the access code.
At the sound of working hydraulics, she turned and ran for her life back down the tunnel as the blast doors started to ponderously move aside.
As the first thin crack between jamb and door appeared, a glowing green mist issued into the redoubt, and the howler cut loose with a hellacious wail, the noise echoing along the tunnel until it sounded as if there were a thousand of the things waiting outside.
Scampering up the front grille of mismatched car bumpers, Krysty reached the top of the chrome-plated barrier, and just barely managed to squeeze between it and the ceiling. The fit was deliberately tight and, for a split second, Krysty thought she wasn’t going to makeit. Then her snagged belt buckle came free and she slid forward to land on top of the domed cage.
Grabbing a bar, she swung through the open roof hatch and dropped into her seat as Jak moved forward to close the hatch. He then rammed home a thick bolt, locking it tight.
“Welcome aboard Flight 666, leaving for the ninth level of hell,” Mildred muttered, tightening the safety harness around her chest. “Please extinguish all cigarettes and prepare to kiss your ass goodbye.”
“What did you say, Millie?” J.B. asked, furiously working the hand pump on a pressurized container.
“Nothing, John. Keep working,” she said, raising the modified broomstick. “I’ve got your back!”
“Hope so,” he replied, redoubling his efforts.
As the flexing tip of an armored tentacle crossed over the threshold, the antiradiation systems surged into operation, hammering the howler with powerful streams of orange foam and blasts of live steam. Shrieking insanely, it struggled to gain entrance, but as the door continued to move, additional wall vents added their contents to the disinfectant torrent. Once more the howler was forced out of the entrance, but no farther. Its writhing tentacles latched on to any irregularity in the fused earth outside, holding the creature in place, until it started to inch forward once more.
“Fireblast, here we go!” Ryan cried, stomping on the gas pedal and shifting into gear. The rumbling diesel and gasoline engines struggled to synchronize their speeds, then the transmission engaged with an audible grind, and the wag lurched into action, the dozen exhaust pipes issuing thick plumes of oily smoke.
At barely a crawl, the cumbersome vehicle inched forward, the grille of the car and truck bumpers scraping along the walls and throwing off sprays of bright sparks.
“Onward, the mighty Hercules! ” Doc bellowed, waving a fist.
“What Hercules?” Jak asked with a scowl.
“From Greek mythology, a famous slayer of demons!”
“Would have preferred Xena, myself,” Mildred snorted.
Doc blinked. “Who is that, madam?”
“Lucy Law… Tell ya later!”
Sitting among the laboring engines, the companions were tightly strapped into chairs firmly bolted to the corrugated floor. They were draped in crude ponchos made from plastic shower curtains, and completely surrounded by a lumpy metal cage composed of driveshafts and axles, reinforced by dozens of shock absorbers.
In spite of the cascading deluge from the walls and ceiling, the green mist began creeping around the bumpers, extending tiny tendrils into the Hercules. With a sputter, the front two engines died, and the rear four struggled to take up the slack. After checking the play on their hoses, Doc and Mildred stabbed out the broomsticks to sweep the cloud with the acetylene welding torches duct-taped to the ends, the thin stilettos of blue flame brighter than the sun. As the cloud retreated, the engines struggled back to life.
“Goggles!” Ryan shouted, pulling a sheet of window glass
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