Seattle Run

by David Robbins

  Hickok admired the Shark’s fluid movements as she expertly rowed toward the south side of Portage Bay. “Why are your people called the Sharks?” he inquired.

  “I don’t know where we got our name,” Hedy replied. “The Sharks have been around for decades, long before I was born.”

  “You know about boats,” Hickok said. “But what about cars and trucks?

  Do you have any?”

  “Are they those things that were used to get around on land before the war?” Hedy queried.

  “Yep.”

  “We don’t have any,” Hedy disclosed. “I’ve seen rusted-out wrecks all over the city, but I don’t know of one in running order. And I don’t think Manta has any, either.”

  “Seattle is such a mess,” Hickok commented. “Why do the Sharks stay here? Why don’t you go somewhere else?”

  “Where would we go?” Hedy retorted. “Seattle, bad as it is, is our home.

  We’ve heard stories about who’s outside the city. Cannibals. Monsters.

  Starvation. No thanks. We’re safer here.”

  “You call this safe?” Hickok quipped.

  “I was until I met you,” Hedy said.

  Hickok gazed to the right. They were approximately 50 yards from the north bank, and they had a long way to go before they would reach the south side. He saw the ruined hulk of a huge boat protruding from the water off to the west. When he glanced at Hedy, he noticed she was examining him critically. “Why are you starin’ at me?” he asked.

  “I’m trying to figure you out,” Hedy explained.

  Hickok chuckled. “Don’t bother. My missus hasn’t been able to figure me out and we’ve been hitched for years.”

  “You have a wife?” Hedy inquired, sounding amazed at the prospect.

  “Yep,” Hickok said. “The best-lookin’ filly this side of the Milky Way.”

  “Filly? Has anyone ever told you that you talk funny?” Hedy questioned.

  “Just about everybody,” Hickok admitted.

  “Then why do you do it?”

  Hickok shrugged. “Keeps me from twiddlin’ my thumbs.”

  Hedy shook her head. “You’re really weird, Hickok.”

  Hickok grinned. “But I’m adorable too.”

  Something splashed on the surface of the water to their left.

  Hickok shifted in his seat, drawing his left Python. “What was that?”

  Hedy laughed. “Just a fish. A small fish.”

  “It’s nice to see you’re relaxed,” Hickok observed.

  “Who the hell is relaxed?” Hedy rejoined. “I’m scared stiff.”

  Hickok rested his left hand in his lap, his finger on the trigger. It didn’t hurt to be prepared.

  “Look!” Hedy abruptly exclaimed, releasing the right oar and pointing to the east.

  Hickok gazed to his left. All he saw was the water, Montlake Bridge a ways off, and a flock of birds between the rowboat and the bridge. “What am I lookin’ for?”

  “Don’t you see them?” Hedy queried excitedly.

  “See what? Those birds?” Hickok asked.

  “They’re gulls!” Hedy declared.

  Hickok stared at her. “Yep. So what?”

  “They’re gulls!” Hedy repeated, as if that explained everything.

  “So they’re gulls? So what. What’s the big deal over a nock of birds?”

  “You don’t know nothing, do you? Gulls will go after you. They’ll tear you apart,” Hedy said.

  Hickok snickered. “Gulls? Birds? You’re pullin’ my leg again. What can a bunch of measly birds do?”

  Hedy sighed and resumed her rowing. “Thank goodness they’re heading toward the bridge and not this way. We’d be in deep shit.”

  “What a mouth for a lady,” Hickok muttered.

  “Where are you from, Hickok?” Hedy asked.

  “Minnesota,” Hickok revealed. “Know where it is?”

  “Is it a city near here?” Hedy responded.

  “I can see you were a whiz in geography class,” Hickok cracked.

  “I never took no geography class,” Hedy said. “I never took any class.”

  “You never went to school?” Hickok inquired.

  “What’s a school?” Hedy replied.

  “You ain’t got no schools here in Seattle?” Hickok asked. “How do you learn things?”

