Indeed. Why shouldn’t they? Had he erred in siding with Lex against the others? Rikki looked to his left and found Lexine watching him. She grinned sheepishly and averted her eyes, her long tresses whipping in the wind as Erika’s bike paced Terza’s. The sight of Lexine’s features was enough to confirm his decision; there was an air of truthful sincerity about the woman.
The Leather Knights continued into the inner city area. The further they went, the more indications of habitation they encountered. Bikers seemed to be everywhere, but there was a singular lack of other vehicles.
No cars or trucks or jeeps.
Rikki searched for a landmark and tried to read every street sign they passed. Many of the signs were missing or illegible, the letters having faded with the passing of a century. The bikers made a number of turns, some to the east, some to the south, ever bearing inward, deeper into the grimy bowels of the metropolis.
A large sign appeared. From it, Rikki learned they were traveling east on Market Street. Huge buildings lined the south side of Market Street, while there was a park bordering the northern edge. Something ahead, something gleaming in the sunlight, arrested Rikki’s attention. He couldn’t see it clearly at first, but after a minute it became visible, rearing skyward to the east.
Rikki gawked, amazed. What was it? What purpose did it serve? The structure was gigantic, some sort of tremendous, glistening arc or arch.
The bikers wheeled their cycles to the left, driving north on Broadway. As they turned, Rikki gazed to his right and saw a mysterious, gargantuan building, a circular affair. He caught only a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye.
A city of marvels!
The street ahead became crowded with Leather Knights, most of them parked on the sidewalks and involved in idle conversations. They turned to stare as Terza’s cavalcade rode past.
Where were they going?
A dingy edifice appeared to the left. Two faint but readable words were painted on one wall: Bus Terminal. The street and lot to the south of the terminal were filled with Leather Knights. They gathered around as Terza angled her cycle up to a cracked curb and killed her motor. The other riders did the same.
“Who’s the runt?” a bearded biker inquired.
“Lex is back!” shouted a woman.
Terza slid from her bike and motioned for Rikki to do likewise. “Gather round!” she yelled to the throng.
Rikki saw Erika yank Lex from her bike. Lexine clenched her fists in frustration, and Erika shoved her toward Rikki.
“We caught the traitor!” Terza announced. “Just like I said we would!”
“Where’s Mira?” asked a husky woman.
“Wasted,” Terza responded. “And she isn’t the only one. This sucker,” and she nodded at Rikki, “wasted three of our sisters!”
There was a detectable stir in the assembled Leather Knights as each and every one fixed a baleful glare on the man in black.
“We know what we do with traitors!” Terza bellowed. “And we know what to do to anyone who wastes one of our own!”
“Let Slither have ’em!” cried a furious woman.
“Slither!” echoed another woman.
Dozens of voices rose in unison, almost as if they were chanting.
“Slither! Slither! Slither!”
“I demand a trial!” Lexine said to Terza.
Terza smirked. “Traitors don’t deserve trials!” She stood aside, waving her left hand toward Rikki and Lexine.
The Leather Knights swarmed in, enclosing Rikki and Lexine in a sea of black leather and sweaty flesh. Hands brutally grabbed the duo and propelled them along the street.
Rikki mentally debated the wisdom of resisting. There was a possibility he might be able to fight his way free of the mob, but he would have to leave Lexine behind to succeed and he would not abandon her under any circumstances. He noted her cool composure, her defiant demeanor, and admired her calculated courage. Here was a woman after his own heart!
The Leather Knights pulled, pushed, and shoved their captives to the east, in the direction of a wide body of water.
Rikki recognized the river ahead. They were being led toward the Missouri River. Why? What connection did the river have with the one called Slither?
Terza, walking alongside the prisoners, followed Rikki’s glance. “It’s the Mississippi River,” she told him.
“I know,” Rikki replied.
“Are you in the mood for a bath?” Terza asked.
“Not really,” Rikki said.
