Free Doomsday Warrior 07 - American Defiance by Ryder Stacy Page B

first to get their things together and mount up. But then they had to do everything under the stern gaze of their Master, Chen, who Rock knew felt personally represented by these two and everything they did. Rock would have to tell Chen to lighten up.
    He headed out of the woods and down the flattest terrain they had encountered so far, as even as a sheet of cardboard stretching off for miles, dotted with small pockets of trees and brush. As the others caught up and the entire unit got into a steady matched pace, Rockson slowly increased their speed so that after five minutes, without even realizing it, they were moving along at a good clip. Out here in the flatlands, the hybrid horses could really open up. They seemed to come alive, as if they truly lived only when they ran. Their thick powerful legs churned away like locomotive wheels, as their mouths opened wide, sucking in oxygen to fuel their bodies. The attack force rode along in perfect synchronization at full gallop, each man leaning far forward around the neck of his ’brid to cut wind resistance. Even Rockson had a smile on his face as they raced across the moonlit land.
    The Doomsday Warrior suddenly raised his hand, and the force slowed to half speed. He had seen a glint ahead, and now, as they moved forward, they smelled smoke—and something else. Something he hadn’t smelled for months, and had prayed he would never smell again—the scent of burning flesh.
    As they came over a low rise, Rock suddenly saw the bonfire ahead, burning with high snapping flames, and the sound of men’s voices. He moved his arm rapidly several times, indicating dismount, and the team stopped and jumped down from their ’brids.
    “Chen, Archer, come with me—the rest of you stay here. Detroit, you’re in charge.” With Rockson in the lead, the Chinese martial arts master and the huge near mute followed closely behind, their weapons at hand. Archer unslung the steel crossbow that never left his side and auto-triggered it to fire; Chen whipped out four of his star-knives, two in each hand, ready to be flung in a fraction of a second. The three Freefighters slowed down as they came to a patch of high thorn bush. Just below they could see them—filthy, liquor-crazed men dancing in front of the fire. And around the putrid campsite were bones—human bones. Rockson quickly scanned the area: a large pile of bones to the right; five men strung up on poles—apparently dead. And two immense spits on which there were skewered two human bodies, speared from the mouth through the asshole, and cooked until the skin was an even crunchy brown. The laughing, scarred dancing madmen below, Rock saw on closer inspection, were holding pieces of the hacked-off flesh from the skewers—arms, hands, chunks of thigh, and even the inner organs, still raw, dripping with bloody juices.
    The three Freefighters looked at one another with infinitely disgusted expressions. They all knew they did not have to go down there. Their mission didn’t call for it, and it was easy enough to bypass the area. Usually Rockson didn’t like to attack strange races, groups that he encountered, no matter how bizarre their customs, unless they attacked him first. But there was something about the cannibals that made his blood boil. Americans eating their own brothers and sisters. It seemed to him the most revolting of all crimes. He checked his shotpistol and took off the safety.
    “Ready, boys?” he asked Chen and Archer, who both nodded vigorous yesses. The three warriors rose as one and shot through the bushes that separated them from the cannibal half-men.
    The drooling, slime-coated faces in the center of the clearing froze, as if caught by a photograph, holding their bloody dinners in their hands.
    “Howdy, boys,” Rockson said, unsmiling. “We heard you was having a little banquet, so we thought we’d join in. Looks like there’s plenty here.”
    The leader of the cannibal slime, an immense, very