Free War Weapons by Craig Sargent Page B

that it would forget, and in fact immediately
     did forget, as it started remembering the last time they had been to the bunker and the master had opened cans. There had
     been many cans, filled with delicious things. Its eyes half closed as it saw visions of dog delicacies floating by like little
     clouds just above its head.
    Stone grew wary as they approached the last stretch of main road that led to the bunker. It was a long stretch of cracked
     highway that had been snow-covered the last time he had been through. He had been attacked by two mountain men on snowmobiles
     and had taken them out before they took him, but it had been close. He eyed the almost flat road ahead, suddenly lit up by
     the Harley’s beam, and accelerated sharply—just in case. Within seconds he had the bike up to fifty, then sixty and seventy.
     The road was firm, hard-packed, and the evening clear, so with the long, tungsten-filtered headlight he could see for hundreds
     of yards. The Harley tore along like a racehorse, beautiful, sleek, its streamlined weaponry poking off it like quills ready
     to stab out. As the bike roared along Stone suddenly saw flashes of light from the woods on the right. Attack. He twisted
     the accelerator even further, and the motorcycle shot into overdrive, accelerating almost effortlessly to a hundred miles
     per hour. It tore along, almost impossible to see, as the slugs fired by the thirty or so half-retarded mountain boys with
     no teeth and heads that came to little points didn’t come near the bike but just whistled by in its airstream.
    Stone didn’t stop until he had reached the start of the mountain road, fourteen miles on. Then he slowed the bike to a crawl
     and edged it between a wall of dense bush, hanging vines, and branches. Thorns and twigs scratched against his skin, and Excaliber
     barked as an ear got pierced by a particularly long needle. But at last they were through and onto the deer path that weaved
     and rambled all over the place to the bunker. His father had planned for it to be this isolated from the very start. There
     was no reason for anyone to have any idea that something was up this way. It had been left as undeveloped as it had been before
     the place was built, even to the extreme of using special wheeled trucks up to the deer path and then three-wheeled vehicles
     the rest of the way. And from the lack of a trace of any tire tracks other than a few indentations of the Harley’s wheels
     left the last time be was here, it was working. No one had come by.
    Soon the sheer rock face behind which the bunker had been built loomed into view, and Stone brought the Harley to a slow stop.
     He stepped off, and the auto kickstand snapped into place, anchoring the still droning bike on wide alloy metal pads on the
     ground. Stone walked over to a table-sized boulder and pushed his shoulder against it hard. Either he was getting weaker or
     the damn thing had put on weight since the last time he had come. But at last it budged slightly and then started shifting
     away. The hole that it covered was revealed, and Stone reached down into it and grabbed hold of a plastic bag at the bottom.
     He extracted a small transmitter from the bag and, aiming it at the solid rock wall, pressed the device.
    The mountainside made a sound and then seemed to split in two as the rock face, for a height of ten feet, slid apart in two
     pieces. They moved silently all the way to each side until a large rectangular opening big enough to drive a truck into had
     been created. Stone remounted the Harley and eased it inside, using both feet on the ground to guide it. Once inside, he dismounted
     again and headed into the innards of the bunker. The three-foot-thick rock walls slid closed again with just a hiss of compressed
     air. Then all was quiet again.
    It always felt strange for him to come into this place—their presence was so strong. He could see them, hear them talking,
     arguing, laughing. It gave Stone an