Seattle Run

by David Robbins

  “That’s not a reason,” Fab noted.

  Gar shrugged. “What’s the difference who has it? We might be attacked again, and I wanted you to have it in case lover boy gets in trouble,” he said quietly, so only Fab and Rikki could hear.

  “But you just said you’d shoot him if he lays his hands on it,” Fab stated.

  Gar glanced at his sister. “You do what you’ve got to do,” he told her gravely, his tone implying an ulterior meaning. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

  Fab gazed at Rikki, then at her brother. “You know what I’ll do if need be.”

  Gar sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “You wouldn’t stop me?” Fab asked.

  “You’re my sister,” Gar declared bluntly.

  Rikki wasn’t certain he understood every nuance, but he believed he had acquired one, and possible two, newfound friends. “I thank both of you,” he said.

  “For what?” Gar queried irritably.

  “For being true to the Spirit within you,” Rikki said.

  Gar looked at Rikki in amazement. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”

  “I thank you anyway,” Rikki reiterated.

  “Don’t thank us!” Gar snapped. “You haven’t met Tiger yet. And you may not be so grateful after you’ve met him.”

  “Why not?” Rikki inquired.

  Gar stared into the Warrior’s eyes. “Because you might be dead.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  What was that awful smell?

  Hickok opened his eyes, and for several seconds he wondered if he was alive or dead. Everything was black. There wasn’t a glimmer of light anywhere.

  So he couldn’t be dead.

  Hickok shifted his eyes to the right and the left. The Elders had always claimed that those who experienced the translation of death, those who passed on to the higher mansions, were always aware of a light upon awakening. Since he couldn’t see a light, he was alive.

  But where was he?

  Hickok took stock. He was on his back, lying on a hard surface. A rank, fishy odor assaulted his nostrils. His chest ached and his buckskins were damp. Worst of all, his Pythons were gone! He ran his hands over his soggy clothing, checking his holsters, his belt, and the floor in his immedicate vicinity, but the Colts were definitely gone.

  Some low-down varmint was going to pay!

  There was a protracted moan from his left.

  Hickok twisted onto his left side, probing the darkness. He reached out with his right arm and his hand brushed against soft fabric. His fingers traced the outline of a peculiar, pliant mound under the material, a mound with a rounded tip in the center. He…

  Mound?

  Rounded tip?

  Like someone who had just touched a scorching coal, the gunman retracted his hand.

  But not in time.

  “Is that you, Hickok?” a feminine voice demanded.

  Hickok balked at responding, embarrassed to his core.

  “It’d better be you!” the voice declared. “Or I’m in deep shit!”

  “It’s me,” Hickok admitted.

  “I knew it!” Hedy exclaimed. “I knew you were the type to cop a feel the first chance you got!”

  “But I wasn’t—” Hickok began, trying to defend his action.

  “Pervert!” Hedy snapped indignantly.

  Why bother? Hickok asked himself. She’d never believe him.

  “At least you didn’t grope me downstairs,” Hedy was saying.

  Hickok sighed. If there was any one lesson he’d learned during his marriage, it was this: never argue with a woman. A man will lose every time.

  “What are you? A tit man?” Hedy queried sarcastically.

  “Watch your mouth!” Hickok warned her.

  Hedy made a sputtering sound. “What a hypocrite! Mr. Roaming Hands wants me to watch my mouth!”

  “I didn’t mean to touch you there,” Hickok said.

  “Oh, sure!” Hedy snickered.

  “I didn’t,” Hickok insisted. “It was an accident. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I stopped. I didn’t mean to touch your… you know.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Why?” Hedy asked. “What’s wrong with my boobs? Aren’t they big enough for you?”

  When would he ever learn? Hickok shook his head and sat up. He could distinguish Hedy doing the same.

  “Where the hell are we?” Hedy inquired.

  “I don’t know,” Hickok replied.

  “Wait!” Hedy cried. “Do you smell it?”

  “The fishy odor?” Hickok responded.

  “Yeah. I know where we’re at!” Hedy stated, her voice rising in fear.

