New Orleans Run

by David Robbins

  The sight of so many enemies sparked Blade into action. He couldn't let them get him inside. His eyes strayed to his Bowies, still tucked under Jacques's belt, and he opted to make his move. With a surge of his powerful shoulders he tore his wrists from the cord and lunged, wrapping his arms around Jacques before the stunned magician could employ a weapon. Together they toppled into the snake- and gator-infested swamp.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cottonmouth!

  Lynx knew enough about snakes to recognize one of the deadliest species on the North American continent. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, fearing that the slightest move could provoke a strike. And once those venomous fangs sank into his flesh, once the poison began to circulate in his bloodstream, he might as well start digging his own grave.

  The snake did not seem to be in any great hurry. Its head rose several inches, its tongue flicking constantly.

  Lynx had to consciously suppress a shudder. He was tempted to try and kick the reptile as far as he could, but he stood perfectly still and waited for the viper to move on.

  The conversation among the tonton macoutes continued.

  "Suit yourselves," the man named Jacques said. "You are probably right to stay. The Baron would be extremely displeased if we abandoned one of our own without probable cause. Get in, Dieneces."

  Lynx listened inattentively, his eyes on the cottonmouth. Come on, move! he almost roared. He couldn't understand why the stupid snake was just resting there on his feet. The odor should be sufficient to drive the reptile into the weeds! His warm, sweaty feet! Lynx stared at the conspicuous pits on both sides of the wicked-looking head, knowing they were the heat-sensitive means by which the viper located warm-blooded prey. The snake must be aware of his presence. Why hadn't it bitten him?

  He concluded the reptile had been moving through the weeds and slithered onto the trail and his feet before it quite realized what was happening. Now the blasted serpent was just lying there, trying to make up its pea-sized mind whether to keep going or attack.

  Which figured.

  Why did these things always happen to him?

  He liked a little excitement as much as the next guy— no, he liked excitement a hell of a lot more than the next guy; he craved excitement, thrived on it— but this was ridiculous.

  From up ahead came the voice of Jacques. "Didn't you hear me? Get in the damn boat, man."

  Lynx almost hissed in frustration. Great! The tonton macoutes were preparing to leave and he was stuck where he stood, unable to move because of a tootsie-lovin' snake.

  "Sit in the middle."

  What should he do? To be thwarted by a measly serpent galled Lynx intensely, and his anger fought with his innate dread of all snakes for supremacy. If he didn't do something soon, he'd be up a creek without a paddle. Or was that up a bayou without a boat? Unless the pair who were staying had one.

  "Not you two! Only one of you to a boat. There is less chance of you giving us trouble. "

  Lynx deduced the man must be referring to Ferret and Gremlin. He recalled the name mentioned a minute ago and his brow furrowed in perplexity. Who the heck was Dieneces?

  Suddenly the cottonmouth moved.

  Lynx grinned when he felt the reptile's scales sliding across his toes, and he glanced down, craning his neck to see over Eleanore's unconscious form, expecting to see the snake on its way to parts unknown.

  Instead, the cottonmouth was wrapping itself around his right ankle.

  Just when he thought his predicament couldn't possibly; get any worse!

  Lynx scowled and watched the serpent make itself right at home, coiling around his leg until its entire length, except for the head resting on the top of his foot and the tip of tail dangling from the rear, was looped about his ankle. Mentally he vented a dozen oaths.

  "You don't took very happy, mon ami."

  "It's all this air pollution."

  "Beg pardon?"

  "When was the last time you took a bath?" Lynx smiled at the giant's quip, but the smile died on his lips a moment later when the snake began rubbing its snout against his foot. Now what?

  Fascinated, Lynx stared at the reptile until it stopped and lifted its head four or five inches to gaze around. An idea occurred to him and he slowly eased his chest lower. Since he was already bent over at the waist, his hands were within half a foot of the serpent's noodle. If he could just ease down—

  The roar of outboard motors being started shattered the stillness of the swamp, and the noise rose in volume as the motors were revved.