“Too bad, turkey!” Terza laughed. “You’re gonna get one whether you like it or not!”
Rikki tried to see the scenery on either side of the street, to serve as a reference for later use, but the mass of bikers prevented him from accomplishing his aim.
The Leather Knights bore to the right, leaving the road and marching down to the river. Trees lined the bank. Below a spreading maple tree was an old wooden dock, dilapidated beyond hope of redemption. One of the maple’s thick lower branches extended over the dock and the murky water beyond.
The crowd halted.
“I’m sorry I got you into this,” Lex said to Rikki.
“Ahhh. How sweet!” Erika cuffed Lexine across the mouth. “You bitch!”
Two ropes were produced and a pair of leather-garbed women carried them to the end of the dock. With practiced ease they tossed each rope over the lower branch in the maple tree, then turned and leered at the prisoners.
“Get moving!” Terza ordered, and shoved Lexine.
Rikki walked along the dock, the wood swaying under his feet. He was surprised by the rampant stupidity the Leather Knights displayed. Why hadn’t they thought to frisk him for additional weapons? Why hadn’t they interrogated him? They were enraged by the deaths of their fellow Knights, but unrestrained emotion was a pitiful substitute for seasoned leadership and responsible judgment.
Lexine reached the two women at the end of the dock first. One of them secured her rope to Lexine’s wrists, using one end of the rope for each arm. The woman gleefully tied the knots as tightly as she could.
The second woman hauled Rikki to her side and performed a similar binding operation on him.
Lexine was watching the surface of the water, her green eyes darting to the left and the right.
“What’s down there?” Rikki queried her.
“Find out for yourself,” said the woman who had tied him, and she grunted as she abruptly shoved him from the dock.
Rikki’s arms were wrenched upward by the force of the rope tugging on his arms. He dropped a few feet before the rope brought him up short with a jarring snap. The pain was intense but fleeting. He grit his teeth and looked to his right.
Lexine was also dangling above the river. Her eyes were closed, her mouth twisted in agony.
Rikki appraised their situation. Both of them were about a yard from the dock, Rikki being slightly further away because his rope had been placed beyond Lexine’s on the limb. His custom-made black shoes, constructed from dyed deer hide and cougar sinew, were only a foot above the Mississippi.
The Leather Knights gathered along the west bank, collectively surveying the expanse of water beyond the dock, eagerly waiting.
But for what?
Chapter Four
The rocket was almost on them!
Blade instinctively executed the only maneuver possible; he wrenched the steering wheel to the right, causing the transport to lurch sideways, angling the passenger side of the vehicle, Hickok’s side, away from the hurtling rocket.
With an ear-splitting roar the rocket struck the highway about seven feet in front of the SEAL. Massive chunks of asphalt, dirt, and rocks were blasted upward. A jolting concussion, an irresistible shock wave of puissant force, slammed broadside into the transport like an unstoppable tidal wave onto a beach. The synthetic body withstood the shattering explosion intact, but the SEAL was flipped onto its passenger side and propelled several feet along the highway before it came to a rest.
> Inside the SEAL, the two Warriors were tossed and buffeted by the tumbling vehicle. Blade struggled to maintain his grip on the steering wheel to prevent himself from falling onto the gunman. Hickok crashed against the passenger door, the handle digging into his ribs. The provisions in the rear section spilled over the central seat. One box of ammunition flew forward and narrowly missed Blade’s head.
Blade leaped into action as soon as the SEAL stopped moving. He lunged for the driver’s door and threw it open. Using the steering wheel for support, he vaulted outside onto the upturned body.
The helicopter was still hovering to the east of the transport.
Hickok was trying to untangle his contorted form from the bottom of the SEAL. “Dangblasted varmints! I’ll fix their wagon!”
“Stay put!” Blade ordered. “I’ll try to lead them off.” He jumped to the ground and ran toward the trees on the south side of the highway.
The helicopter, as if it were a metallic bird of prey, swooped down for the coup de grace.
