Dakota Run

by David Robbins

  A pair of antennae became visible, swaying in the air.

  Geronimo patiently waited, his finger on the trigger.

  The head of an ant appeared, the insect hesitating, apparently endeavoring to identify the commotion in the hole.

  Good.

  Take your time, gruesome!

  How long could he hold them off? Geronimo speculated. The Marlin might be able to down a few, but if they surged through the tunnel in any great number, all at once, there was no way he could keep them back.

  The front section of the ant was now clearly in sight.

  Geronimo suddenly had an idea. What if he was able to kill a couple of the things? Maybe, just maybe, their bodies might block the tunnel for awhile. At least, long enough for Cynthia and Kilrane to make good their escape.

  Would it work, though?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Geronimo aimed between the two antennae, held his breath, and fired.

  The blast of the Marlin was deafening in the confines of the tunnel, and Geronimo was aware of a ringing in his ears as he levered his second round into the chamber.

  The ant staggered with that first shot, then plowed ahead, emanating a high-pitched screeching as it attacked.

  Geronimo fired again, this slug ripping into the ant’s right eye and tearing through its head.

  The ant almost stumbled, but it recovered and lurched forward, its jaw working frantically.

  So!

  The head was a weak spot!

  Geronimo quickly shot a third time, aiming between the antennae again.

  The ant dropped to the floor of the tunnel, its antennae flapping overhead, twitching and quivering.

  Geronimo, elated, hastily reloaded the three spent shells from his bandoleer.

  The Marlin was effective against the creatures! It meant he could buy Kilrane and Cynthia more time, if his ammunition held out. He could…

  Something was moving in the tunnel behind the dead ant.

  Geronimo squinted, peering into the passageway. So soon?

  A second ant was pushing the body of the first aside as it struggled to squeeze past, twittering like crazy.

  The ants must possess a remarkable communications system.

  Reinforcements were probably on their way, rushing to repel the intruders. How many? Ten? A hundred?

  Did it matter?

  Geronimo sent three shots into the head of the second ant. This one thrashed and clutched at the sides of the tunnel before collapsing alongside the first.

  This isn’t so hard, Geronimo thought. Like shooting ducks on a pond from a blind.

  A third red ant started to climb over the dead duo.

  Geronimo sighted and fired, the recoil slamming the Marlin’s heavy stock into his shoulder.

  The third ant reared and snapped at the ceiling.

  Geronimo reloaded, keeping his eyes fixed on the ant.

  The third ant was struggling to press past its fallen comrades.

  Geronimo shot again, aiming above the insect’s left eye.

  The ant abruptly collapsed onto the deceased pair, kicking spasmodically.

  No time to lose!

  Geronimo ejected the spent round and replaced it. He couldn’t afford to be caught empty when the big rush came.

  What was going on now?

  There was a bustle of activity immediately to the rear of the three dead ants.

  Were they trying to extract the bodies from the corridor?

  Geronimo leaned forward, puzzled. Was it his imagination, or were those dead ants moving? They were! They were actually creeping toward him! But how?

  The ants must be pushing from the other side, using their former mates as a shield, protecting themselves from the rifle.

  Was it possible?

  Were ants that smart?

  The bodies were about twelve yards away and slowly inching nearer.

  The live soldier ants were making an incredible racket.

  What should he do? There weren’t any clear targets yet, and he refused to waste a bullet. All he could do was wait, the sweat pouring from his pores, and strive to calm his nerves.

  The makeshift barricade was ten yards away.

  Had Kilrane and Cynthia made it yet? Geronimo wanted to take a peek, but the glance could prove fatal.

  Eight yards.

  Geronimo sighted on a head visible above the pile of bodies and fired.

  His shot was rewarded with a piercing squeal and the head vanished from view.

  Six yards.

  Geronimo’s fingers flew as he replaced the round. It wouldn’t be long before the ants made their bid.

  The tunnel suddenly went quiet.

  Geronimo shifted to his left knee. Where were they? What were they up to?

  Something chattered and the prone body on top of the pile was hastily hauled backward, out of sight. Another ant, a live one, quickly filled the gap, scrambling over the dead pair still blocking the tunnel.

