“Let go of me!” Glisson snapped, thrashing.
“Calm down,” Blade urged.
“Let go, damn you! I want to get out of here!”
“You don’t stand a chance by yourself,” Blade noted. “I can help you.”
“Why should you help me?” Glisson demanded doubtfully.
“I don’t want to see an innocent person die,” Blade said.
Glisson quit resisting. “Maybe we can help each other.”
Blade released his grip. He noticed the woman on the sidewalk, gawking at them in amazement. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Let me help you,” Blade offered, extending his right hand.
She shook her head and stood, backpedaling before he could touch her.
“No! I’m fine! Really!” She spun and fled into the crowd.
“The people here are sheep,” Glisson remarked distastefully.
Blade took the old-timer’s left arm and propelled him forward. “We must get out of Atlanta,” he said.
Glisson snorted. “Tell me about it.”
“You know the city much better than I do,” Blade commented. “How can we escape? Over the wall?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Glisson responded. “The outer wall is twenty feet high and manned by armed guards.”
“How else then?”
“We could bluff our way through one of the gates,” Glisson proposed.
“Sounds risky to me,” Blade said.
“And staying here isn’t?” Glisson countered. “They’re going to gas me in a Sleeper Chamber if I don’t think of a way out.”
Blade stared at the crowd, thinking. The police would be expecting them to try such a gambit, and the number of gate guards would likely be increased. Perhaps a wiser course would be to do something completely unforeseen, an act so off the wall that the authorities would never anticipate it. What would be the very last thing the police would expect?
“Do you have a better idea?” Glisson asked.
“Yes,” Blade answered as inspiration dawned.
“What?”
“We go to the Civil Directorate.”
Glisson halted so quickly, he almost tripped over his own feet. “What?”
“We were heading for the Civil Directorate, right?” Blade said. “Let’s go there.”
The old-timer’s lips twitched as he studied the giant from head to toe.
“Funny. You don’t look like a congenital moron.”
“I’m serious,” Blade stressed.
“That’s what scares me,” Glisson said. “I’m trapped in Atlanta with an imbecile.”
“Listen to me. Where is the last place they would expect us to go?”
“To the nearest Storm Police station to give ourselves up,” Glisson replied.
“They would never expect us to go to the Civil Directorate,” Blade stated. “They’ll be on our trail, and they’ll be searching everywhere except there.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Would you expect us to go to the Civil Directorate if you were them?”
Blade inquired.
“No,” Glisson admitted. “I’d credit us with more intelligence than that.”
“Let me ask you a question,” Blade said. “You’ve been here many times.
When the police took you to the Visitors Bureau at the Civil Directorate, did they take you inside?”
“No,” Glisson answered. “They always took me right up to the door, then took off. So what?”
“So if we show up at the Civil Directorate, requesting the services of an Escort, we won’t be arousing any suspicion,” Blade said.
“What if we’re spotted by a patrol?”
“We could be spotted any time,” Blade noted. “It’s a risk we’ll have to take.”
“And why bother to ask for an Escort?” Glisson queried.
“I still need to find someone.”
“Even with the Storm Police on our tail?”
Blade nodded. “So what do you say? Are you with me?”
“What choice do I have?” Glisson retorted.
“Can you get us to the Civil Directorate without using the main streets?” Blade asked.
Glisson grinned. “I know this part of the city well. I can do it.”
“Then let’s go,” Blade announced.
The old-timer resumed walking. “I knew I shouldn’t have come back here,” he mumbled.
“Then why did you?”
“I haven’t eaten a square meal in a week,” Glisson said. “I’m too old for the life on the road. Scrounging up food and other necessities is harder every year.” He paused. “In the past, I could count on two days of squares and a new set of threads if I came to Atlanta. I didn’t know the damn Peers had changed their indigent policy.”
“Why do you live on the road? Why don’t you settle down?” Blade suggested.
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” Glisson responded with a smile. “I’ve lived on the road since I was knee high to a grasshopper.”
“Isn’t it dangerous, what with all the mutants and scavengers?”
“Yeah, it’s dangerous,” Glisson replied. “But the danger is part of the allure. When you’re on the road, you never know what’s over the next hill or around the next curve. Every day brings something new, something different.” He paused and chuckled. “And my elephant gun does an excellent job of dissuading the mutants and scavengers.”
“You have an elephant gun?”
“An old Marlin 45-70. Ammo is scarce, but when it comes to stopping power, there isn’t a gun like it,” Glisson said with pride.
“Where is your 45-70?” Blade asked.
“I hid it in a waterproof sack near the road about three-quarters of a mile from the city wall,” Glisson detailed. “I don’t want these pricks to confiscate it on some pretext.”
Blade followed the old-timer into an alley. Glisson conducted him on a circuitous route down little-used streets. “We should find jumpsuits to wear,” the Warrior mentioned after ten minutes.
Glisson glanced at the giant. “I can rustle one up for me, but they don’t make jumpsuits your size. King Kong doesn’t live here.”
“King Kong?”
“I’ll explain later.”
