Doomsday Warrior 17 - America’s Sword (11 page)

But at least it brought Archer enough time to get another sixty or seventy feet ahead, as the snake turned to see what all the noise was about. It slowed down only for a second or two, quickly snapping its head back around, searching for the prey that had been so close to its jaws it could taste him. Then it revved up and started forward again.

The problem with being on an island with such an overgrown thing coming after you, Rockson was realizing with great insight, was that there was nowhere to go. Yet they had to do something, or they’d die a horrible death.

“Down, everyone,” Chen screamed, while the snake was just getting itself going again. They dropped without questioning the command and the Chinese master let loose with two shuriken from about eight feet off, right into the belly of the “No” creature. They spun through the air with a whistling sound and found their target. The plastique that was mixed right into the six-pointed blades went off with powerful snaps of mini-thunder, and they all looked on hopefully.

More scales had been blown off, and a small stream of greenish-hued blood oozed out from a foot-wide wound. But this time the snake didn’t even bother to stop and check it out.

“We’re in trouble,” Rockson said, as his brain frantically searched for some solution to this mess. But there was nowhere to go except into the swamps, where he was sure they’d meet up with something equally murderous, if not quite as big. The Doomsday Warrior knew they’d have to deal with “No,” here and now.

“Both of you,” Rock shouted out to Chen and Detroit. “We’ll have to try a frontal. A few grenades, some shuriken—maybe we can do some damage up there, take out an eye, rip its head off—anything.”

They ran alongside the thing, staying about sixty feet off in case the snake suddenly made a sharp turn. “Archer,” Rock yelled out as the big man turned his head, trying not to slow down even an inch. The snake was slowly catching up again, now about a hundred feet from its quarry. “We’re coming with more boom-boom,” Rock screamed. “When I shout ‘Down!’ hit the dirt. Got it?”

“MEEEEE GOOOTT!” the near-mute howled back, not needing a hell of a lot of persuasion on any score that held out the slightest chance of rescue. Rock, Chen, and Detroit tore as fast as their legs could carry them and managed to come up alongside the creature as it was closing in on Archer.

“Now!” Rockson shouted out. The big man came flying to the side in a mighty dive. Chen and Detroit pulled back their arms and let loose with a grenade and two shuriken as the snake slowed and scanned to its right to see what was going on. The two pieces of explosive ripped through the dank air and both went off in the thing’s face.

As the smoke cleared, they could see a big gash below its right eye, and another smaller one on the side of its mouth. But if anything, they had just made it angry—not wounded or particularly slowed down. It raised its huge head and let out with a howl that sounded like a whole pack of wolves, perhaps an elephant or two, letting out with love-calls.

“Shit on a stick,” Rock said as they quickly pulled Archer from the ground and the men looked at each other with confusion and the realization that they were all going to die within minutes at most. “What’s left to hit it with?” Rock asked the others. Sheransky held up his steel stick, which looked pitiful to do anything against the monster.

“I’m out,” Detroit replied, looking depressed.

“I’ve got four shuriken left,” Chen said in a calm, neutral tone. “But they haven’t done anything, as you’ve seen, except maybe give it a good cleaning on some of its outer scales.”

“Then maybe we shouldn’t use them directly,” Rock said, with a sudden brainstorm which filled his mind with clarity. “Hey, see that small tree over there?” he pointed toward a four-inch-thick, perhaps twelve-foot-high, black-barked tree about seventy feet ahead of them. “Chen, send out a few of your star-knives—down near the base. Remember the Cyclops story? Well, we’re about to add a few details.”

“We’d better move if we’re going to do much of anything,” Detroit whispered, “because our overblown friend is on his way. And he ain’t looking for the 8:05 to Baltimore.” They tore away from the thing again as Rockson heard King Bailey clapping and making various comments to his guards. Apparently he thought this was more fun than a barrel of circus monkeys. They moved hard and fast and came to about twenty feet from the tree, puffing from the exertion now.

“Do it,” Rockson ordered as he motioned for the others to drop down. Chen released two more explosive shuriken. There were two more puffs of mini-thunder and, when the smoke cleared almost instantly, they could see that the star-knives had nearly blown the whole bottom out of the tree. Nevertheless, it was still standing shakily. They rushed over, as the snake came barreling toward them, and the five Freefighters grabbed hold of the tree. They pushed, but the tree didn’t move. But Archer, without a word, just ripped out his oversized blade and with two sharp slashes, the tree was felled.

