The animal abruptly sprawled forward onto its front knees, wheezing and sputtering.
Rikki braced his legs on the turf and jerked the katana loose. He turned and surveyed the log and the trees beyond, perplexed. Where could the girl have gone? Why would she leave?
A throaty grunt intruded on his musing from the right.
The martial artist twirled, starting to raise the katana, knowing he’d been careless, that there must be a second boar.
There was.
Already charging the man in black, the other swine was smaller than the first, but still endowed with five-inch tusks and weighing nearly 300 pounds. Less than six feet separated it from the human.
Rikki perceived his danger in a fraction of a second. The boar would be on him before he could shift position.
The booming of gunfire rocked the clearing, and the boar’s thick hide was perforated again and again by a hail of slugs from an M-16 and an Uzi. The impact staggered the creature, causing the swine to stumble to one side, its rush arrested by the lead tearing through its squat form. In torment, confused and ignorant of the source of its pain, it faced in the direction of the thundering guns. More rounds smacked into its head, puncturing its eyes, forehead, and snout. The boar squealed once, then dropped.
“Anyone for a barbecue?”
Rikki turned.
Blade and Hickok were at the edge of the clearing, their automatic weapons cradled in their hands.
“Piece of cake,” Hickok quipped, strolling over to the boar they’d shot.
“Where’s the third one?”
“The third one?” Rikki repeated, puzzled.
“Sure,” Hickok said with a grin. “Haven’t you ever read The Three Little Pigs?”
Blade advanced, scrutinizing the trees enclosing them. “Who was screaming?”
Rikki glanced at the log. “A small girl with blonde hair.”
“Where is she?” Blade asked.
“She disappeared,” Rikki said.
“Maybe it was Goldilocks,” Hickok suggested, chuckling.
Rikki walked to the log, his forehead creased, trying to imagine the girl’s reason for fleeing. He stared at the top of the log, then leaned over to check the other side.
And there she was, on her hands and knees, her smudged face tilted upwards, her frightened blue eyes on the Warrior.
“Hello,” Rikki said softly, smilfng reassuringly.
The girl didn’t budge.
“I am Rikki-Tikki-Tavi,” the martial artist introduced himself. “Who are you?”
Blade and Hickok came over, Blade on Rikki’s left, the gunman to the right.
Whining in terror, the girl rose to her knees, about to run.
“Don’t!” Rikki said. “We are friends!”
She hesitated, looking from one to the other.
“Howdy there, little lady,” Hickok declared, beaming. “What are you doing in his neck of the woods? Lookin’ for Little Red Riding Hood’s house?”
The girl shook her head.
“Then you must be lookin’ for the Three Bears,” the gunman said. “But I don’t think they’re home right now. They’re out collectin’ honey.”
Again the girl shook her head.
Hickok sighed and leaned his right arm on the top of the log. “I give up. What the dickens are you doing out here?”
“Hiding,” she answered, her voice a tremulous whisper.
“Hiding?” Hickok said, glancing around. “Who’s after you? The Big, Bad Wolf? I’ll blow the critter away!”
“The Bubbleheads,” the girl disclosed.
Hickok did a double take. “I don’t believe I know them varmints. But I won’t let them hurt you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” the gunman pledged. He extended his right hand. “I’m pleased to meet you. My handle is Hickok.”
“Handle?”
“Sorry. My name is Hickok.”
The girl studied the gunfighter for a moment, then reached up and took his hand. “You’re a good man,” she said simply.
Hickok smiled as he shook. “You should tell that to my missus.
Sometimes she has her doubts.”
“What’s a missus?”
“A missus is a wife,” Hickok explained. “I have a wife named Sherry and a tadpole named Ringo.”
The girl managed a weary grin. “Do you like frogs?”
“Frogs?”
“My mommy told me all about tadpoles,” she mentioned. “They become frogs.”
Blade laughed.
