Twin Cities Run

by David Robbins

  Blade, comprehending, furious, drew his head back, then swept his forehead up, smashing it against Clorg’s nose, feeling the nasal passages collapse and flatten.

  “FANT! FANT! FANT!” the Wacks continued their beckoning appeal, oblivious to the conflict between Clorg and Blade, all eyes nervously fixed on the building to the west, on Fant’s lair.

  Clorg roared in torment, his right hand covering his shattered nose, blood pouring over his lower face.

  “FANT! FANT! FANT!” the Wacks intoned, performing a ritual established over three decades ago. For years they had resigned themselves to Fant’s periodic assaults, too terrified to resist. Finally, it had dawned on one of them, the means to end their torment. All they had to do was keep Fant supplied with fresh meat, and Fant would cease his depredations on them. They hoped.

  Clorg stood erect, gawking at the red liquid all over his hand and arm.

  Blade struggled against the ropes. His time was running out!

  The chanting suddenly stopped, as a petrified hush fell over the Wacks.

  Blade gaped at the opening.

  Fant was emerging from his den.

  Dear Spirit! What was it?

  Fant stood in the sunlight, blinking rapidly, surveying the scene ahead, the clustered, reeking, noisy ones, and the new food staked to the ground, ready for the feast.

  Blade stared in sheer astonishment. What, in heaven’s name, was it?

  Never, not even in his wildest imaginings, would he have envisioned such a deformed monstrosity as now confronted him.

  Fant shuffled forward, using its arms and two good legs for support, its third leg dragging on the ground, useless.

  The Wacks were all on their feet, moving backward, edging away from the approaching beast.

  Except for Clorg. He held his hand in front of his face. “Clorg hurt,” he said to himself, fascinated at the sight of his own blood.

  No! Blade surged against the ropes again, fiercely wrenching his arms and legs, asserting his strength to the utmost, his veins bulging on his arms and legs, sweat running from every pore. He wasn’t going to go out like this, helpless, eaten alive! His face turned bright red from his exertion, his temples throbbing with pain. He ignored the discomfort, pushing his body, forcing his muscles to obey his commands. The increased flow of blood and adrenaline began to restore feeling to his hands and feet.

  Blade glanced at Fant, now thirty yards away, the grotesque features in clearer detail, vividly, indelibly etched in his mind.

  Fant was at least eight feet in height, and at least partially human. The creature was incredibly muscular, undoubtedly endowed with irresistible power. Fant’s skin was ashen, almost white, from a habitual lack of sunshine. Its body was squat and short, out of all proportion to its long arms and legs, and completely naked. Between Fant’s two legs dangled a third limb, a stunted appendage, a congenital defect, useless, thin and ungainly. The left side of Fant’s chest and face consisted of cracked, brown skin, blistering sores, and oozing pus, the trademark of the mutates. Its mouth was a red slit, the nose narrow and flared, the eyes black pools.

  Fant was utterly hairless.

  What was it, Blade wondered? The product of a deformed human fetus, a new brand of njytate, or both?

  “No!” Clorg abruptly bellowed, glaring down at Blade. “You hurt Clorg! You die!” He raised the Commando over his head, gripping it by the barrel with the stock aimed at Blade’s head.

  Blade shifted as the stock came at him, the wood crashing into the ground an inch from his right ear. Infuriated, Clorg brought the stock down again and again, growling like a wild dog. Blade desperately dodged each blow, knowing it was only a matter of moments before Clorg connected. The stock fell wide as Clorg slipped, the wood brushing Blade’s right hand as it thumped against the earth. Without thinking, Blade gripped the stock at the point where it narrowed, holding fast, refusing to release the Commando, to relinquish this last hope.

  Clorg tugged and jerked on the Carbine. “Let go!” he shouted. He braced his feet and heaved, throwing his exceptionally strong shoulder muscles into the motion.

  At the same instant, the one he’d been waiting for, Blade pulled on the stake, his jaw clenched, his right arm strained to the limit, adding his strength to Clorg’s, praying his ploy would be successful.