  Lynx glanced toward the water. The weeds screened the shore, hiding the boats from view. He listened in mounting chagrin to the motors as the craft headed eastward. If he didn't get his butt in gear, he'd lose them.

  Uncharacteristically anxious, he resumed lowering his hands toward the cottonmouth. In another minute, if the snake didn't move, he'd teach the reptile to mess with his tootsies.

  At the raucous sound of the outboards the serpent had elevated its head another inch.

  Smirking at his impending victory, Lynx had to crane his head farther to keep his eyes on the unwanted hitchhiker.

  The cottonmouth, oblivious to the danger, stared eastward, tongue flicking.

  Got you now, you suck-egg slimebucket! Lynx thought and paused with his right hand within three inches of the reptile's head. He tensed to make the final lunge.

  Abruptly, without any warning, Eleanore groaned and shifted in his arms.

  Lynx almost lost his balance. He had to grip her with all his strength so she wouldn't fall, and he inadvertently shuffled a half-pace forward.

  Oh, no!

  The blood seemed to pound in his temples as he stiffened in anticipation of being bitten. He looked down at the snake. The cottonmouth was gazing up at him.

  Uh-oh.

  Lynx stared into the reptile's unblinking eyes and felt a chill ripple along his spine. Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he intuitively sensed the serpent knew that its body was wrapped around a leg and not a sapling. The next few moments would be critical. The cottonmouth suddenly opened its mouth wide, exposing the lighter-colored lining on the inside for which it had been named, and its fangs. Normally tucked back along the jaw, the fangs of a viper were designed so they would swing forward when the mouth was open.

  Lynx swallowed and riveted his gaze on that deadly maw, his dread becoming outright apprehension at the realization he was powerless to prevent the snake from biting. A heartbeat later the cottonmouth closed its mouth. Eleanore moaned again.

  Lynx couldn't afford to put off the inevitable any longer. The reptile might strike at any second. He saw the head begin to tilt toward his leg and he went into action, sweeping his right hand downward, knowing if he missed he was dead. Because Eleanore partly blocked his view, he had to rely on his finely honed instincts and hope his hand closed on the right spot. There was no margin for error. The serpent's mouth started to open again.

  Do it!

  Lynx's hand clamped onto the cottonmouth at the base of its jaw. He felt the cool scales on his palm, where the fur was thinner than almost anywhere else on his body, and squeezed, gritting his teeth as his sinews went as rigid as steel.

  The reptile snapped the air, then attempted to bite his leg.

  Lynx increased the pressure, exerting himself to his limit and beyond, feeling the neck and head collapse and squish between his fingers. Still he strangled the serpent, unwilling to relent for an instant. The thick rope of a form lashed and whipped his ankles as it wound and unwound, hissing all the while.

  Die, damn you!

  Eleanore tried to turn over, causing his arms to slacken. He almost lost his grip.

  Dingbat!

  The thrashing and convulsing halted unexpectedly and the cottonmouth went limp.

  Lynx expelled a long breath and straightened, raising the serpent for a closer inspection. The snake's eyes were bulging from their sockets and its red tongue hung from its parted lips.

  Got
you!

  Uttering a soft groan, Eleanore awakened and glanced blankly around as if she couldn't comprehend the situation in which she found herself.

  "Who—?" she said, and happened to look at the crushed snake in his hand.

  "Done taking your nap?" Lynx joked.

  Eleanore's lips moved, she voiced a plaintive squeak, and fainted.

  "Yo-yo," Lynx muttered, and was about to cast the cottonmouth from him when he heard the distinctive metallic click of a submachine gun cocking handle being pulled back. He looked up.

  There were two of them, tonton macoutes in their black uniforms and mirrored sunglasses. They had their weapons trained on him.

  "Look at what we have here," declared the skinny man to the right. "A snake-killer."

  "Another freak, man," said the second one.

  "You wouldn't win any beauty contest, yourself, pal," Lynx responded arrogantly.

  "And it talks!" exclaimed the skinny man.

  "What's a beauty contest?" inquired the other.

