Houston Run, page 10
part #12 of Endworld Series
Blade reentered the fray, adding his whip to Hickok’s.
The troopers wavered, their courage diminished by the defeat of the presumably invincible Superior. As the two Warriors tore into them with renewed fury, the troopers broke, fleeing, some taking shelter behind the counter, others making for the elevators, still others retreating into the stairwell.
Blade and Hickok abruptly found themselves within ten feet of the glass doors without a trooper to oppose them.
Hickok ran to the doors.
Blade glanced over his right shoulder, finding the three mutants about ten feet to his rear. “Come on!” he urged them, and together they rushed to the gunfighter’s side.
“They’re locked!” Hickok cried. “The damn doors are locked!”
Blade scanned the lobby. Troopers were still taking cover. The Superior was inert except for his fluttering eyelids. The Superior! Blade darted over to the prone silver giant, deactivated his whip, then gripped the Superior’s left boot and dragged the body toward the glass doors.
Hickok was wrenching on one of the doors, trying to force it open.
“Stand back!” Blade cautioned them. He stuck the whip handle under his belt, then grasped the front of the Superior’s silver garment and hauled the silver giant into the air. The veins on his temples protruded as he raised the Superior over his head, and his complexion flushed as he took three rapid strides and hurled the silver giant at the third glass door from the left with all of his prodigious might.
The glass doors were not shatterproof. The third one disintegrated in a shower of zinging shards as the Superior’s hurtling form crashed into the glass, and the silver giant’s body tumbled to the sidewalk beyond amidst the fractured fragments of the glass panel.
Hickok was first through the door, stepping over the Superior’s lifeless figure. He assisted Ferret and Gremlin in hefting Lynx over the threshold.
Blade, after a last look to insure none of the troopers were dogging them, exited the building. He surveyed their surroundings, delighted to discover a truck parked not 20 feet away next to the sidewalk. “To the truck!” he commanded, and led off.
Hickok stayed to the rear, covering their escape.
Blade reached the truck cab and yanked open the driver’s door. He clambered inside and groped along the steering column.
The keys were there!
Blade jumped to the ground. The truck was a transport of some kind, with a large bed covered by a canvas canopy.
Ferret, Gremlin, and Lynx joined him.
“In the cab!” Blade said. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but all of us should be able to fit.”
“What’s going on?” Lynx mumbled, his green eyes focusing on Blade, his feline features twisted in bewilderment.
“We’ll fill you in as we go along,” Blade told him. “Can you move under your own power?”
“Don’t think so,” Lynx responded. “Legs feel like mush.”
Blade jerked his left thumb toward the cab.
Ferret nodded, and with Gremlin’s help hoisted Lynx up into the truck cab. They slid across the seat to the far side.
“They’re regrouping near the glass doors!” Hickok announced as he caught up with them.
“Into the truck,” Blade directed.
Hickok promptly complied, sitting in the middle of the wide seat.
Gremlin was pressed against the far door. Ferret sat between Gremlin and the gunfighter with Lynx in his lap.
Hickok glanced at Ferret and Lynx, grinning. “Don’t you two look cozy!” he quipped.
Lynx stared at the Warrior. “When I’m fully recovered,” he said slowly, “remind me to rip your face off.”
Blade vaulted into the cab, slammed the door, started the engine, and flicked on the headlights. He studied the dashboard, noting it was somewhat similar to vehicles he’d encountered in the Civilized Zone. Like most of them, the truck was an automatic, but it was in brand-new condition, while the majority of the vehicles in the Civilized Zone and elsewhere were holdovers from the prewar civilization and the decade or so following World War III, when a few of the manufacturing facilities were negligibly operational. The prewar society had evinced a marked predilection for automatic transmissions in their vehicles, and very few vehicles with manual transmissions were still on the road. Some of the military vehicles used them, but otherwise automatics were the rule. Blade had driven a truck with a manual transmission in the past, but he preferred an automatic, and he was relieved when he discovered he wouldn’t need to contend with shifting gears and using a clutch.