  The combined force yanked the stake clear of the ground, and Blade’s right hand was free. He twisted, tugging on his left wrist, feeling the left stake give a little. Grabbing the top of the stake, he wrenched it back and forth, the dirt crumbling around the edges as the stake inched upward. It was almost loose!

  “No! You die!” Clorg raised the Carbine over his head, carefully aiming this time, wanting to be sure. He froze as a shadow fell across both men, and he bent his neck and looked up into two evil black eyes. “No!”

  Senselessly, he spun and struck the creature known as Fant across the left leg.

  Blade fell back as the left-hand stake came out of the ground. He leaned down and applied both of his arms to the stake securing his right foot.

  “No! Not now!” Clorg shouted at the hideous, spidery Fant. “Go away!

  Feed later!” Clorg struck Fant a second time.

  Fant hissed, revealing pointed fangs, and grabbed Clorg by the neck, lifting him clear off the ground and high into the air. Clorg gasped and gurgled, his legs thrashing.

  Blade’s right foot jerked free and he immediately turned his attention to the final stake.

  The assembled Wacks, thoroughly unnerved and terrified, broke and ran in all directions, screaming and shrieking.

  The last stake was extracted, and Blade frantically tore the stakes from his limbs. He ran to the south, toward the hospital thirty yards away, and glanced back over his shoulder.

  Fant had crushed Clorg’s neck and dropped the body to the earth.

  Snarling, the disfigured freak began pounding the corpse with its left fist, pulverizing the remains to a pulp.

  The Wacks, searching for places to hide and take cover, were trampling one another in their haste and panic. A crowd of them was jammed together at the hospital entrance.

  Blade had reached a paved area in front of the Hospital. He stopped to gather his energy and his breath, an intense spasm lancing his left side.

  He looked back.

  Fant dipped his left hand into the bloody mess at his feet, then stuffed a chunk of flesh into his mouth. He chewed slowly, emitting slurping sounds. The moonish face swung sideways, and Fant spotted the group in front of the hospital. Hissing, Fant charged directly at them, directly at Blade.

  Chapter Twenty

  “I don’t like it, pard. They’re taking too long!”

  “Relax, man. Like I told you. Maggot takes his dear sweet time when he’s feedin’ that ugly puss of his.”

  “I’m tired of waiting,” Hickok stated, his left ear pressed against the door, listening.

  “What’s your big rush?” Bear asked. He was squatting on his haunches a few feet away. “They’ll come sooner or later.”

  “I can’t afford to wait,” Hickok said, frowning.

  “Why?”

  Hickok stared at Bear. “I’ve got some friends I need to account for, and nothing better have happened to them.”

  “Bertha?”

  Hickok nodded. “Yep. And three others. I don’t know where they are. I don’t even know if they’re still alive. But I’ve got to find out. They could be needing my help right this moment.”

  “So what’s your plan now?” Bear inquired.

  “You’ll take me to where Maggot is eating.” Hickok stood.

  “Say what?”

  “You heard me.”

  Bear also stood. “You’re crazy!”

  “You said that before,” Hickok reminded him.

  “This time I mean it! We can’t do it,” Bear protested, “because Maggot will be with his flunkies. Maybe twelve of them.”

  “We go,” Hickok announced, and cautiously opened the door. He peered both ways
to insure the corridor was clear.

  “How you figure you’re gonna waste Maggot with all his bodyguards there?”

  “I’ll think of something,” Hickok assured him.

  “You sure you ain’t a Wack?” Bear demanded.

  “If I am,” Hickok said, grinning, “what’s that make you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re following me, aren’t you?” Hickok eased out the door into the hall.

  “Damn!” Bear exclaimed. He hesitated, considering the risks. “Oh, hell!” Smiling, he followed Hickok.

  “Where is Maggot right now?” Hickok asked when Bear joined him.

  “About three stories up.” Bear pointed at the ceiling.

  “You know this place,” Hickok said. “What’s the best way to get to him without anyone seeing us?”