  “Oh, God!”

  “Where are we?” Hickok wanted to know.

  A wooden door in front of them was abruptly yanked wide and light flooded over them.

  “I can answer your question,” asserted someone in a raspy, sibilant tone.

  Hickok shielded his eyes with his right hand, blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust to the bright glare.

  There was an intake of breath from Hedy.

  Hickok squinted upward, distinguishing details, his mouth slackening at the figure he beheld.

  “So you are Hickok?” the figure asked, smirking. “I see you’ve accepted my invitation.”

  “Manta!” Hickok blurted out.

  “Of course,” the mutant replied.

  Hickok did a double take. He’d seen a lot of mutants during his lifetime, but nothing like this one!

  Manta was a hybrid of humanoid and aquatic features. He stood about six feet four and was broad through the shoulders, trim at the waist, and possessed stocky, powerful legs. And that was the extent of his human aspects. His entire body was covered with greenish scales, even his hands and feet, both of which were webbed. Long nails tapered from his fingers.

  His lips were red, ringing a mouth filled with pointed teeth. The nose was a mere slit, while his eyes were pools of black. Except for skimpy briefs covering his genitals, briefs the same shade as his scaly skin, he was naked. The queerest part of his appearance was the bizarre triangular cowl, a flap of scale-covered flesh extending several inches outward from each circular ear, then narrowing to a point at his shoulder. “Are you finished admiring me?” he asked at length.

  “You’re not what I expected,” Hickok said.

  “Oh? What did you expect?” Manta queried.

  “I don’t rightly know,” Hickok admitted. “But you sure as blazes ain’t it!”

  “Such eloquence!” Manta stated contemptuously. “It’s difficult to believe you are human!”

  “What do you plan to do with us?” Hickok ventured to inquire.

  “Why, give you the grand tour, of course,” Manta said, moving to the left. “Step out here.”

  Hickok slowly rose, then assisted Hedy in rising. Her legs appeared to have turned to mush, and she couldn’t take her wide eyes off Manta.

  Manta uttered a nasal snicker. “I am irresistible, aren’t I, my beauty?”

  Hickok led Heady from confinement.

  “I trust you found the accommodations to your liking?” Manta said.

  “You were in our first-class closet.”

  Hickok glanced at the narrow cubicle they’d just vacated. “We were in a closet?”

  “Not just any closet,” Manta declared, grinning. “Observe.” He closed the door and pointed at black letters stenciled on the upper panel.

  “Sanitation,” Hickok read the word aloud.

  Manta nodded. “An appropriate place to hold a human, don’t you think?”

  “What have you got against humans?” Hickok absently questioned.

  Manta hissed through his teeth. “Everything! Humans are despicable!

  Eventually they will be eradicated from the earth!”

  “Not if I can help it,” Hickok mentioned.

  “But you can’t,” Manta stated, and turned to lead them down the corridor to their right.

&n
bsp; Hickok’s gaze rested on the side of the mutant’s neck and his eyes narrowed.

  Dear Spirit!

  The sides of Mania’s squat neck consisted of vertical, reddish membranes, expanding and contracting in a regular rhythm.

  “You’ve got gills!” Hickok exclaimed.

  Manta looked at the gunman. “And who says humans are stupid? Your powers of perception never cease to astound me!”

  “But how—” Hickok began.

  “How is such a thing possible?” Manta interjected, leading them along the cool, pale green, tiled hallway. Illumination was provided by an intermittent series of overhead lights.

  Hickok had to lead Hedy by the hand. She kept digging in her heels and trying to flee.

  Manta appeared not to notice. “How can you ask such a foolish question? Or have you been residing in a cave all of your life?”

  “No,” Hickok said.

  “In case you haven’t noticed,” Manta went on, “there are many beings such as myself. Superior beings. You call us mutants.”

  “Now hold on a blamed second,” Hickok stated. “Who ever claimed mutants were superior to humans?”