Hickok shook his head. “Not that kind of tadpole,” he detailed. “I was talkin’ about my young’un. He’s a sprout like you.”
The child, her right hand still resting in the gunman’s, looked down at herself. “I’m not a sprout. I’m a girl.”
Blade suppressed an impulse to cackle. “You need an interpreter,” he told the gunman.
Hickok gingerly lifted the girl onto the log. “Come on up here,” he said.
“We need to have a palaver.”
The child glanced at Rikki. “He talks funny.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Rikki said.
Hickok released her hand and sat down next to her. “You mentioned your mommy. Where is she?”
The girl’s chin sagged and her lips quivered.
“Did something happen to your mommy?” Hickok questioned.
She gulped and nodded.
“What?”
“The Bubbleheads hurt her.”
Hickok exchanged a confounded expression with his companions.
“Who are the Bubbleheads?”
“They’re bad men.”
Hickok gently placed his right hand around her slim shoulders.
“Listen…” He paused, then began again. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Chastity,” the girl replied. “Chastity Snow.”
“Well, Chastity, I know it might hurt to talk about it, but I need to know what happened to your mommy,” Hickok said. “What did the Bubbleheads do to her?”
Chastity averted her eyes and trembled.
“There, there,” Hickok said, soothing her. “Everything is okay. We’ll help you. You can trust us.”
Chastity gazed at the gunfighter, tears in the corners of her eyes. “I like you,” she declared huskily.
“And I like you,” Hickok assured her. “But I really must know what happened to your mommy. Will you tell me?”
“They burned her,” Chastity answered, her voice barely audible.
“The Bubbleheads set your mom on fire?” Hickok asked.
Chastity nodded.
“Can you take us to where this happened?”
“Maybe,” Chastity responded. “It’s far.”
“When was the last time you ate?” Blade interjected.
“I don’t remember.”
“You must be hungry,” Blade commented, staring at the dead boars.
Chastity nodded.
“Then we’ll roast some boar meat,” Blade proposed, “and take off after we’ve eaten.”
“I’ll gather wood for the fire,” Rikki offered, and walked toward the trees rimming the clearing to the north.
Chastity watched the man in black enter the forest. “He’d better be careful,” she said.
“Don’t worry about Rikki,” Hickok remarked. “No boar will get him.”
“The icky thing might see him,” Chastity said, gazing apprehensively at the nearby foliage.
“What icky thing?” Hickok asked.
“She must mean a mutant,” Blade deduced.
“You saw this icky thing?” Hickok queried her.
Chastity nodded. “Yesterday.”
“What did it look like?”
“It was big and black and had two heads,” Chastity replied.
“Definitely a mutant,” Hickok stated. “And we won’t let any mutant harm you.”
Chastity smiled at the gunman. “I’m not scared now.”
“Good,” H
ickok said. “Besides, the icky thing must be long gone.”
At that moment, in contradiction to the gunman’s assertion, a tremendous roar rent the woods to the east.
Chapter Three
“The icky thing!” Chastity cried.
Hickok slid to the far side of the log, pulling the girl after him. He crouched and surveyed the forest.
Blade took several strides to the east, leveling the M-16. The roar had been close, too close. Whatever made it was probably watching him at that very second. His gray eyes narrowed as he tried to detect a hint of movement in the undergrowth. If the roar came from a creature answering Chastity’s description, then, as Hickok had noted, the thing was undoubtedly a wild mutant.
And the giant despised the savage, proliferating monstrosities.
Perhaps the reason was because his father had been killed by a genetic deviate. Perhaps he loathed them simply because they were gross aberrations of nature, a vile testimony to humankind’s tampering with forces better left untouched. Perhaps it was because he’d known so many people who’d been killed or maimed by the horrid beasts.
Whatever his justification, he waited for the creature to appear with a mixture of dread and anticipation. Dread owing to his abhorrence, anticipation because he eagerly wanted to blast one of the things to kingdom come. As he scanned the brush and the trees, he thought of the three different types of mutations he’d encountered.