“Keep it low,” Rock shouted to them, as they grabbed hold. “Hold it low, so that hell worm doesn’t know what we have in mind—until it’s too late.”

“Got you, Rock!” they replied, and got a firm grip as they started forward like knights in a joust against some mythical death creature.

“Aim for the head—the eyes if we can. Once it’s blinded, it’s ours, the biggest link of breakfast sausage ever seen on the planet Earth!” They started rushing toward the thing as it came right at them with a look of confusion on its snake-face. It couldn’t remember any creature coming toward it in all its murderous days. But that was fine. The creature opened its mouth in anticipation.

Suddenly it was upon them, and Rockson screamed out for the men all to drive it in past the fangs dripping saliva and poison. The Freefighters peered into that voluminous mouth and throat and sheer fear gave them extra strength. The tree-spear slid right up inside past the tongue and glanced up at a sharp angle, as it hit something hard inside. In a flash the tip of the black tree came tearing out of the top of the skull, as brain and all kinds of green muck came exploding out with it.

The Freefighters all dove to the side, as the head was only feet away from them. But the writhing, slime-dripping nightmare with green blood all over its face didn’t seem to care too much about lunch anymore. It was too busy feeling an agony it had never experienced. It went rolling off to the side, over and over, spraying out all that had been inside its skull as the tree-spear, imbedded to about eight feet, just kept digging deeper.

It rolled a good hundred feet, flipping over and over like a worm caught on a fishing hook, the massive body snapping around so Chen and Detroit, who were nearest to it had to jump away, covering their heads. But it just missed, as it snapped spasmodically overhead. Then suddenly, it stopped. The whole body quivered but the head lay still.

Thirteen

R
ockson turned toward King Bailey with a look of triumph on his strong face. “We carried out our end of the bargain!” The Doomsday Warrior snarled out more: “So now if you would—I and my men have a long way to go. And it would be good if we got an early start on the day.”

The king looked somewhat amazed at the defeat of his huge pet, even as it lay still a hundred yards off. And he looked angry, very angry, his face quivering with rage. For the immense snake had not just been used for the king’s sport—and for disposing of those he didn’t want around—but it had also been the symbol of his power. “No” had added a certain fear in the other, lesser snakemen’s psyches. But you sure as hell weren’t going to be afraid of a pile of rotting scales. He could see that his very power base had been threatened. He could see, as well, that he’d have to be very careful with these Freefighter bastards. They were far more clever and resourceful than he had imagined.

“Yes, yes, of course you can all go now. I can’t say I enjoyed your defeat over the great serpent—but a deal is a deal. We’ll just head back to the village—and whatever you need—just tell me—and it’s yours.” The other snakemen looked at each other as the Freefighters loaded back up onto the raft. They had never seen the king so forgiving, so seemingly unconcerned about what was clearly a major defeat for his authority. As they were poled back on the large raft, Rockson saw the king whispering to several of his top lieutenants at the foot of the craft. Several times he looked around and Rock could sense beneath the false smile a look of incredible hate, as if he wished he could rip Rockson and his pals to shreds on the spot.

His own team felt it too. The king looked as if he was going to explode from barely repressed rage at any moment. Rockson leaned over to Archer, who stood looking around at the swamplands as if searching for some fruit, something good to eat. He put his arm around the huge Freefighter’s shoulder and gave Archer a big smile, as if he wanted to borrow the giant’s gems or something. “Listen, pal, I’m going to talk real soft, so no one hears us—but when we get back to the island and we all start getting off—I want you to grab the Snake-King there.”

“GRRAAAB SNAAAKE MAAAN!” the immense Freefighter replied, trying to whisper, which was a little difficult for Archer. He looked at Rockson thoughtfully as the words sank in. Archer gave Rock a quick nod, his eyes lighting up with comprehension.