“What are you waitin’ for?” Hickok asked. “World War Four?”
Blade put the truck in Drive and accelerated, wheeling the transport along a drive curving toward an avenue beyond a small park.
“That’s Serling Boulevard,” Ferret stated as the truck neared the thoroughfare.
“How do you know that?” Blade inquired, scanning Serling for other traffic. He saw two cars to the left, heading toward them.
“We were coming to find you when we were caught,” Ferret explained.
“We were on Serling, right near the dinky park there, when one of those Superiors and his goons showed up in this truck. The damn Superior used his whip on Lynx. They had us climb in the back of the truck, then drove into this driveway.”
Blade braked as he came to the end of the driveway. He noticed a red sign to the right. The transport’s headlights illuminated the lettering on the sign. It read STOP.
“I’d like to find that son of a bitch with the whip!” Lynx interjected.
“Blade already took care of him,” Ferret said.
Lynx gazed at Blade. “Did you waste the sucker?”
“I don’t know,” Blade said, mentally debating whether to turn right or left on Serling.
“You don’t know?” Lynx responded.
“I broke both of his legs and busted his head wide open,” Blade elaborated. “But there wasn’t time to see if he was still alive.”
“Broke his legs and busted his noggin, huh?” Lynx said, and chortled.
“That’ll teach those dorks to mess with us!”
Blade decided to take a right, away from the approaching cars. He turned the steering wheel, the transport gaining speed.
Lynx was tittering.
“What are you so blamed happy about?” Hickok queried.
“I feel strong again,” Lynx said. “I’m back to normal.”
“Normal is one thing you’re not,” Hickok said.
“What’s that crack supposed to mean?” Lynx demanded, bristling.
“Oh, nothing,” Hickok replied innocently.
“Are you makin’ fun of me because I’m a mutant?” Lynx asked angrily.
Hickok stared into Lynx’s eyes. “You know I’d never do that, pard. I was just referring to the fact you’re a feisty runt with an ego the size of the moon.”
Ferret laughed. “Three points for Hickok.”
Lynx was about to voice a testy retort, when he abruptly grinned and nodded. “I’ve always said you have a great sense of humor.”
“Since when?” Hickok rejoined.
“Ask anybody,” Lynx said.
“Ferret?” Hickok asked.
“I never heard Lynx compliment your sense of humor,” Ferret replied.
“Thanks a lot!” Lynx snapped.
“I knew it,” Hickok said.
“But I do remember him saying something about you once,” Ferret added.
“Oh? What was that?” Hickok inquired.
“Lynx said you were such a hardhead,” Ferret stated, grinning, “that you must have granite between your ears.”
“Now that sounds like Lynx,” Hickok said.
“It was a joke!” Lynx exclaimed. “Don’t tell me an intelligent, devoted, skilled Warrior like yourself can’t take a little joke?”
Hickok gazed at Lynx suspiciously. “Okay. What’s with all the praise, runt?”
“I’m just tellin’ it like it is,” Lynx said.
“What are you up to?” Hickok demanded.
“Not a thing,” Lynx replied sweetly.
“Bet me!” Hickok rejoined.
“Is this any way to treat someone who pulled your fat out of the fire?”
Lynx asked indignantly.
“What?” Hickok responded in disbelief.
“That’s right, chuckles,” Lynx said. “We risked our butts to save Blade and you, and you treat me like dirt! Seems to me you should be treatin’ me like royalty. At the very least, you owe us a favor.”
“Uh-oh,” Ferret interrupted. “I knew he was going to get around to this eventually.”
“What did that whip do to you? Fry your brains?” Hickok queried Lynx.
“As usual, furball, you’ve got everything backwards.”
“What do you mean?” Lynx responded.