First, there were those mutations produced by the massive radiation unleashed during the war. Deformed offspring were a frequent occurrence, young born with extra limbs or misplaced features. Of the three types, this kind was the most numerous.
Second were the especially repulsive fiends created by the chemical-warfare weapons. Known as mutates to distinguish them from the radiation-formed deviates, these demented, pus-covered brutes were even more feared than the typical mutants.
Third, and smallest in numbers, were those mutations specifically developed by the genetic engineers. In the years prior to the war, genetic engineering had been all the rage with the scientific community. Hybrids were bred, curious combinations of humans and animals, both before and after the nuclear exchange. A trio of such beings currently resided at the Home, and the Warrior considered them as friends.
Mutations of every variety were a fact of life in the postwar era. Blade could hardly conceive of what it must have been like before World War Three. A world without mutants was an alien concept; to be able to take a stroll in the woods without having to worry about being attacked sounded like Utopia. For the umpteenth time, he recognized that the people living before the war had not realized how good they had it.
A branch snapped to the left.
Blade swiveled, catching a glimpse of a dark form moving between two trees. Something big, just like Chastity had said. His finger stroked the cool metal trigger. Would the thing try to circle around the clearing? Did it know one of them had gone to the north? What if it went after Rikki?
The martial artist must have heard the roar. Surely Rikki would return…
Another stupendous roar shattered the tranquil wilderness as the creature attacked, bursting from cover and bounding toward the giant.
Blade took in the mutant’s black, leathery, hairless skin, its bulky body and four heavy legs, its pear-shaped head, crazed eyes, slavering mouth, and its tapered teeth and talons, all in the instant before he fired. The M-16 chattered and bucked, and he saw his rounds slam into the thing’s face and neck.
The mutant stumbled and almost went down, only to recover and surge across the eight feet separating it from its intended prey.
Blade emptied the magazine, hearing Hickok providing covering fire with the Uzi, and then the mutant was upon him, its bearlike torso plowing into him and knocking him onto his back. The thing snapped at his neck, but missed, and the Warrior responded by pounding the creature’s right eye with the stock of the M-16.
Snarling in fury, the mutant opened its mouth wide to bite the human’s throat.
Damn! Blade was partially pinned, with his legs trapped under the beast. His huge arm muscles rippled as he tilted the M-16 and rammed the barrel into the mutant’s mouth.
The deviate gagged and gurgled, then backed away, six inches of the automatic rifle lodged in its maw, shaking its head vigorously to dislodge the weapon.
His legs were clear! Blade heaved erect, drawing the Bowies. He dove, his arms coming up and around, the tips of the knives pointed inward.
The mutant was still striving to extricate the M-16. Blade plunged both knives into the creature’s eyes, burying them as far as they would go, and held fast.
With a bellow of agony, the mutation tried to pull backwards, crimson spurting from its ravaged sockets.
On his knees, gripping the Bowie hilts with all of his strength, his hand and wrists covered with flowing blood, Blade struggled to prevent the beast from tugging loose. He expected to be raked by the four-inch talons on the creature’s forelegs, but the mutant was engrossed in freeing itself from the knives. It took three steps rearward, dragging the Warrior along, its shoulders bunched, its head snapping back and forth.
Blade felt his left hand begin to slip. He applied more pressure to the right Bowie to compensate, and saw Hickok appear to his left. The gunman was holding the Pythons, and as he materalized he aimed both revolvers at the mutant’s cranium. But his aid was unnecessary.
The mutant suddenly collapsed, sinking to the turf with a gasp of fetid breath and going limp.
Hickok, the Pythons cocked, paused. “Is the critter dead?”
Blade released the left Bowie and straightened, examining the mutant’s form for telltale breathing. There wasn’t any. “I think it is,” he answered, feeling a drumming sensation in his ears.