“Yeah,” Rock went on, “sure is a damn hot and sticky day,” so King Bailey wouldn’t get suspicious. Chen, Detroit, and Sheransky stood around the back of the pole-driven raft, keeping a sharp eye out for any other demonic creatures that might pop out of nowhere. They had taken out the snake, but that didn’t mean diddly about the next thing that might pay them a visit. The Doomsday Warrior continued whispering to Archer: “When I give the ‘go’ signal, I want you to get that bastard in a nice headlock.”

“HEEADLOOCCK,” the near-mute echoed back, glancing up at the front of the raft as if checking out the king’s neck and head for a fitting.

“Don’t kill him—but if the shit hits the fan—rip his goddamned head from his body. Understand?”

“UUUNNDEEERRSSTAAANNNDD!” Archer said, with a big grin stretching across his face. He knew he had been given a very important assignment, a responsibility that he didn’t often get. Besides, it would be fun to take the king out, after what he had just put them all through.

“Good man,” Rockson said with a grin, slapping the grizzly bear-sized Freefighter on the back. It was like slapping the side of a tree, and he grimaced slightly as he pulled his hand away. He glanced back at the rest of the team and gave two handsignals invisible to any of the snakemen but clear enough to his own crew: “Something is up—be prepared but don’t make a move.”

They acknowledged.

After about five minutes, they reached the king’s palace of trees and vines. The raft came sliding up to the wide terrace that surrounded it. As he got off and jumped up a foot to the wooden platform, Rock and Archer came tearing after the bastard. King Bailey turned back with sudden fear on his face as he saw the two Freefighters barreling down on him. Before any of his men could swing their death-poles on them, Archer was alongside the king and threw both his arms into some kind of mountain-style wrestling hold around his royal neck. It looked as if he could snap the man’s neck like a chicken bone.

Three of the personal guards started forward fast, but Archer tightened the grip even further and half-lifted King Bailey right off the platform. The man gurgled and sputtered, waving his hands like a madman.

“No, stay back,” the king managed to spit out. The guards stopped, as they suddenly saw that the Freefighter could kill their ruler in about half a second if he pulled just a little harder.

“Okay, Bailey,” Rockson smirked as he walked up to the snake emperor and made a slow circle around him. Everyone else froze as they watched. “You want to live, I’m sure. But since my friend here could crush your larynx into pulp, I’d advise you to do what I say. Got it?”

“Yes, yes, I hear you,” King Bailey replied, his face turning red. “Whatever you want, I promise.”

“Good,” Rockson said, slapping the snakeman on the arm as if they were the best of friends. “Loosen it up, Archer; so you don’t accidentally rip something off,” the Doomsday Warrior said. The near-mute loosened the wrestling grip just a notch or two. King Bailey came down onto his feet again and the lobster red coloration of his cheeks and face dropped to a slightly pinker color.

“First,” Rock said as he motioned for his team to gather round, “we want all the weaponry your guards took from us when we landed here yesterday. Load them up onto the raft.” He nodded toward his team to follow.

“Yes, yes, they’re all in the storage chamber in my palace.” He ordered five of his inner elite bodyguards to go in and bring it all out. Within minutes, the snakemen, along with Rock’s own men were carrying armfuls of rifles and supplies back out to the raft. It felt good to have their full array of armaments. Detroit grabbed his twin bandoliers of grenades and slipped them around his chest. His face broke into a broad smile. There was something about being fully armed and ready to kick booty that made things a little brighter.

“Okay, let’s move,” Rockson shouted out to them all when he saw they were loaded up. “Now, this is the story,” the Doomsday Warrior spoke to King Bailey, as Archer dragged the man back onto the raft. “We’re going to head to the island where the rest of my men and our ’brids are. I want you to get the two other rafts that brought us to this foul-smelling swamp. Then you’re going to lead us out of here, since we don’t know these wandering mud-pathways. No one tries to stop us, no one plays around. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, yes,” King Bailey said, with coughing desperation. “Two more rafts,” he croaked out to a good dozen of his men standing on the platform.

Within minutes the rafts were alongside them with their pole-crews. They poled off away from the snake temple and toward the prison-island as hundreds of the snake people stared in amazement at the sight of their king being held prisoner. But none made a move as he kept gurgling for them to keep back. Archer had a goofy grin on his face as they poled along. He was the center of attention, and he loved it.