“Take the male to the kelp factory!” Manta commanded. “Tell the overseer to watch him closely. I suspect he will cause trouble.”
“And the female?” one asked.
“Assign her to the painting detail working in the housing units,” Manta directed. “And inform Ore I want the painting completed within two days.
I have another project in mind for the humans.”
“Yes, sir,” the one mutant stated. He faced the Warrior. “You will come with us.”
Hickok glanced at Hedy. “Don’t fret none. I’ll get us out of this.”
Manta laughed. “You are not going anywhere, human. Both of you will stay here for the remainder of your natural lives.”
“I can’t stay that long,” Hickok quipped. “My missus would have a fit if I missed my son’s birthday.”
“Take this prattling fool away!” Manta barked.
The two mutants took hold of the Warrior, one on each arm, and forcibly propelled him to the north.
Hickok glanced from one to the other. “When is the grub served around here?”
Chapter Eighteen
As Blade hurtled down the metallic shaft, he envisioned several horrific possibilities awaiting him at the other end: he could fall into a vat of acid; or there could be a slavering mutant waiting to rip into him; or perhaps a score of Sharks were going to welcome him with a hail of gunfire. He tried to reach his Bowies, but couldn’t.
The shaft abruptly ended, and Blade plummeted from the mouth and dropped onto a dirt floor, jarring his left side. He rose, drawing the Bowies, ready to sell his life dearly, only to find he was in a cell!
The compartment was ten feet by ten feet. Two of the sides were brick walls, the other two consisted of iron bars spaced close together. The cell was situated in the middle of a wide chamber, and both the chamber and the cell were illuminated by lanterns hanging from the chamber walls.
Damn! How could he have been so dumb?
Moments later, a door in the chamber wall opened and Tiger appeared.
He grinned at the Warrior and came up to the bars. “I’m afraid these accommodations are on the spartan side, but fortunately you won’t be using this cell for long.”
“I was sitting on a trap door the whole time,” Blade said.
Tiger nodded. “I’ve made certain modifications to the Art Museum.
This lower level was constructed by the Sharks.”
“So what now? Death by starvation?”
“Nothing so crude!” Tiger replied. “I want to be fair about this. I’ll give you a fighting chance.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I am in need of a workout,” Tiger stated. “And since you won’t accept the fact of my superiority, I must prove it to you.”
“How?” Blade asked.
“You’ll see,” Tiger said, grinning. He turned and departed, closing the door behind him.
Blade placed the Bowies in their sheaths. He should never have attempted to befriend the Shark leader, to persuade Tiger to become an ally. True, he had only extended Tiger the benefit of the doubt, the same as he would have done to any person. But he should have seen this coming.
The slaying of Oakes had revealed Tiger’s unpredictable nature.
Doubledamn!
Blade walked up to the iron bars and ran his hands over their cool surface. The bars were too tightly aligned to permit his hands to slip through. There was a door, a heavy metal affair, in the center of one of the brick walls. But the doorknob and the hinges were on the outside. He experimented and forsook the door as a lost cause. Even his mighty muscles couldn’t budge it.
There had to be a way out!
There simply had to be!
Blade knelt and touched the dirt underfoot. The soil was compact and hard. He might be able to dig his way free, but the digging would take forever.
Was there any othe way?
Blade studied the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. He gazed at the shaft for a moment. There was his way out!
The wine tasted pleasantly refreshing on his lips and tingled his tongue as he gulped a mouthful from a crystal glass. A strip of steak, a lobster claw, and clam shells were all that remained of his delicious meal. He shoved the plate back and set the glass on the table. Such a feast invariably made him drowsy. After a short catnap, he’d be as good as new.
Then he would attend to the pretender in the cell.
Footsteps pounded in the corridor, and a second later one of the Sharks burst into the room. “Tiger!”
Tiger swiveled in his chair, glaring at the man. “This had better be important! You know I don’t like to have my repast interrupted.”