  "They hold them in the Civilized Zone," Lynx explained. "Once a year they have a Miss Civilized Zone Contest. A lot of human broads with big boobs prance across a stage in a bathing suit and wiggle their fannies for drooling judges. Sort of pitiful, if you ask me. They don't even issue napkins to the judges."

  "You're jerking us around, man," the skinny man declared.

  "What do we do with them, Louis?"

  "What else, Alex?" the skinny man rejoined. "We take them to the Baron."

  Lynx took a step toward them, almost laughing when they backpedaled a few fleet and hefted their weapons. "Don't move!" Louis barked. "Not unless you all want to look like a sieve," Alex added.

  "I just want to put this dingbat down. My arms are gettin' tired," Lynx stated.

  "Tough, man," Louis said. "You can carry her to the bayou, then set her down." He backed up and motioned with his barrel for Lynx to follow.

  "Let's go," Alex prompted, staying next to his companion.

  Lynx dutifully walked after them, the snake clutched in his hand. He serpent might come in handy, he decided, "I suppose my buddies are long gone, huh?"

  "Those other freaks and the big one are your friends?" Alex said. "To be expected. And yes, they are out of sight by now. But don't fret. In a couple of hours you'll be reunited."

  Louis snickered. "For the last time."

  Lynx plastered a patently phony smile on his mouth; walked along the trail for 15 feet until he came to a thin strip of shore bordering the swamp.

  To his right, pulled partly onto the soft ground, rested a boat.

  "Now you can place the woman at your feet," Louis stated.

  "Slowly, man," mentioned Alex. "And no tricks or will blow you away."

  "You guys must be terrors at a party," Lynx cracked. He knelt and gingerly deposited Eleanore on the soil, paused, his right hand next to his leg. "Poor kid has been through a lot," he said, and glanced at the tonton macoutes. "I don't suppose either of you morons would have food?"

  "Don't be insulting us, freak," Louis snapped.

  "She'll eat when we reach the estate, if then," remarked.

  "The woman is starving," Lynx said.

  Louis chuckled. "Should we cry now or later?"

  Straightening slowly, Lynx moved his right arm behind his knee, the snake rubbing against his calf. "Okay. How do you want to play this?"

  "First we will bind you," Louis announced. He reached into his right pants pocket and withdrew a black nylon cord.

  "Just happen to have one of those with you?" Lynx quipped good-naturedly.

  "We are required to apprehend enemies of the Black Snake Society wherever we find them. Besides, there aren't enough handcuffs to go around," Louis divulged.

  Maybe I'll get you a pair for your birthday if you treat me nice.

  "You and Dieneces both don't know when to shut up, do you?"

  "Die-e-who?"

  "Don't play games with us. Your big friend, the one with all the muscles."

  "Oh. Yeah. Dieneces. How could I forget him?"

  Louis approached cautiously to within a foot of the hybrid. "Hold out your arms, palms pressed together," he ordered.

  "Are you sure you want me to do this?" Lynx said, stalling, sliding a few inches to his left to put Louis between him and Alex.

  "Do it, this second, or I'll blow your balls off."

  "Hey, go easy on the jewels, pal. And if that's the way you want to be—"

  Lynx stated, and whipped his arms up, extending them toward Louis and hurling the dead cottonmouth at the man's face.

  Startled, Louis instinctively recoiled in alarm.

  And Lynx pounced.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Blade had slanted to the right as he leaped, intending to come down in the water on the south side of the boat well clear of the outboard. But he hadn't counted on Jacques suddenly resisting just as they went over the edge, causing them to roll as they went under, to sink directly under the craft He released the sergeant, grabbed his Bowies, and kicked to put distance between himself and the tonton macoutes up above.

  Jacques did the opposite. In his haste to get away from the giant, he stroked for the surface and neglected to look overhead to ensure the boat had completely passed by.

  A fatal mistake.

  The Warrior saw the propeller catch the sergeant in the top of the head, the blades shearing through his cranium as if his skull was so much putty, sending a stream of hair, bone fragments, pulpy brain matter and blood into the bayou.