  Geronimo let him have two shots in the forehead, delighted when the ant froze and slumped on top of the other dead forms.

  So far, so good!

  Geronimo could see ants moving behind the dead ones blocking the tunnel.

  What were they up to now?

  A spray of dust settled around Geronimo’s shoulders and he coughed, clearing his dry throat. Kilrane and Cynthia had probably dislodged some dirt near the top of the pit.

  The ants congregated on the other side of the bodies suddenly started making a veritable din.

  They’re up to something, Geronimo told himself.

  More dust fell from above, covering Geronimo’s shoulders.

  What were they trying to do, bury him alive?

  The ants still in the tunnel sounded like they were throwing the party of the millennium.

  A third deluge of dirt and dust descended on Geronimo and caked his clothes with a fine reddish film.

  What in the world were they doing? Didn’t they see him at the bottom of the pit?

  Geronimo risked a quick glance overhead, intending to discover the culprit.

  And he did.

  But it wasn’t Kilrane or Cynthia.

  It was an ant, its head poking through the pit wall halfway between Geronimo and the top of the crater, just to his right.

  Geronimo wheeled, raising the Marlin, realizing he’d been outflanked, outmaneuvered by the crafty devils! They’d dug a new tunnel, circumventing the bodies, bypassing the deceased ants and emerging from the pit wall.

  Behind him, there was renewed commotion as the ants tore into the bodies, working frantically to force an exit.

  He was trapped!

  Ants behind him and ants in front of him!

  They had him right where they wanted him.

  It looked like he’d never get to see Hickok’s ugly white puss again.

  Geronimo aimed the rifle, prepared to acquit himself honorably. He saw Kilrane and Cynthia, to his left, near the top.

  The ant above him finally detected its prey and shrieked in triumph.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Blade whipped his Bowies from their sheaths as the blue G.R.D. charged him. The scaly skin, the fiery red eyes, and the unruly black hair presented a disconcerting aspect, enhanced by the creature’s maniacal countenance. Its bulk alone was intimidating, and Blade knew if he was caught in those massive arms he’d be crushed to a pulp as easily as he could squash a moldy mushroom.

  He wasn’t about to give the thing the opportunity.

  The blue monster lunged at Blade with outstretched hands, its tapered teeth white in the morning sun.

  Blade ducked under the G.R.D.’s arms and pivoted, driving his left Bowie up and in, feeling the point penetrate the chest of his opponent. The Bowie was buried to the hilt before the thing could arrest its momentum, and it savagely wrenched the knife from Blade’s grasp as it spun, clipping the Warrior’s head with the back of its left hand.

  Staggered by the glancing blow, Blade stumbled for a few feet,
then recovered. He saw Gremlin and the one called Ferret grappling on the grass and Sherry standing nearby with her mouth open in astonishment.

  Big help she was!

  The blue creature was glaring at Blade, ignoring the knife in its chest, its bony fingers clenched into claws.

  “Ox want you bad,” the G.R.D. hissed. “You hurt Ox!”

  “So your name’s Ox?” Blade rejoined, grinning. “The Doktor obviously didn’t name you for your brains!”

  Ox, livid at the slur, roared and leaped, hurtling through the air and striking Blade around the mid-section, bearing him to the ground.

  Blade stabbed Ox’s back as he fell, three times in rapid succession, planting the second knife between Ox’s shoulder blades. His breath was caught short as they crashed on the grass, Ox on top, the thing’s forehead in his stomach.

  Ox gripped the second Bowie in his right hand and tore it free of Blade’s grip. “See how you do without little pin,” he sarcastically cracked, tossing the knife aside.

  Blade surged against the G.R.D.’s heavier mass, striving to flip the thing over.

  Ox, straddling the Warrior, laughed. “Try again, puny man! You can’t hurt Ox!”

  Blade, twisting and thrashing, spotted Gremlin and Ferret still locked in combat. Ferret appeared to have the upper hand. It looked as though Gremlin had tripped over a log, and Ferret was on top, flailing away with all his strength.

  Sherry suddenly recovered her voice. She faced the cabins, cupped her hands to her mouth, and stretched her vocal chords to the limit.

