David L. RobbinsPrologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
* * *
David L. Robbins
ATLANTA RUN
Prologue
The woman paused on the crest of the low hill and glanced over her right shoulder at the twinkling lights of the metropolis a mile distant. The wind whipped her brown hair into her green eyes, and she swiped at the lashing strands with her left hand. Held in her right arm, clutched close to her breast, was her child.
There was no sign of pursuit; the highway behind them was deserted.
Good.
Their escape had gone unnoticed.
She smiled in triumph as she faced to the south and fled into the night.
The prospect of bumping into a mutant chilled her blood, but there wasn’t any other choice. If she stopped, if she sought shelter from the elements, she risked being discovered by a Terminator patrol. The Terminators frequently ranged more than a mile from Atlanta, so she wasn’t in the clear yet.
Another mile should do it.
“Mommy?”
“Not now, Chastity.”
“I’m scared.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of.”
“You’re scared, Mommy.”
The woman looked at the upturned, cherubic features of her six-year-old, barely visible in the gloom, and wrapped her left arm around Chastity’s back for added support. “Why do you say that?”
“I can feel it,” Chastity replied.
Annoyed by her failure to conceal her fright, the woman faked a broad smile. “You’re imaginging things, dearest. I’m fine. Just a little cold, is all.”
“So am I,” Chastity said, tightening the grip of her thin arms about her mother’s neck.
The woman breathed deeply as she jogged down the hill. She could feel her daughter’s legs encircling her narrow waist, could feel the tension in those legs, and her conscience was pricked by guilt. Was freedom worth endangering Chastity’s life? Was it that precious?
How could she ask such a stupid question?
“Mommy?”
“Please, Chastity. Not now. We must keep quiet.”
“But the Bubbleheads are coming.”
Startled, the woman halted and spun. Her gaze fixed on the top of the hill as a lightning flash far to the north silhouetted its sloping contours.
And there they were! Four Terminators, outlined against the sky! But how? Where had they come from?
“Mommy?” Chastity asked fearfully.
Struggling to suppress a rising sense of panic, the woman bolted southward. What should she do? Take cover in the woods? The Terminators would find them easily! But fleeing was even more foolish; she couldn’t hope to outrun a Terminator Squad.
“The Bubbleheads are coming,” Chastity reiterated.
“Quiet!” the mother ordered, angling to the right, leaving the highway and darting into the underbrush. She crashed through a thicket, turning her body sideways so her right side absorbed the brunt of their passage, her right shoulder and naked forearms slashed by the sharp branches.
Another streak of lightning, much nearer this time, served to briefly illuminate a small clearing and the wall of trees beyond. Seconds later, thunder boomed.
The woman plunged into the forest, weaving among the trunks, dreading a misstep. She was grateful for the steadily strenghtening wind; the rustling leaves and the crackling limbs would cover the sounds of her flight. But the Terminators would rely on more than hearing to track her down; they would use their Heat Vision.
Their damn, infallible Heat Vision!
She winced as her left foot sank in a rut and she twisted her ankle, and she nearly toppled forward. With a grunt, she righted herself and raced to the west. Her left ankle was throbbing, but she ignored the discomfort, endeavoring to maintain a clear head, to formulate a plan for eluding the Terminators, undaunted by a sobering realization: No one ever eluded the Terminators.
A raindrop spattered her face.
The mother paused, elation washing over her. There was a chance, after all! Not much of one, true, but one nonetheless. If only the rain would increase!
More rain descended, the drops heavy and cold, smacking the turf and the vegetation in an irregular rhythm.
She continued deeper into the woods, frantically seeking a hiding place, scrutinizing the inky vegetation, availing herself of the periodic lightning flashes to note landmarks, to get her bearings. During one such flash a huge tree materialized 20 yards ahead, its overhanging limbs forming a spreading canopy. The tree was perched halfway up a partially eroded knoll. Several enormous roots were exposed, two of which crisscrossed one another after looping outward and upward, then disappeared in the dank earth.
The rain became a steady drizzle, ever building.
The mother dashed toward the tree, squinting as the raindrops pelted her face, her eyes. She reached the base of the knoll and hurriedly inspected the root system, and grinned at the discovery of a two-foot space between the crisscrossed roots and the slope.
“Mommy,” Chastity said softly.
“Quiet,” the mother chided. She squatted and slid behind the roots, her back to the knoll, her blue jumpsuit clammy on her skin.
“What will the Bubbleheads do?” Chastity asked.
“Be quiet!” the woman repeated.
With a rush of wind and an abrupt deluge of rain, the summer storm attained its peak of primal fury. The nearby trees bowed their crowns to Nature’s majesty, and the driving sheets of precipitation obscured the landscape.
The mother was overjoyed, knowing the storm would hamper the Terminators. If the tempest persisted long enough, the Terminator Squad might call off the hunt.