The gunman glanced to the north. “Here comes Rikki.”
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi emerged from the forest and crossed toward them.
“Are you two all right?” he asked in concern.
“We’re fine,” Hickok responded. “Blade had to tend to an uninvited supper guest, is all.”
Rikki gazed at the giant for a moment. “You look flushed. Are you okay?”
“An adrenaline surge,” Blade explained, standing slowly. He leaned down and wrenched the Bowies out.
“Should I continue searching for wood?” Rikki asked.
“Yes,” Blade replied. He started to wipe the knives clean on the mutant’s hide. “And stay alert. Where there’s one of these things, there could be more.”
“I will be on guard,” Rikki vowed, then ran into the woods again.
Hickok holstered the Colts and walked to the log. He found the girl huddled behind it. “You can come out now, little one. Blade took care of the icky thing.”
Chastity rose tentatively. “He did?”
The gunman nodded at the corpse. “Take a gander for yourself.”
She grinned at the sight of the dead mutant. “Blade must be real strong!” she marveled.
“Yep,” Hickok agreed. “He lifts cows to keep in shape.”
Chastity watched the giant finish wiping the blood from his Bowies. He replaced them in their sheaths, then retrieved his M-16 and stepped over to the log.
“Is that the icky thing you saw?” Blade asked.
“Yes,” Chastity said.
Blade sat down on the log, removed the spent magazine from his weapon, and withdrew a new mag from his left rear pocket. “You said you first saw the icky thing yesterday?”
“In the morning,” Chastity disclosed.
“What were you doing when you saw it?” Blade casually inquired, inserting the fresh mag.
“I just woke up,” Chastity said. “I was sleeping.”
“Where?”
The girl pointed at the ground. “Right here. The icky thing was making noise and woke me up.”
“It didn’t see you?” Blade questioned.
Chastity shook her head. “It was over there.” She indicated the south side of the clearing. “It went in
to the woods.”
“Did you sleep here the whole night?” Blade inquired.
“Yes. I was afraid, so I stayed here after the icky thing left. Later the hairy pig came. And then all of you did.”
“And you’re by yourself?”
She frowned. “Yes.”
Blade didn’t want to upset the child by interrogating her about her mother. “Where’s your father?” he asked.
“Daddy went to heaven.”
Blade looked at Hickok, then at Chastity. “Do you mean he’s dead?”
She nodded.
“How did he die?” Blade probed.
“I don’t know.”
“Then how do you know he’s dead?”
“Mommy told me.”
“What did she tell you?” Blade queried.
Chastity pondered for a few seconds. “Mommy said that daddy was killed—”
“Killed?” Blade interrupted. “Your mother used the word ‘killed’?”
“Yes,” Chastity declared.
“Go on,” Blade prompted.
“Mommy said daddy was killed ’cause of the Peers.”
“The Peers? Who are the Peers?”
“They’re the bad people!” Chastity stated.
Blade stared into her innocent eyes. “How far did you walk to get here?”
“I don’t know. Far.”
“Do you know how many days you were walking?” Blade asked, pressing her. “One? Two? More?”
“I don’t remember,” she replied. “After Mommy was burned, I walked a long, long time. And then I was standing on a hill all by myself, and I was really afraid. I walked some more, and walked and walked. Two days, maybe.”
“Two days total, or two days after you were on the hill?”
“Two days after I was on the hill,” Chastity answered.
“I don’t suppose you know which direction you came from,” Blade mentioned.
“No.”
“North? South? East? West?”
“East!” Chastity exclaimed.
“You came from the east?” Blade inquired hopefully.
“No. Mommy told me the sun comes up in the east,” Chastity said.
Blade sighed and gazed at the gunman. “Any suggestions? I don’t see how we can retrace her route.”
“Let me have a crack at it,” Hickok said, leaning down. “Do you remember where you lived?”
Atlanta Run Page 3
