Doomsday Warrior 12 - Death American Style Read Online Free PDF

begun as a highway, a four-lane tunnel through the Rockies! When World War III erupted and the nukes flew like birds of prey, thousands had been caught inside the interstate tunnel near Denver, Colorado. Both ends had been sealed by a nearby multi-meg-warhead explosion.
    At first the screaming thousands inside hadn’t known what the hell to do—except die. But, as it quickly became clear, that, number one, no one was going to rescue them, and number two, they weren’t going to die, those with leadership abilities among the tunnel’s populace took over. They got things rolling along. By chance or divine design, those trapped within included doctors, engineers, auto mechanics, chemists, nurses . . . And dozens of truckloads of supplies and food—as many of the trucks had been making their cross-country journey to reach the West Coast by sunrise. The West Coast had been inundated with bombs. They probably wouldn’t have found much there even if they’d made it.
    But there was no reason to get out, once the trapped Americans understood the situation. It was a whole new world. And they were on their own. They fashioned engines into power generators, used the equipment of two ambulances to purify their air, recirculating it internally through charcoal filters. Instead of trying to dig out of the tunnel they stayed inside and made sure no one outside—should anyone come looking—knew they existed. To the outer world it merely looked as if part of a mountain had collapsed at both ends.
    And from that it had all begun. Century City, the place had been named, for even if it took a century, those who headquartered themselves here vowed to throw the Russian occupiers out of America. They dug into the sides of the tunnel, dug out rooms to live in and store their things. The original tunnel quickly became a maze of tunnels, and then of levels, as they dug their way down. With the number of scientists present, scientific discovery was constant—and with the number of techs present, implementation was equally constant. The sheer challenge of having to improvise with so little, in such a hostile environment, actually gave rise to a number of fruitful ideas and avenues of research. It’s amazing what the human mind can come up with when pushed to its absolute limits.
    Now, after a century of such efforts, the results were awe-inspiring. A testament to the fact that what the human spirit could wish, it could accomplish. A multi-level underground complex of hospitals, schools, factories, research labs, recreation rooms, cafeterias, even gymnasiums. And private living/sleeping quarters for 6,000 souls. It wasn’t the Taj Mahal, but it was clean and radiation-free, or relatively so. And for most of those there—whether they were insiders, born inside, or outies, those who had come in out of the cold and were processed and cleared by security—it was home as well. As safe and protected a haven as one was likely to find in the post World War III era.
    Faces here and there smiled as Rock and his woman walked by. Hands waved, greetings were called out by men who Rockson had gone out on missions with months, perhaps years before. And their widows, too, were here. And they were many. Then a face Rockson wasn’t particularly in the mood to see popped up out of nowhere, coming toward him with a scowl. The Intel Chief.
    “Rath, your forehead is getting more deeply etched with worry every time I see you. You should relax. Meditate or something.” The hawk-nosed Rath’s dark eyes just stared.
    “Easy for you to say,” Rath said coolly. “While you’re out there living the sporting life, we’re trying to deal with things here.” He looked disapprovingly at Rock’s arm around Rona, as if one shouldn’t display affection in public areas. Rona moved closer to Rockson and bumped him with her hip, scowling back at the mawkish Rath whom she—along with Rockson—had never quite been able to stomach.
    “At any rate, we’ve been receiving