  “From our folks,” Hedy said. “From the other Sharks. We learn how to survive. That’s all that counts.”

  “Can you read?”

  “No,” Hedy answered. “I want to learn,” she added quickly. “Gar and Fabiana can read. So can Tiger. And they’re the smartest of the Sharks. I bet if I could read I’d be as smart as them.”

  “What do they read?” Hickok probed.

  “Books, dummy. What else?”

  “I was in a city once where they’d burned almost all of their books during their cold winters,” Hickok mentioned.

  “Well, we have lots of books left,” Hedy said. “I’ve seen some of them. I like the ones with the pictures.”

  “Why don’t you get someone to teach you to read?” Hickok suggested.

  Hedy shrugged. “I’ve never found the time.”

  “My Family could help you learn to read,” Hickok said. “We could help all of the Sharks. That is, if you wanted our help.”

  “Why would you help us?” Hedy queried suspiciously.

  “We’ll help anybody,” Hickok stated. “All you have to do is ask.”

  “I can’t see Tiger asking anyone for help,” Hedy remarked.

  “Looks like I’ll need to have a long talk with this Tiger,” Hickok said.

  “Tiger doesn’t like outsiders,” Hedy divulged. “He thinks all outsiders are trouble.”

  “You’ve been isolated here too long,” Hickok commented. “Cut off from the rest of the world. True, there are a heap of misfits out there ready to stab you in the back the first chance they get. But there are a lot of friendly folks too. People who are ready to lend a helping hand. My Family is just one group. There are others, and we’ve all joined together in the Freedom Federation.”

  “Never heard of it,” Hedy said.

  “I’m not surprised,” Hickok declared. “You don’t know what’s going on out there in the world. It’s about time you learned.”

  “I don’t know,” Hedy said uncertainly.

  “What have you got to lose?” Hickok asked. “Look at the way you live.

  Hand to mouth, never knowing if the next day will be your last. The Sharks must change things around, make Seattle a safe place to live again.”

  “As long as Manta and the Brethren are here, Seattle will never be safe,” Hedy asserted.

  “So I gather,” Hickok said.

  They lapsed into silence. Hedy rowed. Hickok idly gazed over the water, the tangy air tingling his nostrils, squinting because of the bright glare on the water.

  Time passed.

  Hickok checked his bearings, estimating they were in the middle of Portage Bay. He was becoming adjusted to the gentle rhythm of the boat, and he was lulled into a state of fatigued complacency. His eyelids were sagging when the first thump resounded on the bottom of the rowboat. He sat up straight, instantly awake. “What was that?”

  Hedy had ceased rowing. Her features were pale, her mouth slack. “Oh, no!” she moaned.

  “What was it?” Hickok asked.

  “I told you!” Hedy whined.

  “Was it a fish?” Hickok inquired, peering at the water.

  “That was no damn fish!” Hedy snapped.

  “Keep going,” Hickok instructed her.

  Hedy hastily obeyed, rowing strenuously for the north shore.

  Hickok drew his right Colt and held both Pythons in his hands, searching the water for any sign of motion.

  “Please don’t let it be what I think it is!” Hedy said. “Please! Please!”

  Hickok probed the water for signs of motion, a fish, anything. For 12

  feet or so the water was relativel
y clear; beyond that was an alien realm of insidious shadow.

  The rowboat was suddenly struck a second time, a distinct thud.

  Hedy froze. “No!” she cried.

  “Keep rowing,” Hickok commanded. “We can still make it!”

  Hedy applied herself to the oars in a frenzy.

  Hickok was feeling extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t much like being so exposed, and he regretted his decision to force Hedy to row across the bay.

  Yet a third blow was delivered to the underside of the rowboat.

  Hickok leaned over the bow. What the blazes was happening? What was down there? Why…

  A dark shape materialized from the depths below, swimming toward the boat, toward the bow.

  Hickok glimpsed a greenish, scaly figure with arms and legs and a hideous face with big, circular, pitch-black eyes.

  The thing lunged from the water, grasping at the Warrior.