  Manta glanced at the Warrior, his fangs gleaming. “I did. Because our superiority is an established fact. Mutants possess capabilities far beyond the pitiful limitations of your species. We are more intelligent, more adaptable physically, and destined to rule your kind.” He paused. “You’ll see. I’ll show you what I’ve done here. Perhaps then you can appreciate the truth of my statements.”

  “You’re impressin’ me so far,” Hickok said.

  “I am?” Manta inquired, smiling.

  “You sure are,” Hickok asserted. “I’ve been captured by the best of ’em. By the Watchers, the Moles, the Commies, the Technics, and a passel of androids. But you’re classier than all of ’em. No doubt about it. I’ve never been held prisoner in a sanitation closet before.”

  Manta unexpectedly halted, glaring at the Warrior. “You are mocking me.”

  “Wouldn’t think of it, Fish Lips,” Hickok rejoined.

  Manta raised his right arm, about to strike, when he inexplicably changed his mind. His arm lowered and he smiled. “Have your fun while you can, human.”

  “I intend to,” Hickok assured him.

  Manta began walking again. “Obviously an explanation is in order. You were held in a sanitation closet because, after all, where else does one put trash? Besides, the Humarium lacks jail cells, and the closets are adequate for our purposes.”

  “What the dickens is a Humarium?” Hickok queried.

  “Do you know what an aquarium is?” Manta asked.

  “Yeah. A tank where you keep little fish,” Hickok said. “Some of the young’uns in my Family have aquariums.”

  “Your description is accurate to a point.” Manta stated. “Aquariums can contain little fish, as you so quaintly phrased it, but they can also contain large fish, very large fish indeed. In fact, prior to the war, there were a number of facilities devoted to exhibiting aquatic animals and plants. They were called aquariums too.”

  “I remember reading about them once,” Hickok mentioned. “They even had whales, didn’t they?”

  “That they did,” Manta confirmed. “Your kind scoured the seas for the most exotic specimens you could find, then you imprisoned them for life in your holding tanks. Yet another example of human barbarism!”

  “Hold the fort, there, Fish Lips,” Hickok said, interrupting. “I wasn’t around when all of this was going on, and those who were involved were tryin’ to advance the cause of science. They studied the specimens they caught to increase their knowledge of the sea.”

  Manta stared at the gunman. “You’re not the bumpkin you pretend to be.”

  “I’m as bumpy as they come,” Hickok retorted.

  “I will, though, concede you are correct,” Manta said. “Many of those involved in capturing aquatic species were sincerely striving to broaden their oceanic understanding.”

  “Is there an echo in here?” Hickok quipped. He hoped he could keep the mutant talking. Stalling was imperative. He needed to find out where they were and what had happened to his Colts. Once he had his guns in his hands, he was going to teach Manta a lesson the mutant would never forget!

  “I’m glad you comprehend,” Manta stated. “Your transition should be easier.”

  “Transition?” Hickok repeated, perplexed.

  Manta nodded. “Be patient. You will understand everything shortly.”

  Hickok wanted to continue the conversation, to learn all he could before making his move. “Were those your goons who jumped us?”

  “The Brethren are not goons,” Manta snapped.

  “Those were some of your gang?”

  Manta’s lips twitched. “Nor are the Brethren a gang.”

  “What are they?”

  “The Brethren is an association, the first of its kind. We are an organization devoted to the fostering of mutantkind around the globe. All mutants are welcome to join,” Manta boasted.

  “So how many mutants are there in your outfit?” Hickok idly inquired.

  “There are two hundred and sixty-seven Brethren of the Primary Order,” Manta declared proudly, then stopped again. He gazed at the Warrior, “Exceedingly clever.”

  “Who? Me?” Hickok responded.

  “Yes. You,” Manta said. “The number of members we have is classified information. For Mutant Eyes Only.” He paused. “Oh, well. No harm has been done. You will never leave here to reveal your knowledge.”

  “Who cares how many yahoos with fish lips are runnin’ around?”

  Hickok commented, still holding Hedy’s hand in his. The poor woman was terrified.

  “The Sharks care,” Manta declared. “They would launch an attack on our domain if they discovered their numerical advantage is actually greater than they believe it to be.”