  Jacques only convulsed once, then sagged, his arms and legs limp.

  Blade twisted and dived deeper, anticipating the next move of the men in the boats. The water was cool and murky, but he could see the bottom less than eight feet below. Thankful he had taken a deep breath before going under, he swam down another six feet, then reversed direction and headed under the boats.

  The tonton macoutes had stopped their craft. The muted chattering of high-powered weapons broke out, and dozens of rounds zipped into the bayou.

  Blade glanced down and saw the thin trails of the bullets crisscrossing the water. The men in black were concentrating their fire to the south, where he had last been seen. He swam onward, bearing to the north, wondering if his lungs would hold out long enough for him to reach cover.

  The frenzied firing went on unabated.

  His arms and legs cleaving the water smoothly, Blade put ten yards behind him. Then 15. And 20. His chest began to ache, but he ignored the pain and kept pumping his limbs rhythmically.

  Thirty yards.

  Forty.

  The Warrior could feel the pressure building in his lungs, and the pangs became sharper, almost unbearable. He angled upward, slowing as he neared the surface, and it took all of his considerable self-control to refrain from gasping loudly for air when he finally stuck his head up. He inhaled deeply, yet quietly, and seldom had he treasured the simple experience of breathing as he did now. The shooting had ceased.

  Blade looked at the craft and saw the tonton macoutes searching the water in the vicinity of the boats. Two of them were fishing Jacques from the bayou.

  Ferret and Gremlin were seated on their respective craft, both leaning forward intently. The humanoid happened to glance to the north.

  Blade wanted to wave, but the motion might be seen by the tonton macoutes. He knew the hybrids possessed remarkable eyesight, so he simply grinned and winked and submerged again. With the Bowies still clutched in his hands he stroked on, losing track of the distance, seeking a temporary sanctuary. Reinforcements were bound to arrive from the estate at any minute and a massive manhunt would undoubtedly be launched.

  He had no intention of being caught again.

  The Warrior swam for another 15 minutes, surfacing when necessary to inhale fresh air, skirting solitary trees and isolated mounds of dense vegetation. Twice he saw snakes. Neither came within striking range. And once he saw an alligator, a small one less than six feet in length swimming from east to wes
t. The reptile never paid any attention to him.

  The underside of an island appeared ahead, approximately 70 yards wide.

  Blade made for the rather steep bank, rising to the surface when he was 20 yards away. He discovered the island was not much larger than an acre in all and covered with thickets and cypress trees, a perfect spot to hide out until nightfall. He spied a limb jutting downward near the water and made for it.

  Brightly colored finches flew by overhead.

  In a minute the Warrior came within reach of the limb and paused, dog-paddling, about to slide the Bowies into their sheaths. Out of the corner of his left eye he detected movement, and he glanced around to discover a large black snake bearing down on him, not six feet off.

  There was no time to determine if the serpent was poisonous or not.

  Blade lifted both Bowies and hacked at the snake the second it came close enough. The keen edges penetrated its head, splitting the reptile open. A second swipe of his right hand decapitated the reptile.

  The sinuous body continued to writhe and thrash despite the absence of its brain.

  Blade quickly wiped the knives on his pants, placed them in their sheaths, and grabbed the limb. Another moment saw him safely out of the water and stepping onto dry land. He turned to stare to the south.

  The boats were no longer in sight.

  Good.

  He pivoted and scrutinized the vegetation all around him. If the tonton macoutes came this far, he'd be difficult to find. If they didn't, once dark settled he planned to head for the estate of Baron Laveau. He disliked the idea of being separated from the hybrids, but he had no choice.

  Something rustled in the brush.

  Blade rested his hands on his Bowies, thinking of the huge snake known as Damballah. Where did the creature hole up when not on the prowl? Of all the animals in the bayou, , felt confident he could handle every one with just his knives except the so-called Snake God. His Bowies would hardly make a dent in such a tremendous aberration of nature. Yet the thing must be killed.