Read Online Doomsday Warrior 02 - Red America by Ryder Stacy - Free Book Online
Authors: Ryder Stacy
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somehow that made Rockson closer to those murderous beasts out on the plains and wastelands of America than to Shecter and the other “normal” humans. He was one of the atomic freaks of nature who would inherit the world.
They walked to elevator bank five and took the ride up twelve levels. Shecter at his age didn’t like the gut-wrenching speed the elevators moved at. In case of attack or emergency the closely packed underground city had to be able to react quickly, and instant accessibility to every section of Century City was vital. As they passed the floors, three to a level, in a whiz of motion, Rock thought about the origins of Century City: how the vast underground fortress of fifty thousand had started as two thousand rush-hour commuters, driving through a mountain tunnel of Interstate 70 about four hundred miles southeast of Denver, Colorado, had been sealed inside by atomic explosions that collapsed the entrances at both ends of the two mile structure; how they had organized and survived; how they had dug out after several weeks to see Red troop planes overhead dropping its occupation army; how the commuters had hidden and expanded the tunnel, using the machinery from their cars and their knowledge—and by the grace of God there had been knowledge aplenty in the tunnel: engineers, doctors, scientists, even a hydroponics expert. Nearly half the original inhabitants of the tunnel had died from radiation poisoning, from fear, from unknown causes. But the strong survived and reproduced and even, after a time, prospered. The name Century City was given to the tunnel as it slowly grew and reached out into the mountain above it to create more living and work room for the survivors. Century City—for it would take one hundred years for America to be free again and the inhabitants would make sure that that day came. And after one hundred years it still survived and was the greatest threat to Red hegemony in the world.
They arrived at their level and headed quickly to the screening room where Shecter’s staff was already seated, note pads on laps, sharpened pencils in hand. They stiffened slightly as their mentor arrived and took his seat at the front of the oval-shaped film auditorium. The lights dimmed and Rock began narrating the film, explaining the action that was occurring. Shecter heard Rock’s explanation of each maneuver but was more interested in later shaky hand-held close-ups of the damage to the tanks and trucks.
“Ah, just as I thought, Rock—some metals are more easily cut through. Look, there’s still pieces left of some of the armored vehicles, the most modern of the Red mobile units—magnalloy. It appears to be slightly more resistant to the total destructive force of the particle than the other metals.” His staff were madly scribbling in their lined notebooks every word from Shecter’s mouth. “If the Reds find out that magnalloy is less damaged by the beams, they’ll put every scientist from Red Square to the Crimea on double duty to come up with a defense. We’ll be one step ahead of them and find out how to neutralize their neutralization.” The science staff chuckled appreciatively, though Rock failed to see the humor.
The lights came on. Shecter shook Rockson’s hand. “Good show. Now, it’s up to us to go over these films with a fine-tooth comb.” Rock exited the theater as Shecter’s strong voice demanded “Show them from the beginning, gentlemen . . .”
Five
C olonel Killov popped another Benzedrine pill into his narrow hawklike mouth. He had been up for days now taking the little yellow pills every three or four hours, sitting alone in his eightieth floor suite of offices at the top of the monolith—the center of all KGB operation in America, located dead center of Denver, Colorado. He was obsessed. Obsessed with one man—Ted Rockson—the so-called Ultimate American, as the peasantry called him. Rockson had dared attack him, had dared to hurt him. But even more,
They walked to elevator bank five and took the ride up twelve levels. Shecter at his age didn’t like the gut-wrenching speed the elevators moved at. In case of attack or emergency the closely packed underground city had to be able to react quickly, and instant accessibility to every section of Century City was vital. As they passed the floors, three to a level, in a whiz of motion, Rock thought about the origins of Century City: how the vast underground fortress of fifty thousand had started as two thousand rush-hour commuters, driving through a mountain tunnel of Interstate 70 about four hundred miles southeast of Denver, Colorado, had been sealed inside by atomic explosions that collapsed the entrances at both ends of the two mile structure; how they had organized and survived; how they had dug out after several weeks to see Red troop planes overhead dropping its occupation army; how the commuters had hidden and expanded the tunnel, using the machinery from their cars and their knowledge—and by the grace of God there had been knowledge aplenty in the tunnel: engineers, doctors, scientists, even a hydroponics expert. Nearly half the original inhabitants of the tunnel had died from radiation poisoning, from fear, from unknown causes. But the strong survived and reproduced and even, after a time, prospered. The name Century City was given to the tunnel as it slowly grew and reached out into the mountain above it to create more living and work room for the survivors. Century City—for it would take one hundred years for America to be free again and the inhabitants would make sure that that day came. And after one hundred years it still survived and was the greatest threat to Red hegemony in the world.
They arrived at their level and headed quickly to the screening room where Shecter’s staff was already seated, note pads on laps, sharpened pencils in hand. They stiffened slightly as their mentor arrived and took his seat at the front of the oval-shaped film auditorium. The lights dimmed and Rock began narrating the film, explaining the action that was occurring. Shecter heard Rock’s explanation of each maneuver but was more interested in later shaky hand-held close-ups of the damage to the tanks and trucks.
“Ah, just as I thought, Rock—some metals are more easily cut through. Look, there’s still pieces left of some of the armored vehicles, the most modern of the Red mobile units—magnalloy. It appears to be slightly more resistant to the total destructive force of the particle than the other metals.” His staff were madly scribbling in their lined notebooks every word from Shecter’s mouth. “If the Reds find out that magnalloy is less damaged by the beams, they’ll put every scientist from Red Square to the Crimea on double duty to come up with a defense. We’ll be one step ahead of them and find out how to neutralize their neutralization.” The science staff chuckled appreciatively, though Rock failed to see the humor.
The lights came on. Shecter shook Rockson’s hand. “Good show. Now, it’s up to us to go over these films with a fine-tooth comb.” Rock exited the theater as Shecter’s strong voice demanded “Show them from the beginning, gentlemen . . .”
Five
C olonel Killov popped another Benzedrine pill into his narrow hawklike mouth. He had been up for days now taking the little yellow pills every three or four hours, sitting alone in his eightieth floor suite of offices at the top of the monolith—the center of all KGB operation in America, located dead center of Denver, Colorado. He was obsessed. Obsessed with one man—Ted Rockson—the so-called Ultimate American, as the peasantry called him. Rockson had dared attack him, had dared to hurt him. But even more,
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