“I have to tinkle,” Chastity said in her mom’s left ear.
“Not now.”
“I have to go,” Chastity insisted.
“Do you want the Bubbleheads to find us?” the mother demanded.
“No.”
“Then keep quiet! And hold it in until we’re sure the Bubbleheads are gone.”
“Yes, Mommy,” Chastity said, and sighed.
The woman peered out, leaning to the left, water cascading over her head and shoulders. She blinked her eyes to clear her vision, striving to detect movement in the undergrowth.
Where the hell were the Terminators?
Had the squad given up already?
No.
She spotted a silvery shape to the left, perhaps 15 yards off, and the shape was moving! The form was advancing slowly toward the knoll. She ducked from sight and pressed her forehead against the roots, clasping Chastity to her bosom. “Shhhh!” she whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”
For once, her daughter obeyed.
The rain was drumming on the ground and thumping on the uncovered side of the root system. Combined with the swishing of the wind, the shaking of the trees, and the intermittent crack of thunder, the storm was creating a constant racket, the din effectively deadening the tread of the Terminator’s silver boots.
Where way the Terminator?
Her curiosity getting the better of her, the mother eased her head to the left and risked a hasty peek. And froze, terrified.
&nb
sp; The Terminator was five feet from the roots, his back to the knoll, the silver dome of his head sweeping from right to left and back again. The three slim, silver tanks between his shoulder blades were visible. His silver left hand, the fingers splayed, was on his left hip. In his right hand, which was draped at his side, was the Fryer nozzle.
She gaped at the Fryer, recalling the time she had seen a Disruptive slain by a Terminator Squad. The stench of the poor man’s burning flesh had sickened her.
Chastity shifted uncomfortably.
The mother placed her lips next to her daughter’s right ear. “Shhh,” she warned in a scarcely audible voice.
The Terminator started to turn.
Startled, the mother ducked from sight. Had he spotted her? She held her breath, her frightened eyes glued to the open space to the left of the roots, waiting for the Terminator to appear. A minute elapsed. She resumed breathing.
The storm was still in full swing.
With extreme caution, she inched to the left and peeped out.
He was gone!
She grinned as she craned her neck for a better look, astonished at her good fortune. The rumor she’d heard must be true. Rain did interfere with their Heat Vision! Otherwise, the Terminator would have detected Chastity and her. She leaned back and patted Chastity’s head. “It’s all right, honey. The Bubbleheads won’t get us.”
“Can I go to the bathroom now?”
“In a bit.”
“I have to go bad. Mommy.”
“All right. Let me make sure the coast is clear, and then you can go.”
“Okay.”
The mother shifted and deposited Chastity on the ground at the base of the crisscrossed roots. “You’re to stay put. Do you understand?”
Chastity nodded.
“I don’t want you to move a muscle until I get back,” the mother reiterated.
“I won’t. Mommy,” Chastity promised.
“Good.” The mother moved to the left and paused in the opening.
“Remember,” she cautioned in a whisper, “don’t budge until I come back.”
“Why can’t I go right here?” Chastity inquired.
“We might need to stay here for a while.” the mother responded. “Just stay where you are. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Chastity said, and sighed.
The mother stepped into the rain, the drops pummeling her head and shoulders, the water splattering her eyes. She pressed her right hand, palm down, to her forehead and surveyed the immediate vicinity. A lightning strike to the east lit up the heavens, casting the forest in stark relief. She could see the tree limbs whipping in the wind, and the bushes quaking, the weeds shaking, but there was no sign of the Terminator.
Emboldened, she walked toward the nearest trees, constantly scanning in all directions. When she was 15 yards from the knoll she halted, grinning.
They had done it!
Now all they had to do was wait out the storm!
She turned, her happy expression transforming into a horrified countenance, her left arm extending in a defensive gesture. “No!” she blurted out.
“Yes!” responded the Terminator, standing not four feet from her, his voice muffled by his headpiece. He held the Fryer nozzle at waist height.
She glanced over his right shoulder at the knoll, hoping Chastity was staying hidden.
“Did you really think you’d get away with it?” the Terminator demanded, talking loudly to be heard above the downpour.
“I had to try.”
“You’re a fool!” the Terminator declared.
The mother said nothing.
“Where is the child?” he asked.
“What child?”
“Don’t play games with me,” the Terminator stated testily.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Terminator swiveled the Fryer nozzle, pointing the tip at her.
“Make this easy on yourself. Tell me where the child is.”
The mother’s lips compressed into a thin line, signifying her defiance.
“We’ll find her,” the Terminator said. “It’s only a matter of time.”
She refused to speak.
“Wouldn’t you prefer to go out together?” he queried. “It would be better for her.”
“As if you had her best interest at heart!” the woman snapped. “Don’t make me laugh!”