“I mean,” Hickok said slowly, “you didn’t pull our fat out of the fire. We saved your mangy hides. You were unconscious the whole time, or you would have noticed a small detail like that.”
“Yeah,” Lynx retorted. “But you wouldn’t of needed to save us if we hadn’t been tryin’ to save you.”
“And my missus says my logic is warped,” Hickok mumbled.
Blade, concentrating on his driving, gazed in the rearview mirror, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
What were those?
Three vehicles were bearing down on the transport from the rear. They were approaching at great speed. Flashing red lights swirled about the tops of the vehicles.
Blade peered into the mirror, contemplating. He’d seen lights like those once before, on police cycles in Chicago. They could only mean one thing: trouble. “Hold onto your seats,” he advised the others, flooring the gas pedal.
“What’s up, pard?” Hickok asked.
“Police or military vehicles are on our tail,” Blade explained.
“Can we lose ’em?” Lynx queried.
“We’ll try,” Blade said, and wrenched on the steering wheel, taking a left turn. The truck swayed, tilting precariously, narrowly missing a car parked next to the curb. The road ahead contained dozens of vehicles, trucks and cars and other types. Blade weaved the transport in and out of the traffic.
The three with the flashing lights made the same turn, streaking after the transport.
Blade frowned. There was no doubt about who they were after. He tramped harder on the gas pedal, wishing the transport would go faster.
The speedometer hovered at 60 miles an hour and refused to climb higher.
The three pursuit vehicles evidently were not so impaired. They raced through the traffic at an astonishing speed, closing on the transport.
“We can’t outrun them,” Blade told his companions. “They’re gaining on us.”
“They ain’t gettin’ us without a tussle,” Hickok said. “Blast! I miss my Pythons!”
One of the three pursuit vehicles surged ahead of the others, roaring up on the driver’s side of the transport.
Blade glanced to his left. A sleek black car with the word POLICE on the door was keeping pace with the truck. Two of the silver giants, the Superiors, were in the police car. The one on the passenger side waved at Blade, motioning for the transport to pull over.
Was he serious?
Blade smiled at the Superior, nodded, than yanked on the steering wheel, sending the transport to the left, deliberately crashing it into the police car, ramming it.
The police car was puny in size compared to the huge truck. The transport easily slammed the cruiser to the left, into the oncoming lanes of traffic.
Blade saw the Superior on the passenger side gesturing directly ahead.
A brown van was in their path.
The police car tore into the van at 60 miles an hour. A tremendous crash rent the night air. The grill, windshield, and front of the van were flattened by the impact. The cruiser crumpled like an accordion. The two Superiors were crushed to a pulp.
One down, two to go.
Blade glanced in the rearview mirror.
The remaining cruisers had separated, one coming up on each side of the truck.
What were they trying to pull? Blade gripped the steering wheel, prepared to ram them the way he had the first one.
“Look out!” Gremlin shouted.
Almost too late, Blade saw the compact white car in front of the transport. He jerked the steering wheel to the right, passing the compact car.
The driver of the compact, apparently spotting the onrushing truck at the last second, angled his vehicle to the left even as the transport passed, putting his vehicle into the path of one of the pursuit cruisers.
Blade looked into the mirror, in time to see the police car smash into the white compact. Both vehicles spun out of control.
Two down, one to go.
The last cruiser sped forward, swinging around the transport on the passenger side.
Blade smiled. Didn’t these idiots ever learn? He waited, keeping the truck at sixty.
The police car came abreast of the rear wheels and kept coming.
Blade bided his time.
“Over here, yes!” Gremlin yelled, staring out the passenger door window.
“I know,” Blade stated, and twisted the wheel.
The transport clipped the cruiser, sending the police car careening to the right. Its brakes squealing, the cruiser jumped the curb and became airborne. It sailed over 50 feet and collided with a small parked truck, exploding on impact, sending a fireball billowing heavenward.
“You did it, pard!” Hickok said, elated.