  Bear pondered the question. “We’re lucky that no one uses this lower level too much. We can take the stairs up to the third floor. There might not be too many using the stairwell.”

  “Is there any other way?”

  “Just the shafts,” Bear casually mentioned.

  “The shafts?”

  “Wait a minute, Hickok,” Bear immediately objected. “We can’t use the shafts.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why, the only way up them is the cables!”

  “The cables?”

  “Yeah. They hang down the middle of the shafts. We’d have to climb them. Three stories!”

  “Let’s go.” Hickok beckoned for Bear to lead the way.

  “You don’t understand,” Bear complained.

  “Then show me.”

  Bear shrugged and led Hickok to the right. The corridor was lit by torches attached to the walls at twenty-foot intervals. The door to the pit was at one end of the hallway. In the center were two open doors, revealing two confined chambers, measuring five feet by five feet.

  “What the blazes are these?” Hickok asked. They reminded him of two immense closets.

  “Beats me,” Bear replied. “No one knows what they were used for. Look at those.” He pointed at two square openings, one in the roof of each closet. “You can climb up and get on top of these things. That’s where the cables are. They’re fastened to the middle of the roofs, and they go straight up to the top of this building, which is eight stories high.”

  “Which reminds me,” Hickok said. “Where is this building?”

  “Oh. It’s on our turf, of course, in pretty safe territory. Think it was called the Riker Manufacturing Complex before the war. Off of Olsen Memorial Highway.”

  “How far from no-man’s-land?” Hickok needed to know.

  “From where they found you?”

  Hickok nodded.

  “About five or six miles.”

  Hickok sighed. “Let’s get this over with.” He entered the left cubicle and glanced at the opening above his head.

  “Now just a minute…” Bear began.

  “Now what’s the matter?” Hickok snapped, impatient with Bear’s constant carping.

  “This ain’t such a bright idea,” Bear informed him.

  “You say it leads to the floor Maggot is on?”

  “Sure enough.”

  “And we won’t encounter other Porns using this way?”

  Bear grinned. “None of ’em would be loony enough to try it!”

  “Good.” Hickok leaped, catching the edges of the opening, pulling his body up and through, bracing his feet on either side of the square after attaining the roof.

  Bear stepped into the compartment and looked up. “You’re goin’ to do it?”

  “You need to ask?”

  “What if the cable breaks?”

  “Try and put me back together before you bury me.”

  “Damn! You sure are one contrary honky!” Bear muttered. He walked around to the other cubicle and followed Hickok’s example, pushing his Winchester onto the roof before he clambered on top.

  “This is a great idea,” Hickok complimented him.

  “You think so, huh?” Bear nervously peered into the darkness, uncomfortable, assailed by the oppressive silence and a sensation of being watched. Something rattled to his left. “What was that?” he asked, scooping up his Winchester.

  “Just me.” Hickok stood and tested the cable, yanking as hard as he could, wondering what it was secured to on high.

  “Don’t do that!” Bear cried out. “You like to scared me half to death!”

  Hickok had already replaced the C.O.P. in the holster strapped to his left leg. The Mitchell’s Derringer was firmly attached to his right wrist.

  Not much, considering the arsenal Maggot had at his disposal and the number of men on his side, but it would have to do. “Are you all set?” he asked Bear.

  Bear was bothered by the lack of light, just enough filtering in through the openings to enable him to detect Hickok’s form on top of the other cubicle. He gazed up the shaft, noting that black stretches alternated with patches of light at each story. All of the doors to the shaft had been pried open long ago, and the light from the respective hallways provided minimal illumination.

  “Are you ready?” Hickok demanded.

  “As ready as I’m gonna be.”

  Hickok gripped the cable and jumped, wrapping his ankles around the cable for added support as he slowly climbed, hand over hand, toward the next story.

  Bear tucked his Winchester under his belt, angling the rifle along his right hip. He tightened the belt to insure he wouldn’t lose the gun as he scaled the cable.

  “Will you come on!” Hickok’s voice carried from the darkness above.