“Fire!” the man blurted. “There’s a fire!”
Tiger straightened. “Where?”
“In north Seattle,” the man said. “You should see all the smoke!”
“Is this fire in our territory?”
“Yep. It’s on our side of I-5,” the man answered.
“Okay, Collins. Take fifteen others with you and investigate this fire,” Tiger ordered. “Insure everyone is armed.”
“Yes, sir!” Collins wheeled and started off, but halted in the doorway.
“Oh! Almost forgot!”
“What?” Tiger asked.
“Gar and Fab are on their way back,” Collins informed the Shark leader. “We saw them from the roof. They’re about half a mile away.”
“Excellent. On your way north, tell Gar and Fab to report to me immediately,” Tiger directed.
“Yes, sir!” Collins raced off.
Tiger sat back in his chair. A fire, eh? Fires were an infrequent occurrence in Seattle. The climate was too damp, for one thing. Lightning strikes started fires, but rarely. None of the Sharks would start a blaze for fear of arousing his wrath. Prior to his assumption of command, a few of the least intelligent Sharks had periodically indulged in petty arson. He had forbidden the practice on the grounds the fires might destroy items the Sharks could use. So if the fire couldn’t be attributed to the weather, and if the Sharks hadn’t started it, three possibilities were left. The fire could have begun accidentally, with the sun igniting an overheated combustible object. Which was not very likely. Or the blaze could have been intentionally lit by the Brethren, but for what purpose? Manta would expect the Sharks to investigate, but Manta would also know only a few Sharks would be sent. No. If Manta was launching an assault, he wouldn’t employ such an obvious ruse as a fire.
There was only one other likely candidate. Or candidates.
The strangers.
The initial reports had indicated there were four strangers in the city: the giant, a man in buckskins, a big man in a dark blue outfit, and a runt in black. With the giant in the holding cell, the remaining three were the probable culprits.
But why?
What were the strangers up to?
Tiger stood and clamped his hands behind his back. He began to slowly pace around the table, immersed in speculation on the activities of the newcomers.
There was a faint scraping noise from underfoot.
Tiger came to the opposite end of the table and halted, staring at the hole in the floor. He had neglected to reset the trapdoor after triggering the mechanism to plunge the giant into the cell. The door, which was three feet by three feet, now hung down inside the shaft. He dropped to his knees and reached for the small metal ring in the center of the door, about to haul the door up, when he heard the odd scraping again.
What was this?
He lowered his face to the rim of the shaft and peered down. The shaft descended at an angle, and his view of the cell was limited to the middle of the floor. He caught sight of Blade and almost laughed aloud.
What resourcefulness!
The giant was erecting a mound of dirt!
Tiger instantly perceived the purpose behind Blade’s digging, and he grinned in admiration. How unfortunate the man had to die! He debated whether to close the trapdoor or spring a surprise on his clever guest.
T
he surprise, definitely.
Tiger stepped around to the rear of the shaft. He reached his right arm to the small of his back and clasped one of the pair of gold-handled daggers hidden in leather sheaths slanted under his wide black leather belt. The gold handle glistened in the light as he brought the 12-inch dagger around in front of him. He smiled wickedly. The giant was not the only one adept at the use of knives, as he was about to discover.
A few minutes elapsed.
What was taking the giant so long? Tiger wondered. Perhaps he had misjudged the man; maybe the giant was digging to China instead of trying to escape through the shaft! Tiger chuckled at his joke as voices sounded from the corridor.
Gar, Fabiana, and one other entered.
“Tiger!” Gar exclaimed. “Good news!”
The man with the white hair and his twin sister skirted the table and approached their leader.
Tiger was watching the man in black, a man of small stature. A runt.
“We’ve caught one of them,” Gar stated, pointing at the stranger.
“So I see,” Tiger said.
Gar halted five feet off. “Did Oakes return with the one he caught?”
“Yes. Long ago,” Tiger replied.