Blade weaved as he ran, knowing the copter would open up again with its machine guns.
A crackling spray of lead from the whirlybird confirmed his expectation.
Blade flinched as the earth around him was stitched by a pattern of lethal slugs. He was only five feet from cover and safety when he risked a hasty glance over his left shoulder.
The helicopter wasn’t more than ten feet above the SEAL, swiveling for a clearer shot at its intended victim.
Blade dodged to the left, and as he did his right foot caught in something and he went down, sprawling onto his hands and knees, vulnerable and helpless.
The helicopter pilot instantly took advantage of the situation by edging his copter nearer to the trees and his rising target.
Blade, only two feet from the trees, braced for the impact of the machine-gun bullets, realizing it would be impossible for the copter gunner to miss at such close range.
Gunshots boomed to the Warrior’s rear, but they weren’t the sound of .45-caliber machine guns; they were the welcome bang-bang-bang of a pair of pearl-handled Colt Python . 357 Magnum revolvers.
Blade spun around.
The gunman was only partially visible, with his shoulders and arms protruding from the open door on the driver’s side of the SEAL.
What did Hickok hope to accomplish? Blade wondered. The Pythons against an armed helicopter were seemingly insurmountable odds. But then he saw the gunman’s intent and grinned.
Hickok was going for the tail blade. The Colts bucked in his hands as he fired six shots in swift succession. He had to distract the copter gunner’s attention from Blade, and he succeeded.
On the gunman’s sixth shot, the helicopter suddenly lurched to one side, then began swerving back and forth. It darted upward, its flight uneven, the pilot evidently experiencing difficulty in keeping the craft level.
“Got ya’!” Hickok said, elated.
The helicopter continued to ascend until it was 100 feet above the highway. Its front end dipped as the craft proceeded to speed to the east.
Within less than a minute the helicopter was a dark dot on the eastern horizon.
Blade walked to the transport. “Thanks,” he said, smiling at Hickok.
“You saved my life.”
Hickok adopted the air of casual nonchalance. “It was a piece of cake,” he declared, then smiled. “Besides, I didn’t want your missus bawling her brains out on my buckskins.”
Blade’s brow furrowed as he studied the SEAL. “We have a major problem on our hands.”
“When don’t we?” Hickok said. He slid to the ground and immediately set about reloading his Pythons.
Blade slowly made an inspection of the transport, searching for structural damage. He conducted a complete circuit of the vehicle.
“What did you find, pard?” Hickok asked as Blade rounded the front end.
“It looks okay,” Blade replied.
Hickok’s left Colt was already in its holster. He ejected the last spent shell from his right Python, removed a bullet from his gunbelt, and dropped it into the cylinder. Satisfied, he swung the cylinder closed and twirled the Colt into his right holster.
“We won’t really know how it is until we try to start it,” Blade said, pondering their dilemma, “and we can’t try starting it until we have it upright again.”
Hickok frowned. “How the blazes are we gonna do that?”
“I wish I knew.” Blade stared at the east. This mission, like all the others, had devolved into a typical fiasco. Why was it events never went as you planned? Why did things always have to go wrong? Here they were, not more than ten miles from their destination, and now their transport was inoperational and one of them was missing. What next?
“What are we gonna do about Rikki?” Hickok inquired.
Blade stroked his square chin. “There is no way we can right the SEAL on our own,” he said, reasoning aloud. “We could do it if we had enough people or another vehicle and a lot of rope—”
“Which we don’t have,” Hickok interrupted.
“—so we’ll have to go look for what we need,” Blade stated. “And since we have to find Rikki, we’ll kill two birds with one stone. One of us will head for St. Louis.”
“One of us?” Hickok repeated.
“Just one of us,” Blade confirmed.
“Why not both of us?” Hickok wanted to know.
“We can’t leave the SEAL unprotected,” Blade explained.
“We’ve done it before,” Hickok protested. “All we have to do is lock this contraption up tight as a drum and it’ll be safe and sound until we get back.”