  Bear took a deep breath, grabbed the cable, and started his ascent, mounting the cable in the same fashion as Hickok. He found himself speculating whether the rats could climb the cable.

  Hickok reached the open doors at the first-floor level. He paused, hanging onto the cable, waiting for Bear to catch up.

  “Is somethin’ wrong?” Bear asked when he reached a position on his cable directly aligned with Hickok. The two cables were eight feet apart.

  “I thought maybe you were taking a nap,” Hickok cracked.

  “You ain’t funny, man,” Bear responded.

  “I remembered what these things were called,” Hickok informed him.

  “You do?” Bear spoke softly, his eyes on the portion of the first-floor hall visible through the open doors.

  “Yep. They were tagged elevators, I believe.”

  “Remind me to tell you how impressed I am,” Bear said, “after I get off this cable!”

  Hickok grinned and resumed ascending his cable, his wrists, already injured in the pit incident, smarting painfully. They had to hold out until he reached the third floor! If he lost his grip now, he’d bust his skull in the fall.

  Bear paced his exertions, keeping level with Hickok. He wondered how Hickok and Bertha had met, and he hoped Bertha was still alive because he wanted to see her again, to tell her all the things, express all his feelings, the emotions, he’d never been able to display before she deserted the Porns for the Nomads. Why hadn’t he gone with her? She had wanted him to go with her, even pleaded with him, tears in her beautiful eyes. And he’d refused. In all his years, Bear castigated himself, he’d never met a bigger asshole than the person he saw when he stood in front of a mirror.

  They reached the second-floor doors and paused, resting.

  “Only one more to go,” Bear whispered to Hickok.

  Hickok nodded and grinned.

  The voices and the two women were on them before they could scurry for cover.

  “I don’t like it one bit,” the first woman stated as they walked into view, engaged in conversation, slowly passing the open elevator doors.

  Hickok and Bear hung in plain view, scarcely daring to breathe, waiting to see if the women would spot them.

  “I don’t like it none either,” the second young woman said, “but I don’t see what I can do about it.”

  “I know what you can do,” t
he first woman, a brunette in a faded green dress, commented.

  “Like what?”

  “Stick a knife in the bastard,” suggested the brunette.

  “You’re nuts!” the second woman, dressed in baggy brown pants and a yellow shirt, exclaimed. “I’d never get away with it.”

  “Sure you could.” The brunette grabbed her friend by the arm and the pair stopped. “You just tell his buddies you found him dead. I’ll back you and be your alibi.”

  “I don’t know,” the other woman said uncertainly.

  “It’s the only way you’ll get rid of him.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t you want me anymore?” the brunette asked.

  The second woman kissed the first on the lips. “Of course I do!”

  “Then you’ll do as I say,” the brunette directed.

  Her companion nodded and they continued along the hall. Neither of them had glanced into the shaft.

  Hickok looked at Bear, who shrugged and led the way up the cables.

  They slowed as they neared the third floor, cautious, anxious to avoid committing the blunder they’d pulled on the second floor.

  “I’ve never seen any person eat as much as him!” a male voice wafted down the elevator shaft.

  “Quiet! Do you want him to hear you?” asked a woman.

  “He can’t hear me.”

  “He has ears everywhere!” the scared woman stated.

  “This is our fourth trip to the food pots!” protested the man.

  “At least we’re alive to make the trip,” the woman snapped testily.

  The sounds of conversation faded.

  Hickok inched up the rope until his eyes were above floor level. He leaned out and glanced both ways. “The hall is empty,” he whispered to Bear.

  “You still sure you want to go through with this?” Bear queried.

  “How many times must I tell you?” Hickok replied. “It’s time the Porns had a new leader.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doin’.”

  “So do I.”

  “You sure can give a man confidence,” Bear sarcastically quipped.

  Hickok scaled the cable until his feet were above the hall level. He swung his legs forward and back, twice, and on the second swing he vaulted into the corridor, landing crouched, already drawing the C.O.P., scanning for any sign of Porns.