  “The Sharks outnumber you, huh?”

  “By over four hundred…” Manta began, then checked himself. “There you go again! Yes. They outnumber us by over four hundred, but they don’t know that fact. They think they have an edge, but only by two hundred or so.”

  “Two hundred. Four hundred. What’s the difference?” Hickok observed.

  “To them, everything,” Manta said. “I wouldn’t put it past Tiger to invade us if he knew the truth.” He accented Tiger’s name with a bitter tone.

  “I take it you’re not too fond of old Tiger,” Hickok commented.

  “Fond!” Manta spat the word. “I’ll rip him apart with my own two hands if I ever have the chance! Tiger is a typical example of your kind! He is a vile, insidious bastard! I had the Sharks on the run until he assumed their leadership. I would have wiped them out, but he checkmated my every move. He organized them, inspired them. He has prevented me from extending my domain east of I-5. But he’ll get his someday! Him and the rest of the Sharks.”

  Hickok felt Hedy’s hand tremble.

  “The Sharks!” Manta snapped scornfully. “Would you like me to tell you a little secret about the mighty Sharks?”

  “Maybe you’d better not,” Hickok said. “It might be classified for Mutant Eyes Only.”

  Manta disregarded the taunt. “Not even the Sharks know this, but I was the one who named them!”

  “You named them the Sharks?” Hickok stated skeptically.

  “Yes,” Manta exulted. “Decades ago, when I was in the process of forming the Brethren, the humans in Seattle were a ragtag collection of misfits. They had no leader, and they were always fighting amongst themselves. They didn’t even have a name for themselves.”

  “So you named them out of the goodness of your heart,” Hickok interjected.

  “It was a fluke!” Manta declared. “I had just started my Humarium and had captured twenty or so humans. One of those humans was a belligerent savage who vowed to escape and lead the humans against me. I ridiculed him. I told him I was quaking in fear at the prospect of being attacked by those human… sharks! But I meant
it as an insult!”

  “They didn’t?”

  “No,” Manta said in frank amazement. “That savage I mentioned escaped. He was the only human to ever escape from my Humarium. And shortly thereafter, those fools began referring to themselves as the Sharks. Can you believe it?”

  “Indirectly, then, you were responsible for giving them their name,” Hickok mentioned.

  “Yes!” Manta replied angrily. “I think they did it deliberately. They took the name as an affront to me! To offend me!”

  “Why would anyone want to offend a sweet, lovable guy like you?” Hickok quipped.

  “One day I shall make them pay!” Manta vowed.

  “Hey. Wait a minute,” Hickok said. “You fibbed.”

  Manta stared at the Warrior. “I do not lie! As a superior being, I have no need to resort to petty subterfuge.”

  “Then maybe it was an honest boo-boo,” Hickok remarked. “But you said only one human ever escaped from your Humarium.”

  “So?”

  “So what about the guy I talked to on the radio?” Hickok inquired.

  “Remember him? Dale was his name. Captain Nathan Dale. He escaped, didn’t he?”

  “Only temporarily,” Manta replied. “The savage I referred to was never recaptured. Dale was.”

  “Is he still alive?” Hickok asked.

  “Yes,” Manta verified. “And I thank you for bringing him up.”

  “Why’s that?”

  They were nearing a junction in the corridor. The intersection was brilliantly lit.

  “Because,” Manta said, smirking, “you are about to meet him in person and behold your future home, your residence for the rest of your short life span.” So saying, Manta walked ahead of the gunman and the Shark and turned the corner to the left, motioning for them to join him.

  Hickok walked around the corner and was shocked speechless.

  It couldn’t be!

  But it was.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I trust this is satisfactory,” Tiger stated.

  Blade nodded, gazing over the table at the food. Six feet long, four feet wide, and nearly every square inch loaded with succulent dishes. Seafood was in abundance; there was crab meat, lobster, clams, and several varieties of fish. There was a heaping plate of steak, not the venison Blade was accustomed to at the Home, but genuine beefsteak. There were even fruits and vegetables, as well as three different types of bread.