by David Robbins



Blade was missing, apparently kidnapped by the Russians and taken to their headquarters in Boston. The Warrriors were hot on his trail, but what they thought was a rescue mission turned out to be a deadly trap--one from which they could never hope to escape....


Marcus dove for the asphalt as the figures closing in from both sides opened up. Bullets buzzed overhead and thudded into the road. Without a break in his motion, he rolled to the left, presenting as difficult a target as possible, swiveling and aiming at the attackers surging from the woods on his side of the highway. He aimed and fired on the move, and he was gratified to see three foes drop--and then he knew what they were.

The dozens of ambushers charging from the forest were scavengers, a large band of predatory wanderers who preyed upon everyone they encountered. Scavengers were the bane of the postwar era, as prolific as the large rats that inhabited the undrground sewers and tunnels in the cities. The Outlands were infested with both.

Marcus shot two more, continuing to roll, never lying still for a second. To do so would mean his death.

Shabbily attired, many in filthy rags, and armed with eveything from pitchforks to lever-action rifles, the scavengers screamed and bellowed as they rushed the Warriors.