They approached the third monolith from the west, emerging from an alley onto a street swarming with pedestrian and vehicle traffic.
“This was once called Spring Street,” Glisson remarked. “Now it’s known as Civil Street.” He pointed to the southeast. “The road we came into Atlanta on was Constitution Boulevard.” He nodded at the stretch of land occupied by the seven monoliths. “This was the State Capitol area before the war. Do you see that expressway on the far side of the Directorates?”
Blade nodded.
“Well, just beyond it a great American was buried,” Glisson revealed.
“He was a black man who tried to improve the social conditions for his race. Martin Luther King, Jr. Do you know what his gravesite is now?”
“No,” Blade said.
“A city dump.” Glisson sighed sadly. “All the old ways are gone with the wind. The Peers don’t want the people of Atlanta to be aware of prewar conditions, to realize the freedom Americans once enjoyed. Hell. They’ve even altered the textbooks the kids study in school. I saw one once. It was pitiful. This one went on and on about the official doctrine of the Peers, something called humanism.”
“It figures,” Blade commented.
“We can cross there,” Glisson said, indicating a nearby intersection.
They walked to the corner and waited with about ten others for a traffic light to change.
“Look,” Glisson whispered, staring at the curb on the opposite side of the street.
Blade gazed in that direction and discovered a Storm Policeman who was also waiting to cross. They would pass each other on the crosswalk.
“He’ll spot us for sure,” Glisson said nervously.
“We can’t
turn back now,” Blade responded.
“He’ll blow the whistle on us.”
The light had not changed yet.
“It’s only been twenty minutes or so since we made our break,” Blade noted. “I doubt they’ve had the time to spread our descriptions to every trooper in the city.”
“I hope you’re right,” Glisson said.
The light changed and a WALK sign lit up.
“Let’s go,” Blade stated. “And try not to act jittery.”
“Tell that to my bladder.”
The groups of pedestrians on the curbs started across the street.
Blade stepped from the curb, his head held high, projecting a carefree air, purposely refraining from staring at the Storm Policeman. He held the blackjack in his right hand, tucked against his fatigue pants.
The trooper was coming straight at them.
Blade pretended to scan the far sidewalk, his eyes flicking over the Storm Policeman and assessing the man’s disposition. The trooper appeared to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, oblivious to those around him.
They were ten feet apart.
Glisson bumped into the Warrior’s left arm. He had scooted to Blade’s left side to partially screen himself with the giant’s body, and he was walking as close to Blade as he could get.
They were seven feet apart.
The Storm Policeman looked up and noticed the Warrior. His brown eyes narrowed as he examined Blade’s features, and then he shifted his gaze to Glisson.
Five feet apart.
If the pores on Blade’s skin had been large enough, Glisson would have crawled inside. He saw the trooper halt, and he gripped Blade’s arm in desperation.
Blade felt the tramp’s fingernails digging into his skin. He disregarded the pain and looked at the trooper.
Just as the Storm Policeman motioned with his right arm. “Hey, you!”
Chapter Eleven
Hickok’s breath whooshed from his lungs as the incredibly powerful creature plowed into him, wrapped its spidery arms about his chest, and bore him to the hard ground. Putrid breath assailed the gunman’s nostrils, and beady, malevolent eyes glared into his.
“Hickok!” Chastity screamed, checking her flight and whirling.
“Run!” the gunfighter bellowed, squirming in the mutant’s grasp. His arms were pinned to his sides and he couldn’t raise his Pythons.
The beast snarled and bared his fangs.
“Eat this, sucker!” Hickok declared, and angled the Colt barrels inward until they were flush with the creature’s ribs. He squeezed both triggers.
Muffled by the mutant’s hair and flesh, the Pythons blasted, their twin slugs penetrating the beast and searing the creature with overwhelming agony. It relinquished its hold and rolled to the left, roaring mightily.
Hickok rose to his knees, ready to add more shots if necessary, but the thing was still rolling. Suddenly it leaped up and darted into the undergrowth.
“Hickok!” Chastity cried.
“Stay put!” Hickok ordered, slowly standing. Where the dickens did the brute go? He backed toward the girl, surveying the vegetation. A puddle of red liquid drew his attention. Blood. The creature was undeniably hurt, seriously injured. Would the genetic deviate go off to lick its wounds, or would it hover and await an opportunity to pounce?
“There!” Chastity shouted.
“Where?” the Warrior asked, glancing at her.
“There,” she repeated, pointing to their right. “I saw something move.”
Hickok scrutinized the wall of vegetation enclosing the clearing. “I don’t see anything.”
“I saw it,” Chastity insisted.
The gunman edged to the pit rim, Chastity by his right side.
“What do we do?” she inquired.
“We stay here for the time being.”
“Why?”
“That critter can’t take us by surprise here,” Hickok informed her.
“We’ll sit tight and see if it skedaddles.”
“Skedaddles? Is that bad or good?”
“We’ll sit tight and see if it leaves,” Hickok clarified.
From the forest to their right, concealed in the prolific greenery, the mutant growled.
“I’m scared,” Chastity said.