Blade spied a junction ahead. He slowed and took a right when the transport reached the intersection.
“Do you think we should ditch this buggy?” Hickok asked. “A truck this big is going to be easy for them to find.”
“We’ll stick with it a while longer,” Blade said. “I want to find a secluded spot first.”
“Good luck,” Hickok quipped.
Both sides of the avenue were lined with towering structures. Their height varied, although ten stories was average. A few, however, gave the illusion of rearing to the stars.
“All these buildings,” Blade commented, “and I don’t see very many people on the sidewalks.”
“Most of them aren’t allowed out at night,” Ferret said.
“How do you know?” Blade inquired.
Lynx answered the question. “We bumped into a dimwit by the name of Barney. He told us all about this place.”
“Fill me in,” Blade directed.
For the next ten minutes Blade took one turn after another, alert for any hint of pursuit, wanting to put as much distance as he could between them and the avenue where he’d wrecked the cruisers. He was certain more police cars would swarm to the area. As he drove, he studied the city and listened to Lynx and Ferret recount their experiences since finding the aircraft at the Home. “So this city is called Androxia,” he said when they had concluded.
“Weird name,” Lynx observed. “But then, everything about this dump is weird.”
Blade noticed a peculiar structure ahead, to the left. It was some sort of gigantic dome. What was its purpose? he wondered. Another intersection appeared and he took a right.
“Wow! Look at that!” Lynx exclaimed.
With good reason. A mile ahead on the right side of the avenue was the largest edifice they’d seen so far, a colossal building, its sides constructed of a scintillating golden substance. A yellow radiance enveloped the skyscraper, imbuing the night with a saffron glow.
“What the dickens is that?” Hickok asked.
“That can’t be real gold,” Lynx mentioned in amazement.
“Perhaps it is,” Ferret suggested. “Nothing in this city would surprise me.”
“Gremlin has another question, yes?” Gremlin chimed in.
“What is it?” Blade asked.
“What is that, yes?” Gremlin queried, leaning forward and pointing skyward.
Blade bent over the steering wheel and gazed in the direction Gremlin was indicating, and there it was, half a mile distant.
An intensely bright light was poised in the night sky about 500 yards above the ground, poised in the middle of the roadway.
Coincidence? Or design?
“What is that, yes?” Gremlin repeated.
“I don’t know,” Blade admitted. “But I don’t like it one bit.”
Hickok looked at the light. “Could be a traffic light for birds,” he joked.
“Or it could be a light on an aircraft,” Ferret suggested.
“Gremlin doesn’t like it, no,” Gremlin said.
Neither did Blade. He repeatedly glanced at the light as the transport continued in the direction of the gold structure.
“The light is lowering, yes?” Gremlin stated.
“Could it be one of those aircraft we came here in?” Hickok inquired.
“Looks too small,” Lynx remarked.
“The light is still lowering, yes?” Gremlin declared.
As they drew closer to the light. Blade distinguished the dark outline of a craft and perceived the light was a spotlight on the mysterious craft’s underbelly.
“It’s a damn helicopter!” Lynx suddenly exclaimed.
And the copter swooped toward them.
Chapter Ten
Where could the two Warriors be?
Plato, the elderly, gray-haired Leader of the Family, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his long hair whipped by the cool night breeze, his blue eyes gazing at the celestial display overhead, musing. He raised his left hand and absently scratched his lengthy beard.
They couldn’t simply vanish!
Plato felt the wind on his neck. For an April night, the air was exceptionally chilly. He buttoned the top button on his faded blue shirt.
Someone was coming.
Plato straightened. He stood outside the front door of his cabin, just one of many situated in a line from north to south in the center of the Home. The cabins were the residences for the married Family members, and his was the seventh from the north. The row of log cabins served to separate the eastern section of the compound, maintained in a pristine natural state and devoted to agricultural cultivation, from the western half, where the gigantic concrete blocks were located and the Family gathered together most often.
