Doomsday Warrior 04 - Bloody America Read Online Free PDF Page B

Probably didn’t take any direct hits—just enough rads to kill off the farmers but not the farms.”
    “Enough radiation to produce some pretty strange breeds,” Kim said, picking up a tomato nearly as large as a grapefruit. She cut it open—just like the real thing—seeds spat out as big as grapes. “Now, if we just had some spaghetti.” She smiled. “I’d fix us all a real down-home American meal.”
    They picked as much of the fruit and vegetables as possible so they’d have fresh supplies. Rockson knew this kind of paradise couldn’t go on for very long. But he noted their approximate location on his pocket mapgrid. Back at Century City, agricultural researchers were trying to assemble a nationwide picture of the remaining fertile areas. Someday large-scale agricultural production would begin again. Someday.
    They rested for the night under a grove of the fragrant banana trees filled with a small fingerlike fruit that was even sweeter than the others. They fell asleep, Rock with his pistol in his hand, fingers gripped tightly around it. The night sky was unusually clear with nary a trace of the strontium clouds high above. The endless galaxies flickered like lights on a shore signaling the weary traveler’s return to peace and safety.
    In the middle of the night they were awakened by movement all around them. Rock leaped up, his pistol at the ready. Above him, rustling through the high fruit trees, he could see sets of eyes and little rows of pearly teeth. Suddenly a face darted close—monkeys. Goddamned little golden-skinned monkeys. Rockson had never seen one live but had perused scores of pictures from nature books of the last century. Not to mention the Tarzan movies, among the two thousand films in the Century City archives, shown three times a week, rotating the entire collection. Rock had seen more films of the mid-twentieth century than most people of that time had. He was religious about only one thing—knowledge of the past. After his parents had been killed, tortured, and murdered by a roving band of KGB thugs out for kicks, Rock had made his way armed with just a knife across the vast plains of the American heartlands. When he had reached Century City he had been amazed at the size and scope of the underground complex and had quickly taken advantage of its offerings, spending months in the library and film rooms. Though a constant truant at the C.C. school, his rebellious nature chafing at the bit at having to follow rules and sit in one place all day, Rockson had quickly amassed a great store of information on his own. Knowledge was power. He had known even as a teen that every little fact he could assimilate might someday save his life.
    “What are they Rock?” Kim asked nervously, standing closely by his side for safety.
    “Monkeys they were called. Came originally from Africa. There must have been some sort of zoo or circus around here once. These things escaped and survived—and seem to be doing quite well. They sure can breed.” He looked around—there were hundreds of eyes peering down from above, hidden in the twisting vines of the banana grove. The small, furry, big-eyed primates didn’t seem frightened by the human presence nor eager to attack. They leaped from branch to branch, eating their fill of fruit. They chirped wildly to one another in a chorus of monkey gossip beyond the comprehension of the human species.
    Somehow the three freefighters fell asleep again, amused by the monkeys and in a strange way, reassured. They dozed more easily as if protected by their chattering childlike relatives and slept soundly through the long night.
    They awoke early just as the blazing blood-red sword of the sun arched up into the black and blue flesh of the dying night. They walked for days, the land slowly changing from fertile to a more desolate terrain dotted with thorny shrubs and an occasional jackrabbit. The sky became somewhat overcast which suited Rockson just fine. As long as the