New Orleans Run

by David Robbins

  None of the men in black were paying much attention to the terrain around them. They all appeared to be in a hurry and were walking briskly.

  What was the big rush? Lynx wondered, and then recalled Captain Francois and the other dimwit. Those two must have been with another bunch of twits who passed by previously. Perhaps one of them had heard Eleanore's screams or shouts and the guy armed with the rifle had been sent to investigate.

  Now this second group was trying to catch up with the first.

  Pleased at his deductive insights, Lynx smirked and stayed motionless as the group passed to the east. He saw Ferret and Gremlin looking glum as all get-out, which certainly figured for two guys who possessed such negative attitudes about going on runs, and noticed Blade working secretly on the rope binding those stout wrists.

  Leave it to the giant to be doing something instead of feeling sorry for himself.

  Lynx waited until the party was almost out of sight, then lifted Eleanore again and raced in pursuit. He angled to the trail and took a right, keeping his body as low as he could. Unless the tonton macoutes halted and focused binoculars on their back trail, he seriously doubted they would spot him.

  Eleanore groaned but did not regain consciousness.

  Par for the course.

  More minutes went by. Lynx could feel his leg muscles aching. He suppressed the discomfort and concentrated on the task at hand. His ability to focus his single-minded attention on one thing at a time had been unique even among the hybrids comprising the Genetic Research Division. When he had a job to do, he pursued his objective with an almost fanatical determination until the goal was achieved. Which partly explained why he had been pushing, pushing, pushing to go on a mission with the Big Guy.

  His personal philosophy on life had always been short and simple.

  When you want something, go after it with gusto.

  When obstacles get in your way, crush them. Go with the gut and live life to the max.

  What else mattered?

  Until he met the Family, he would have said, "Nothing." But after knowing those do-gooders for so many years, after witnessing the life-style they led and seeing their devotion to higher spiritual ideals most people regarded as old-fashioned or downright wacko, now he wasn't so certain.

  Maybe there was something to that Supreme Source jazz after all.

  If heavy hitters like Blade, Yama, Rikki, and Samson believed in all that stuff, then it might be worth looking into someday. What was that favorite expression of the Elders? Oh, yeah. Every person should grow his or her own spiritual experience. And the practice clearly worked as far as the Family members were concerned.

  Blade, Yama, Rikki, and Samson all believed in that spirit stuff, but each one in a different way. Rikki was into the martial arts, into becoming the perfected spiritual sword-master, whatever the hell that meant. Yama seemed intent on becoming as proficient in dispensing death as the Hindu King of Death whose name he had adopted. And Samson— well, Samson was one of those yokels who believed every word of the Bible was inviolate.

  Samson's faith was as solid as the proverbial rock. And although Lynx liked to tease him about his unshakable devotion, secretly Lynx was tremendously impressed by such sterling loyalty.

  The head Warrior occupied a class all his own. Blade seldom talked about his profound religious beliefs, yet anyone who knew him for any length of time knew the giant possessed faith as unshakable as Samson's, as devoted to perfection as Rikki's, but a faith that didn't prevent him from being even more lethal than Yama.

  Go figure.

  The scent of water brought an end to Lynx's reflection, And he gazed to the east and spied a body of shallow water, wore swamp stretching to the east. And he heard more voices conversing.

  Cautious now, he slowed and crept carefully forward, his head barely above the weeds. In 15 yards he could hear the conversation and he halted.

  "—off about five minutes ago."

  "Damn it! I knew we should have hurried faster."

  "Shut your lip, Pierre. We'll take these boats and be back at the estate in two hours."

  "What about us?" a man asked anxiously.

  "What about you?" someone responded in an authoritative tone.

  "Captain Francois told us to stay put until everyone has been accounted for. He took the bodies of our brothers who were killed by these bastards with him. And now you show up, Jacques, with everyone else except Pétion. Do you happen to know where he is?"

  "Dead, according to the one with all the muscles."

  "How did Henri die?"

  There was an extended pause.

  "These three claim Damballah ate him," the man named Jacques replied.

  Lynx heard the men uttering oaths in a foreign tongue. Then one of them, the one who had been doing most of the talking, spoke again.

  "They lie!"

  "Pierre feels the same way."

  "Don't you!"

  "I doubt they speak the truth, but I honestly don't know," Jacques stated.

  "Perhaps, to play it safe, we should stay here until nightfall," suggested the other one of the pair who had cursed vehemently. "Since these sons of bitches are undoubtedly lying, Henri might yet show up."

  Lynx pursed his lips. What was this business about some guy named Henri? Had the bozo really been eaten by that giant snake Eleanore had mentioned? He was about to inch closer when he felt a rubbing sensation on his feet, and he looked down to behold an olive, stout-bodied snake with a broad-based, flat-topped head distinguished by distinct holes on each side between the eye and the nostril, the traditional trademark of a pit viper.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Suit yourselves," Jacques said to the two men who had been assigned to stay by the boats. "You are probably right to stay. The Baron would be extremely displeased if we abandoned one of our own without probable cause." He turned and motioned at one of the boats. "Get in, Dieneces."

  For a few seconds Blade stood there at the water's edge, preoccupied with thoughts of escaping, and completely forgetting the name he had given the sergeant.

  "Didn't you hear me?" Jacques demanded. "Get in the damn boat, man."

  The giant glanced at the man in black, then entered the nearest of the four unusual boats in front of him. The craft were about twelve feet long, with low sides and a shallow displacement, ideal for navigating marshy terrain. Each one could accommodate six people easily. Every boat sported an outboard motor.

  "Sit in the middle," Jacques directed.

  Blade eased down on the center thwart and placed his wrists between his legs.

  Ferret and Gremlin moved toward the same boat.