  Hickok received a fleeting impression of scales and teeth and a pungent fishy smell. The Python barrels were resting on the top edge of the rowboat, slanting downwards, and he scarcely had to move them because the thing came up directly into his line of fire. He saw webbed hands reaching for him and a mouth stretched wide, exhibiting long white fangs, and he squeezed the triggers.

  The Pythons thundered.

  Taken unawares, the thing was hit in the forehead. It tumbled into the water and started to sink from sight, its arms and legs outstretched.

  “I think you got it!” Hedy yelled happily.

  “There might be more,” Hickok said.

  The rowboat lurched to a sudden stop, as if something had grabbed it from underneath.

  “No!” Hedy wailed.

  Hickok glanced from one side of the boat to the other, waiting for the mutants to make their move.

  They did.

  But not as expected.

  The rowboat unexpectedly tilted, the right side lifting a foot above the water and dropping down again.

  Hedy screamed.

  Hickok was jostled by the impact, but he retained his seating.

  “We’re going to be killed!” Hedy wailed.

  “Not if I can help it,” Hickok said. “Keep rowing!”

  “What good would it do?” Hedy retorted, terrified.

  “Row!” Hickok ordered.

  Hedy was reaching for the oars when the rowboat rose from the water again, the left side this time, elevating two feet above the surface. She started to slip, to fall toward the right side of the boat. “Help me!”

  Hickok began to rise, to go to her aid.

  The left side of the rowboat shot up almost vertically.

  Hickok saw Hedy upended, her legs flying out from under her, and she toppled into the water, shrieking as she fell. He lunged, trying to grab her left ankle, but she went under before he could reach her.

  Blast!

  The gunman was holding onto his seat with the fingertips of his left hand, his right arm outstretched, a Colt in each hand, when the rowboat was flipped completely over. He instinctively inhaled a second before his head broke the surface. The water was cold on his skin as he sank a few feet below the overturned boat.

  Green figures converged on the Warrior and the woman.

  Hickok’s arms were taken in grips of steel. He struggled to break free, to regain the surface before he ran out of air, but the green forms were intent on keeping him under the water.

  Hedy was being overpowered by three of the mutants.

  Hickok kicked at the pair holding his arms, but the water hampered his movements, impairing his blows.

  The mutants took him lower.

  Hickok was feeling an intense pain in his chest. He needed fresh air, and quickly! His shoulders were in excruciating torment, further hindering his efforts.

  A leering visage appeared before him.

  Hickok tried to butt the mutant with his forehead, but the creature retreated out of range. He felt like his lungs were going to burst! He thrashed and heaved, all to no avail. Bitter water began to seep into his mouth. He tried to fire his Colts, but his hands were strangely limp and wouldn’t cooperate. A searing spasm lanced his side and he involuntarily opened his mouth.

  And blacked out.

  Chapter Twelve

  He came awake slowly, his head throbbing.

  “He’s coming around!” someone shouted.

  Blade opened his eyes, confused at first, gazing at the spacious room with the opulent furnishings. Where was he? The last he remembered was… Hickok! Hickok was dead! Everything came back to him in a rush and he sat up, his hands dropping to his Bowies.

  They were gone!

  “Are these what you’re looking for, asshole?” a gruff voice asked.

  Blade suddenly perceived he wasn’t alone. There were others in the room. He also realized he was sitting on the edge of a bed.

  Five men stood at a respectful distance from the giant. Each was armed with a gun, three with rifles, two with revolvers. Their clothing was ragged, their bodies badly in need of a washing. One of them, a portly fellow with a stubbly beard and piggish brown eyes, attired in a grubby green shirt and filthy black corduroy pants, was holding Blade’s Bowies in his left hand, a Marlin .30-30 in his right.

  “You won’t be needing these toothpicks, shithead,” the portly man declared.

  “Where am I?” Blade asked.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know!” the portly character taunted the Warrior.

  “That’s why I posed the question,” Blade said calmly.

  Portly Butt cackled. “Posed the question?” he said, mimicking Blade. “Well la-de-da! We’ve got us an educated shithead on our hands!”