“We were detained,” Gar said. “We were attacked by gulls on the Montlake Bridge.”
“Did you lose many?” Tiger inquired. He noticed the man in black was standing near the table, his eyes on Fabiana.
“We lost eleven on the bridge,” Gar said, frowning. “Seven more were injured.”
“And the other two strangers?” Tiger inquired.
Gar shrugged. “We lost them, I’m afraid.”
“Did this one put up much of a fight?” Tiger questioned.
“A hell of a fight,” Gar replied.
Tiger stepped several feet to his left, examining the man in black. “And what is your name?”
“Rikki,” the man answered.
Tiger hefted the dagger in his right hand and glanced at Gar. “I’m confused, Captain Gar.”
“Sir?” Gar said.
“Something is amiss here, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Tiger smiled at Fabiana. “You’ve been so quiet, my dear. Would you happen to know what I’m talking about?”
“No,” Fab responded quickly, averting her gaze.
Tiger looked at Gar. “Ordinarily, you are the epitome of precision. But when I just asked how many you lost, you specifically gave me the figure lost on the bridge. How unusual. Evidently, I must rephrase my question.”
His tone hardened. “How many did you lose, Captain Gar, on your mission? How many, all told?”
“All told?” Gar repeated meekly.
“Yes!” Tiger thundered. “You lost eleven on the bridge. How many did you lose capturing this man? Speak! Now!”
“Twenty-nine or thirty,” Gar mumbled.
“Twenty-nine or…!” Tiger could scarcely believe his hearing. He glared at the man in black, then at Gar. “Tell me this is your idea of a sick joke!”
“We tried our best,” Gar said in his defense.
“You tried your best!” Tiger repeated in a mounting rage. “Yet this man killed thirty of our brothers and—”
“Seventeen,” Rikki said softly.
Tiger spun toward the stranger. “What did you say?”
“I am responsible for slaying seventeen Sharks in the line of duty,” Rikki elaborated. “Perhaps a few more.”
“Oh. Only seventeen!” Tiger snapped. His anger was tempered by his amazement. What manner of men were these strangers? How could just one of them kill 17 Sharks?
“We tried to take them alive, like you wanted,” Gar noted.
“I told you to try and take them alive, if possible,” Tiger mentioned harshly. “I didn’t tell you to get yourselves killed in the process!”
“Where is Blade?” Rikki interjected.
Tiger glanced at the runt. The deadly runt. “What was that?”
“Where is Blade?” Rikki repeated his question. “My friend?”
Tiger looked down at Rikki’s hands, then turned to Gar. “What the hell is this? His hands aren’t even tied! I thought you said he’s your prisoner!”
“He is,” Gar responded.
“Then why aren’t his hands tied?”
“He couldn’t get away from us,” Gar said. “What difference did it make?”
Tiger placed his hands behind his back, fingering his dagger. He paced up to the trapdoor and peeked over the edge.
Perfect!
The giant was a third of the way up the shaft!
“We come in peace,” Rikki declared.
Tiger slowly pivoted, smiling broadly. “You come in peace?”
“Yes,” Rikki confirmed. “We came here after Manta. Gar told me you have opposed the mutant for years. We will help you defeat him.”
“How kind of you,” Tiger said courteously. “Your friend said the same thing.”
Rikki took a step forward. “You have talked to Blade?”
“Yes,” Tiger stated. “I didn’t know whether to believe him or not.”
“We are sincere,” Rikki assured the Shark leader.
Tiger smiled. “Well, in that case, I see no reason why you can’t be reunited with your friend. Come here.”
Rikki cautiously advanced. “Where is Blade?”
Tiger stepped back, nodding at the shaft. “Downstairs.”
Rikki saw the opening in the floor for the first time. His forehead creased as he walked up to the rim and crouched. “Blade? Are you down there?”
Blade’s deep voice bellowed back. “Rikki? Is that you?”
Rikki leaned over, staring down the shaft.
“Look out!” Blade shouted.