  “Hhhheeeellllpppp!”

  Ox glanced up, distracted.

  “Shut her up!” Ferret barked, still pummeling Gremlin.

  Sherry took a few steps toward the cabins.

  “Hhhhheeeellllpppp! Help us! Over here! Hurry!”

  “Damn it!” Ferret fumed. “Shut her up now!”

  Ox immediately obeyed, forgetting Blade, hastily standing and running at Sherry.

  Blade rolled to his feet. “Sherry! Look out!”

  She heard him and turned, her initial panic gone, replaced by grim determination.

  Blade ran toward them, fearing for her life. She was unarmed, untrained, and the G.R.D. outweighed her by a good three hundred pounds. What could she possibly do against the hulking deviate?

  Sherry was in motion, racing toward Ox instead of in the other direction.

  The G.R.D. slowed, perplexed by this unexpected development, its dull wit encumbering its exceptional reflexes.

  Sherry was only two feet from the creature when she abruptly dropped to the grass, tumbling, her body striking the blue thing across the shins and causing it to lose its balance.

  Ox attempted to stay erect, but his impetus prevented him from stopping completely. Before he could recover, he lost his footing and fell, his knees inadvertently striking Sherry on the left temple as she tried to dodge aside, stunning her.

  Blade, intent on Sherry’s dilemma, failed to notice Ferret coming at him until it was too late. He was bowled over, and before he could regain his feet, in a flurry of brutal punches and jabs, the diminutive G.R.D. dazed him, almost rendering him unconscious.

  Ferret spun on Ox, still on his hands and knees next to Sherry. “Can’t you do anything right?” He pointed at the Warrior. “Bring him and I’ll carry Gremlin!”

  “Ox thought we were going to kill them,” Ox stated, crossing to Blade and easily lifting the muscular Warrior in his brawny arms.

  Ferret knelt and hefted Gremlin over his left shoulder. “We are,” he told Ox. He rose and began moving toward the trees. “But that woman’s big mouth has alerted the Family and they’ll come to investigate. The Warriors will come. We can’t be here when they arrive.”

  “Ox isn’t scared of the stupid Warriors,” Ox declared.

  Voices were being raised in alarm from the direction of the cabins.

  “Move your ass!” Ferret barked, leading the way.

  They entered the woods and headed due east, skirting the fields, sticking to the heavier underbrush, and listening for any sounds of pursuit.

  There were none.

  “Ox still don’t see why we didn’t just kill them,” Ox protested.

  “Because,” Ferret said over his right shoulder, “the Doktor told us to terminate Gremlin a certain way. Remember?”

  Ox grinned at the memory. “Yes. Doktor wants us to make an example of Gremlin.”

  “That’s right. The Doktor doesn’t like it when one of his little charges goes traipsing off on its own. It makes the Doktor look bad and the Doktor doesn’t like that.”

  “No, Doktor doesn’t,” Ox snickered.

  They covered over five hundred yards before Ferret was satisfied they were temporarily safe.

  “Drop him here,” Ferret directed when they reached a small clearing.

  “This will do.”

  Blade and Gremlin were deposited side by side on the grass.

  “Now?” Ox asked eagerly, licking his lips.

  “No, not yet,” Ferret replied. He leaned over Gremlin and slapped him three times across the face.

  Gremlin came awake, still woozy. “You!” He attempted to rise, but Ferret shoved him onto his back.

  “Stay put, traitor!” Ferret ordered. “Enjoy the few precious moments of life left to you.”

  “Now?” Ox inquired again.

  Ferret glared at his companion. “Let me guess. You’re hungry again!”

  “Of course,” Ox responded. “Ox is always hungry.”

  Ferret looked at Gremlin. “I’m sorry about this, but orders are orders. It’s nothing personal, you understand.”

  “Gremlin understand, all right, yes?” Gremlin answered, nodding.

  “Gremlin knew Doktor would send someone, no? But why you?”