  Several of the others started laughing.

  Until a deep voice spoke up from the rear of the chamber. A commanding voice with an edge about it.

  “Did I miss the joke?” the speaker demanded.

  The laughing abruptly ceased.

  “Tiger!” the portly man exclaimed, spinning around, nearly falling over in the process.

  Blade looked toward the rear of the room. A pair of wide doors were open at the very back. The light in the room was patchy, supplied by the sunlight streaming in two large windows above his head, and the section near the doors was obscured by shadows. A tall figure was framed in the doorway, but his features were indistinct.

  “You were expecting maybe Edgar Allan Poe?” the figure asked sarcastically.

  “No, Tiger,” the portly fellow said obsequiously. “Of course not.”

  The figure came into the light.

  Blade’s eyes narrowed as he studied the newcomer. The man was about six and a half feet in height, and must have weighed 210 pounds. His physique radiated power; his arms rippled with layers of muscles. Yet his most outstanding feature was not his build, but his face. His features were decidedly feline. Slanted blue eyes and brows, narrow nostrils, rounded cheeks and hairline, and curled lips all contributed to his uncanny appearance. His meticulously combed mane of hair completed the picture: reddish-orange with black stripes. Blade could readily comprehend why they called this man Tiger.

  Tiger stalked into the room. He wore black boots, custom-tailored orange pants, and a clean black shirt. A wide black leather belt girded his slim waist. He moved with a supernal economy of motion, seeming to glide across the floor.

  “He just woke up!” the portly man blurted.

  “I can see that,” Tiger said disdainfully. He scrutinized the giant as he walked up to the bed. “Greetings.”

  “Hello,” Blade said.

  “We have much to discuss,” Tiger stated. “But first, there is a matter I must attend to. If you’ll excuse me.” He faced the portly character.

  Blade saw the corpulent man gulp.

  “So, Oakes,” Tiger said slowly. “You completed your assignment, did you?”

  Oakes nodded. “We captured this guy. And I brought you these.” He extended the Bowies.

  Tiger took the weapons, nodding appreciatively. “Nice.” He glanced a
t Blade. “And I suspect you are adept at their use, are you not?”

  “Some say so,” Blade replied.

  Tiger nodded, grinning. Then he looked at Oakes. “Tell me what happened.”

  “What?” Oakes said.

  “I just enjoyed a discussion with some of the other members of your squad,” Tiger stated. “I’m hoping you can clarify certain inconsistencies.”

  “Inconsistencies?” Oakes repeated nervously.

  “Yes,” Tiger confirmed. “I want you to tell me everything that happened.”

  “Everything?” Oakes queried.

  “Humor me,” Tiger said.

  “Well, we set the trap, just like you wanted,” Oakes began.

  “Exactly as I specified?” Tiger inquired.

  Oakes nodded vigorously. “Yep. Gar and Fab waited outside with the main body. I lured two of them upstairs to divide them, to make them easier to capture, just like you said.”

  “I see,” Tiger commented.

  “Yep. I hid some of my men in the lobby,” Oakes went on. “And I took the rest up to the fourth floor. We used a net on this guy, and here he is. In one piece. You wanted them unharmed if possible, right? At least able to talk, you said. Right?”

  Tiger smiled pleasantly. “Those were my instructions. But I’m afraid I must have missed something.”

  Oakes appeared worried. “What?”

  “Where is the other one?” Tiger inquired.

  “The other one?” Oakes repeated.

  “Yes. You know. The other one. You said you lured two of them upstairs. Where is the other one?” Tiger questioned.

  “He died,” Oakes responded.

  “You saw him die?”

  “Yep,” Oakes said.

  Tiger reached his left hand out, the Bowies still in his right, and draped his hand on Oakes’s right shoulder. “Now think. Did you really see him die?”

  “He had to be dead,” Oakes maintained. “I saw him fall. He went over the railing and we were on the fourth floor.”

  “But did you see his body?” Tiger asked.