Blade pointed at the exposed undercarriage. “And what about that?”
“What about it?” Hickok asked, puzzled.
“The bottom of the SEAL might not be as impervious as the special body,” Blade said. “Someone could come along and damage it, render it totally useless. I can’t allow that to happen. The SEAL is invaluable to our Family. You know that.”
Hickok looped his thumbs in his gunbelt near the buckle. “And which one of us gets to waltz into St. Louis?”
“I’m going,” Blade said.
“Why can’t I go?” Hickok demanded.
“Because I said so,” Blade stated, settling the matter. Since he was the head of the Warriors, his decisions were final.
“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” Hickok groused.
“Twiddle my thumbs?”
“You can check our supplies,” Blade instructed the pouting gunman.
“Make sure they’re okay and clean up the mess inside.”
“What if something happens to you?” Hickok queried. “How long should I wait?”
Blade considered a moment. “Give me three days. I should find Rikki and be back by then.”
“Fine,” Hickok said. “Three days it is. But if you’re not back here by then, I’m comin’ after you, SEAL or no SEAL.”
Blade chuckled. “Keep an eye peeled while I collect the provisions I’ll need.” So saying, he hoisted himself up and climbed into the transport.
The interior of the vehicle was a mess, but he found the items he wanted without much difficulty: a canteen, a canvas backpack confiscated from soldiers in Wyoming, strips of venison jerky, extra magazines for his Commando, and the Commando itself. He stuffed the canteen, jerky, and magazines into the backpack and clambered to the open driver’s door.
“Here,” he said to the gunman, and tossed the backpack.
Hickok caught it with a deft flick of his left wrist.
Blade used his powerful arms to haul his body from the SEAL. Holding the Commando in his left hand, he leaped to the highway.
“You sure ain’t takin’ much, pard,” Hickok observed, hefting the light backpack.
“I won’t be gone that long,” Blade said. He took the backpack and handed the Commando to the gunman.
“I hope Rikki is okay,” Hickok remarked, gazing eastward.
“Rikki c
an take care of himself,” Blade commented. He placed his brawny arms through the backpack straps. “You make certain that you stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”
“Who? Me?” Hickok quipped. He gave the Commando to the Alpha Triad leader. “You’re the one who’d best take care.”
“May the Spirit watch over you,” Blade said. He started walking due east. About 50 yards ahead was a turn in the road, the highway evidently bearing slightly to the southeast. Blade could feel the heat from the sun on his broad back and legs as he marched along. He stopped when he reached the turn and glanced at the SEAL. Hickok was still standing exactly where he had left him, the gunman’s thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. Blade couldn’t discern Hickok’s face clearly, but he received the impression the gunman was frowning. Blade knew Hickok didn’t like the idea of staying behind one bit, but the gunman was too loyal a Warrior to lodge more than a minor protest.
Blade waved.
Hickok began jumping up and down and flapping his arms like crazy.
After a minute he ceased and made a show of blowing a farewell kiss in Blade’s direction.
Blade shook his head as the gunman started laughing. Thank the Spirit the gunman was on this mission! Rikki was naturally rather taciturn, and the lengthy ride would have been monotonous without the loquacious gunfighter. Blade resumed his journey, following the highway, sticking to the middle of the road. If anything came at him, he’d have the time to see it coming and respond accordingly. He raked his eyes across the forest to the right and left of the crumbling asphalt, alert for any sign of a mutate or other horror.
Time passed.
Blade was less than a mile from the SEAL when he spied the corpses on the road ahead. And three—what were they?—motorcycles!
What was this?
He slowed, advancing cautiously, his finger on the trigger of the Commando.
Bodies. Lots and lots of bodies.
Was Rikki’s one of them?
Blade paused 15 feet from the prone forms. He could see 3 dead women and counted 13 dogs, a few of which were alive, whining and whimpering in torment.
What had happened? Had the helicopter done this?
Capital Run Page 4