“I won’t let it get you,” Hickok promised.
Chastity hugged his right leg. “Think there could be more?”
The gunman pursed his lips. He hadn’t given the matter any brainwork.
“I don’t think so,” he said to assure her.
Another growl punctuated his statement.
“Do you think it got Rikki?” Chastity inquired.
“I doubt it,” Hickok replied. “Mutants don’t like stringy meat.”
“Is that a joke?”
“Keep quiet,” Hickok directed her.
There was the crackle of brush and the rustling of leaves as the creature moved about, changing position.
“What’s it doing?” Chastity asked.
“I don’t know,” Hickok confessed, trying to come up with a solution to their dilemma. He didn’t like the idea of being stuck in the clearing when Blade and Rikki needed his help. But if he tried to lead Chastity through the forest, the beast would undoubtedly attack. A ruse was called for, a foxy scheme to outwit the critter.
But what?
“Maybe we can hide in the hole?” Chastity suggested.
“Don’t be…” Hickok said, starting to admonish her. Then he cut himself off, looking into the pit.
Hold the fort.
The pit was ten feet deep, circular, with sheer sides to prevent any hapless captive from clambering to freedom. Which was all well and good.
But how did those doing the capturing haul their prisoners from the hole?
Did they use a rope? Not likely, because the nearest tree capable of supporting a long, sturdy rope was 20 yards off. They would need to lug a lot of rope with them and assist their captive in exiting the trap.
No.
There had to be another way.
The gunfighter edged around the rim, his keen eyes inspecting the vegetation at the perimeter of the clearing.
Chastity hung onto his leg and shuffled with him.
“You can leave go of me,” Hickok said softly.
“No way.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“No.”
“I can’t walk with you clingin’ to me,” Hickok observed.
“I won’t let go,” Chastity declared.
“Suit yourself,” Hickok said. “But if that varmint comes after us again, I can’t fight it very well with you slowin’ me down.”
Chastity stared up at him, indecision etched on her countenance.
“And there’s something else you’d best keep in mind,” Hickok told her.
“What?”
“If I tinkle my pants, it’ll run all over your hands.”
Chastity released his leg and scrunched up her nose. “You wouldn’t tinkle your pants,” she said.
“I certainly hope not,” Hickok stated. “My missus would clobber me.”
He stepped nearer to the foliage on the far side. Maybe he was wrong.
Maybe the…
There it was.
The gunman hurried to the weeds bordering the clearing, Chastity in tow. He grinned as he knelt next to an 11-foot pole the thickness of his arm.
“What’s that?” Chastity queried.
“Have you ever played hide and seek?”
Chastity nodded. “Lots and lots of time. Why?”
“We’re going to play it again,” Hickok said, holstering his left Colt. He grabbed one end of the pole and dragged it to the pit, then knelt and slid the end he’d held to the bottom of the hole, slanting the shaft so over two feet protruded above the lip.
“I don’t get it,” Chastity commented.
“You will.” Hickok unslung the Uzi and placed the weapon on the ground near the pole.
“What are you doing?”
“Hush.” Next, Hickok slid his right Python into its holster and unslung the M-16. After insuring the magazine was loaded and flipping off the safety, he turned to the girl. “Climb on my back.”
“Why?”
The gunman sighed. “It’s nice to know that women start at an early age.”
“Start what?”
“Never mind.”
“There you go again.”
“Just get on my back,” Hickok instructed her, his eyes raking the forest.
Chastity complied, locking her arms around his neck and clamping her legs on his sides.
“Now hold on tight,” Hickok cautioned. “I’m going to slide down this pole to the bottom of the pit.”
Chastity’s grip tightened. “It’s dark down there. The monster will get us.”
“No,” Hickok said. “We’re going to give the monster a big surprise. Trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“Don’t fret. It’ll be a piece of cake,” Hickok assured her. He surveyed the foliage, hoping the mutant wasn’t watching, and gripped the pole with his left hand, looped his right through the carrying strap of the M-16, and slowly lowered into the pit, descending hand over hand to the dirt floor.
Branches and grass mats littered the hole. He crouched and deposited Chastity.
“I don’t like this,” she mentioned.
“Think of it as hide and seek,” Hickok said. “We’re hiding from the mutant. If it finds us, it wins the prize.”
“What prize?”
“A face full of lead,” Hickok replied. He gripped the M-16 in both hands and settled on his knees. “Sit.”
Chastity obeyed.
“Now we wait,” the Warrior whispered. “We can’t make a peep or the monster will hear us.”
“I’ll be quiet,” Chastity promised.
Hickok stared at the top of the pole, resigned to a lengthy vigil if necessary. He cocked his head as gunfire erupted far off.
“Hickok?” Chastity said quietly.
“I knew it,” the gunman muttered. “What?”
“Would you be my new daddy?”
For one of the few times in his entire life, the gunfighter was speechless.
He glanced at the girl, stunned by the unexpected query.
“Would you? I need one.”
Hickok didn’t know what to say. “I already have a son,” he blurted out.
Atlanta Run Page 9