  “The Doktor created you,” Ferret said sadly, “and me. He knows us, our limitations and our capabilities, better than we know ourselves. He knows how fast you are, and he knew my speed is superior to yours. I may be smaller, but I’m equally as strong as you. He sent the lummox here,” and Ferret jerked his right thumb toward Ox, “as added insurance.”

  “What’s a lummox?” Ox wanted to know.

  “Doktor must be monitoring us right now, yes?” Gremlin said, staring at the collar around Ferret’s hairy neck.

  “Undoubtedly,” Ferret agreed, studying the scar on Gremlin’s throat.

  “It’s amazing you were able to discard yours,” he said in a low voice, a tinge of admiration in his tone.

  “A miracle, yes?” Gremlin acknowledged, glancing at Blade. “Gremlin owe it to him.”

  Ferret gazed into Gremlin’s eyes. “How? How was it done? You know what happens to us if we try to remove the collars. How were you able to do it?”

  “Gremlin not sure,” Gremlin admitted. “Blade and Gremlin were fighting, yes? In Flathead Lake in Montana, no? Possible water shorted circuit.”

  “I’m seeing it,” Ferret said, fingering his own metal collar, “and I still can’t believe one of us is free.”

  “Why all this damn talk?” Ox demanded. “The Doktor said we must kill him. Let’s do it before someone comes!”

  “How are you to kill Gremlin, yes?” Gremlin questioned.

  Ferret frowned. “The Doktor said he wanted an appropriate example made of you. A fate to match the crime, as he put it.”

  “What fate, yes?” Gremlin goaded him.

  Ferret’s face reflected his loathing as he looked at Ox. “I’m to hold you down while Ox here eats you alive.”

  “Eats alive, yes?” Gremlin repeated, shocked.

  “And Ox is ready,” Ox announced, coming closer. “I’ll start with your soft belly and work my way up,” he said excitedly.

  “Just think, Ferret, yes?” Gremlin remarked. “This could be you someday, too?”

  Ferret pondered the prospect, his low brow knit in thought.

  “Let’s get on with it,” Ox stated impatiently.

  Ferret slowly nodded, his eyes convey
ing his regret. “I’m really sorry,” he said to Gremlin. “I have no choice.”

  Ox stood next to Gremlin, towering over him, leering and drooling.

  Gremlin nodded once, then attacked, lashing out with his right foot and striking Ferret in the loincloth. Ferret gurgled and fell to one side. Gremlin rolled to his left, away from Ox, hoping to make a break for it and return with the Warriors.

  Ox was on Gremlin before he took two steps, gripping Gremlin from behind and pinning his arms to his sides. “Going somewhere?” Ox taunted. “I don’t like to see my meals running off like this!”

  Gremlin, try as he might, couldn’t break free.

  “Have a seat,” Ox advised, and followed his words with action. He savagely slammed Gremlin to the ground, knocking the wind out of him and causing a searing pain in both legs.

  Gremlin contorted into a ball, clutching his injured legs, the pain agonizing.

  “Now maybe you’ll stay put for Ox,” Ox said, grinning.

  “Maybe he will,” someone else interjected, “but I sure as hell won’t!”

  Ox whirled.

  Blade was in midair. He was astounded to see his Bowie still buried in the G.R.D.’s chest, and he grabbed for the hilt with his right hand as he collided with Ox, the force of his lunge staggering the creature but not downing him.

  Ox growled as he clung to Blade’s arms and endeavored to pull the Warrior toward his fangs.

  Blade, stymied in his efforts to bring the Bowie into play, instead slammed his forehead up and inward, smashing it against Ox’s nostrils.

  The nasal passages caved in, blood gushing from the shattered cavities.

  Ox bellowed in torment and flung the Warrior aside, pressing his left hand against his nose in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

  Gremlin was lying on the ground, his features twisted in misery.

  Ferret was on his knees, holding his groin and groaning.

  “You bastard!” Ox roared, and lunged at the rising Warrior.

  Blade sidestepped and spun, watching as Ox checked his plunge and turned to confront him again. The G.R.D. was in the grip of sheer fury, reacting on a basic bestial level. It snarled and came at him, and Blade nimbly ducked under the groping arms and stabbed his Bowie into the creature’s left thigh, pulling the knife clear as Ox passed by.