Tiger was already in motion. He swept his left leg up and in, catching the man in black in the rear of the head and knocking him off balance, causing him to fall forward.
Directly into the shaft.
Chapter Nineteen
“I can’t believe you really came.”
“My word is my bond,” Hickok declared. “I told you I would come, and I did.”
Captain Nathan Dale shook his head in disbelief. “Then I’m sorry. It’s all my fault you were captured.”
“How do you figure?” Hickok asked.
“If you hadn’t come here to rescue me, you wouldn’t have been caught,” Dale observed. “I’m really sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Hickok said, winking conspiratorially. “This is all part of my plan.”
“You wanted to be captured?” Dale queried skeptically.
“Naturally,” Hickok stated. “How else was I going to find you?”
Dale laughed. “You’re a card, Hickok. You know that?”
“Just so it isn’t the Joker,” Hickok rejoined.
A mutant suddenly appeared on the wooden walkway. “Get to work, you two! Or there will not be any food rations tonight!”
Dale sighed and returned to cultivating the kelp.
Hickok bent over, giving the impression of going to work, while he surreptitiously surveyed the kelp factory.
Manta evidently did everything on a grand scale. Not content with controlling western Seattle, he wanted to rule the world. He had repaired and rearranged the Seattle Aquarium to suit his needs as a Humarium.
And the kelp factory was equally as impressive, if at least five times as odoriferous. Hickok nearly gagged every time he took a breath.
The kelp factory was approximately one hundred yards long and half that distance wide. All four walls and the ceiling were composed of shaded plastic which allowed only the required amount of sunshine to penetrate to the kelp beds. Walkways divided the beds into sections. The factory was divided into four major areas by three large walkways running the width of the building at 25-yard intervals. Smaller, narrower walkways projected from the main walkway at 10-yard intervals. The mutant guards, the Brethren, patrolled the walkways, armed with leather whips and goading the humans to work. Over a hundred humans were in the f
actory, involved in the kelp harvesting. A third of those laboring in the knee-deep water were children between the ages of 8 and 15.
Hickok could feel the water seeping into his soaked moccasins. He had refused to remove his footwear and received a lash from a mutant for his obtinacy. But the Brethren hadn’t pushed the issue. Which suited him fine.
Dale was carefully aligning the greenish-brown kelp into precise rows as required by the overseers.
Hickok nudged a lump here, a lump there. He was sweating profusely under his buckskins; the factory was intentionally humid and muggy.
“Say, Dale?” he whispered.
“What?” Dale whispered back.
“How many sailors are in here right now?” Hickok asked. “How many from the Cutterhawk?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Dale replied. “I’d guess about fifty.”
“Are they ready to bust out of here?” Hickok inquired.
Dale froze, a strand of kelp dangling from his right hand. “Do you mean right now!”
“No. Of course not,” Hickok said.
Dale visibly relaxed.
“I was thinkin’ more like in five minutes,” Hickok stated.
Dale glanced at the Warrior. “Five minutes? Are you insane?”
“Okay. Make it ten.”
“But you just got here!” Dale declared in a hushed tone.
“Which is why they won’t be expecting me to pull a stunt like tryin’ to escape,” Hickok pointed out. “This is my best chance.”
“What can we do now?” Dale asked, scanning the factory. “There are over forty overseers in here and they have whips. We don’t have any weapons.”
“What if I could get my hands on some weapons?” Hickok inquired.
“How do you expect to do that?” Dale wanted to know.
Hickok grinned, reached back, and tapped an exposed portion of his gun belt, his fingertips touching the cartridges in the loops on the rear of the belt.
Dale’s eyes widened. “They didn’t take your ammo?”
“Nope,” Hickok said, swiftly covering the gun belt with the lower part of his buckskin shirt. “And I wasn’t about to remind the vermin.”
“Your shirt hangs down when you stand up,” Dale observed. “They probably didn’t see the ammunition.”
Seattle Run Page 15