“And you do?” the Terminator retorted. “You’re kidding no one but yourself, lady. If you really cared for the kid, you wouldn’t have pulled this stupid stunt.”
“How did you find out?” she asked.
“How do you think?” he replied.
“One of the monitors picked us up?” she asked.
The Terminator shook his head. “Guess again.”
“My apartment was bugged.”
He laughed, a hollow sound under his headpiece. “You flatter yourself.
You weren’t even under surveillance.”
“Then how…” she began, then stopped, insight flooding her mind. “No!”
“Yes,” the Terminator responded. “How else?”
“An Informer!”
“Of course,” he confirmed.
“But that’s impossible!” the mother exclaimed. “I only told one person.”
“One too many,” he said.
“No!” she declared. “I refuse to believe you! I told the one person I trust completely.”
“Misplaced trust,” he commented.
“You’re lying,” she stubbornly persisted.
“Am I?” the Terminator replied. “Then how did we know which road you would be taking? How did we know tonight was the night?” He paused. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money.”
The realization that he was telling the truth hit her harder than any physical blow possibly could, and she took a step backwards, shaking her head, emotionally staggered. “You’re just saying that!”
“You know better.”
She stared skyward, an upwelling of tears commingling with the raindrops.
“Now where is your daughter?” the Terminator probed.
Her face, upturned to the clouds and the storm, was inexpressibly sad.
“Where the hell is your daughter?”
She did not respond.
The Terminator shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
The mother looked at him. “May God have mercy on your soul.”
“God?” The Terminator chuckled. “You are way off the deep end, aren’t you? There is no God. The Civil Council made that determination decades ago.”
“And you believe them?”
“What a dumb-ass question!” he retorted. “The Civil Council wouldn’t mislead us.”
“The Civil Council is a pack of lying degenerates,” she said bitterly.
“We can add treason to your list of crimes,” the Terminator remarked.
“Anything else?”
“There is a God.”
He shook his head. “Pitiful! You’re insane, lady! You know the saying.
Divinity is depravity; humanity is reality.”
“I was taught the same garbage in school.”
The Terminator hefted the Fryer. “I’ve listened to enough of your sedition, to your blasphemy against the Council.”
“Don’t I get a last request?” she asked.
“No,” the Terminator said, then squeezed the trigger on the nuzzle. The flames engulfed the woman before she could hope to react, the intensity of the heat only slightly reduced by the dampening effect of the rain. She staggered backwards, waving her arms, screaming in torment as her blue cotton jump suit combusted and her skin fried. He took a stride closer, sweeping the nozzle up and down, directing the blistering flames from her head to her feet. Her hair was on fire. He watched her fall to her knees, her movements becoming weaker and weaker, and he poured on the flames, relishing the sight of her charred features, of her gaping, blackened lips.
She pitched onto her face, her body ablaze
, convulsing for several moments before lying still. He let up on the Fryer and stared at her smoldering corpse as the rain quickly extinguished his handiwork. “Stupid bitch,” he muttered, and pivoted, scrutinizing the trees. Now where was the brat?
Chapter One
“I’m tired of all this blamed walkin’,” remarked the blond man in buckskins.
“Quit your griping,” said the giant.
“I’m not gripin’,” the man in buckskins responded. “I’m simply makin’ a point.”
“Which is?” the giant asked.
“That we should find a buggy somewhere and borrow it,” suggested the one in buckskins. His long blond hair complemented his sweeping moustache of the same color. Around his waist were strapped a pair of Colt Python revolvers, and over his left shoulder was slung an Uzi.
The third member of their party, a small, wiry man dressed all in black, glanced at the man in buckskins. “Borrow it? You mean steal it.”
“Call it what you want, Rikki,” the blond man said, “we need a vehicle.
At the rate we’re going, we won’t reach the Home for a year.”
The one in black nodded. His hair and eyes were both dark. An Uzi was over his right shoulder, and slanted under his black belt, aligned over his left hip, was a long, black scabbard containing his prized katana. “I agree we need a vehicle. But do we have the right to steal one?”
“Out here,” the blond man commented, patting his Pythons, “might makes right.”
Rikki’s eyes narrowed. “You would take a vehicle at gunpoint, Hickok?”
“If need be,” Hickok replied.
“Warriors should not stoop to stealing,” Rikki commented.
“We can’t afford to be finicky,” Hickok said. “Do you want to see your girlfriend before she becomes an old maid?”
“I miss Lexine,” Rikki admitted.
“And I can’t wait to see my missus and young’un again,” Hickok declared. “The sooner, the better. Which means we must find a car or truck.”
The man in black glanced at the giant. “What do you say, Blade? Who’s right?”
The seven-foot-tall powerhouse looked from Rikki to Hickok. “You both are.”
Hickok squinted up at the Herculean figure in the black leather vest, fatigue pants, and combat boots. “Are you loco? How can we both be right?”
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