James Axler – Judas Strike

Savagely twisting the wheel back and forth, he sent the bus rocking side to side, the spikes on the tires slashing the legs of the muties running along, the crippled creatures falling, clutching at the damaged limbs. Several tumbled from the roof and landed on their brethren, or fell under the deadly wheels.

But the smell of their own blood fed the madness of the muties, and the beating on the wag increased until there was a screech of tortured metal, and the sheet steel covering a side window was bent away. Multiple hands and faces moved over the predark glass searching for an opening. Now there was nothing between the humans and the mutants but a pane of safety glass more than a century old.

“Blades first,” Jak growled, a knife in each hand.

“Indeed,” Doc rumbled, holstering the LeMat and pulling the length of Spanish steel from its ebony sheath.

As the safety glass shattered in a spray of tiny squares, Jak jerked both hands forward. Hooting in pain, two stickies beat at the knives sticking out of their faces and dropped away. Another tried to take their place, and Doc lunged at it, the sword slicing open its throat with surgical precision. Gushing blood, the invader dropped into the crowd. But more took its place, and other sections of sheet metal started bending away under the pressure of the enraged muties.

Briefly, Dean looked at the case of Firebirds. If he could just get outside, the missiles would fly away and explode in the distance, drawing the mob away. But if he was stupe enough to launch a rocket from inside the bus, the backblast of exhaust would fill the wag and burn them alive. They had enough armament to stop a tank, and it was useless against some mud-covered stickies.

Ryan could see the trees were close and tried to spot a path or something to use, but blood and flopping limbs of the aced mutie were making that nearly impossible. Once more, he tried for his blaster to blow off its head and get an unobstructed view. But the moment he let go, the bus veered to the side, and he was forced to use both hands to steer.

By now, the stickies were all over the wag, their suction-cupped fingers playing with the windows and tugging on the doors. The companions stabbed at anything that came through the broken windows, the interior of the wag getting brighter with the removal of every panel of steel. Krysty tracked the ones on top with her blaster, but withheld firing. She wouldn’t waste ammo on a guess.

“Dumb ass bastard welder, couldn’t weld for shit!” J.B. cursed, his hands tight on the grip of the Uzi.

There was a crash from the rear of the bus, and the back door unexpectedly swung open. A young stickie was halfway through the small window, triumphantly holding the latch. It hooted in victory, and Dean blew it away. Then an adult swung in from the side and tried to climb over the stack of crates. From the far end of the wag, Doc fired the LeMat, the strident discharge of the hogleg seeming even louder in the confines of the bus. The stickie literally flew backward out the open doorway, its head a crushed mess.

Scrambling through the supplies, Jak reached the door just as another mutie climbed inside. Spinning sideways, the teenager buried his combat boot into the mutie’s stomach, driving it outside. Then grabbing the handle, Jak hauled the door shut and forced the locking bolt into place.

“Too close,” he grunted, flinching as a gob of quicksand was flung through the hole to splatter on the wall. Were the muties throwing that to blind the teenager? Just how smart were these things?

“How the hell can they run through quicksand?” Dean demanded, ducking another gob sailing in through the busted side window.

“Check the deader on the windshield,” Krysty snapped. “It’s got webbed feet, like snowshoes.”

Looking at the corpse, Mildred was amazed at the evolution of such a useful appendage.

Once more the stickies tried for the broken windows, and the companions hacked away at the hairless limbs, fingers and mouthing suckers falling to the floor. Again and again, Doc thrust deeply with his sword, going for throats and bellies. Then a stickie grabbed the blade and wrestled it from his grip with surprising strength. The creature tried to escape with its prize, but Jak grabbed the arm and pinned it to a seat, while Doc tried to force open the stubby fingers to get back his blade. But the stubborn creature refused to relinquish the weapon, so Doc was forced to hack off the fingers with his belt knife to reclaim the sword. Shrieking, the creature tumbled off the bus, cradling its destroyed hand.