  "Not you two!" Jacques snapped. "Only one of you to a boat. That way there is less chance of you giving us trouble."

  Demonstrating obvious reluctance, the hybrids parted and stepped onto different craft.

  The sergeant issued brisk instructions to his men, and a pair of tonton macoutes climbed on each boat with the hybrids, one man sitting in the front with his weapon trained on each captive while the second man handled the outboard.

  Blade scowled when three of the men in black came on the craft he occupied. Jacques took the seat at the front, smirking triumphantly as he sat down. The two others sat behind the Warrior, next to the motor.

  "You don't look very happy, mon ami," the sergeant commented.

  "It's all this air pollution."

  "Beg pardon?"

  "When was the last time you took a bath?"

  Jacques, surprisingly, chuckled. "Definitely a fine sense of humor. What a waste." He glanced at the man seated at the stern. "Get underway. The other boats will follow us."

  Blade listened in resignation as the outboards were started and revved.

  He stared eastward as the lines were hauled in and the three boats headed across the bayou.

  "We have a long trip ahead of us," Jacques mentioned. "Feel free to talk if you want." He removed his sunglasses.

  "Why are you being so kind?"

/>   "A condemned man should not be made to suffer during his final hours on this world."

  "I'm condemned, am I?"

  "Not yet. But you will be tonight at the ceremony. The Baron will consign you to the sacrifical altar."

  "What if I don't want to go?"

  "I'm afraid you won't have much choice in the matter. The ceremony must be held so that our magic remains strong and effective."

  "What kind of magic are we talking about here? The sort where you pull a rabbit out of a hat?"

  Jacques snorted. "The Black Snake Society doesn't indulge in child's pranks, man. We practice black magic, the only real magic. With it we control our destiny. We can make others do our bidding. When we call on the spirits, they do as we wish. Black magic is power, man. True power."

  "And we all know absolute power corrupts absolutely."

  "What?"

  "Never mind," Blade said, and gazed out over the bayou. "Where exactly are we headed?"

  "To Baron Laveau's estate."

  "In New Orleans?"

  "No. North of the city in the swamp," Jacques said, then added for emphasis, "far back in the swamp."

  "How long have you been a member of the Society?" Blade casually inquired, while between his legs he strained against the nylon cord without being obvious about his effort.

  "Six years."

  "You must like it."

  Jacques studied the giant, his brow furrowed. "Why these questions, man? What do you care?"

  "Humor me. I'm slated to die, remember?"

  "Fair enough. I respect a man who has courage, and I think you are a man who has a lot," Jacques stated. "And I like being in the Society. What else is there? If I wasn't one of the tonton macoutes, I'd be a nobody in New Orleans, one of the faceless masses living from day to day, hand mouth, with no hope for a future."

  "You sound as if you've given the matter a great deal a thought."

  "Of course I have. Joining the Society is not an act a person does on the spur of the moment, not when taking a vow means you are bound to the Society for life."

  "What vow?"

  "The oath of allegiance to the Black Snake Society promise to serve Damballah for all your days. If a member breaks their oath, they are hunted down and taken back to the Baron." Jacques stopped and seemed to shudder. "You can't imagine the fate they endure."

  "Pretty horrible, huh?"

  "Horrible isn't the word, man! Traitors are skinned alive, then hung by their heels over a pit of alligators and slowly lowered down, an inch at a time. I've seen three men die in such a manner." Jacques closed his eyes for a moment, "Their screams will haunt me forever."

  "I get the impression you'd quit the Society if you could."

  Startled by the statement, Jacques glanced at the two men behind the giant, then glared at the Warrior.

  "No way, man! Where did you ever get a crazy idea like that? The Black Snake Society is my life. I serve the Baron and Majesta willingly and happily."

  "Of course you do," Blade stated, amused by the fleeting panic in the man's eyes.

  "Don't be talking like that, man."

  "I wont do it again," Blade promised. His arms ached from the sustained strain and he felt either sweat or blood trickling down his hands.

  "Jerk," Jacques snapped.

  In order to continue distracting his captor, Blade kept the conversation going. "You never did answer me earlier."

  "About what?"

  "Your rank as a sergeant. And you mentioned a captain too. The tonton macoutes must be a quasi-military organization."

  "There needs to be someone in charge, no?"

  "You must be good at your job if you've been appointed a sergeant."

  Jacques squared his shoulders. "I've never let the Baron down."

  The cord binding Blade's wrists slipped just a hair. He rested his chin on his chest, pretending to be deep in thought, and pondered his strategy.

  At the rate he was going his arms would be almost loose in ten minutes.

  Should he make a bid for freedom then or wait? If he waited until they reached the estate escape might be impossible. The wisest resource was to swing into action before then.

  But when?

  The Warrior decided to wing it. When the right opportunity presented itself, he would know. He lifted his head and watched colorful birds frolic in the trees on a nearby small island. Approximately 100 feet to the south were several tall white birds with long, sticklike legs. They resembled cranes, but weren't. "What are those?" he asked.

  Jacques shifted in his seat. "Egrets, man. Great egrets, I think." His eyes narrowed. "Where can you be from that you don't know about egrets?

  They are widespread in the south."

  "You know, you're right. I had one as a pet when I was five but forgot all about it."

  "Egrets make lousy pets. And you are a pitiful liar, mon ami."

  Blade focused on the distant city. "How many people live in New Orleans now?"

  "About two, maybe three thousand."

  "And they let the Black Snake Society walk all over them?"

  "What else can they do? They're not permitted to own guns. Years ago all firearms were confiscated. And they can't stand up to Damballah with clubs and knives."

  The vivid memory of that gigantic snake devouring Henri Pétion made Blade's lips curl downward. "No, they couldn't. One day, though, they'll rise in revolt."

  "Never happen, man. They're sheep. They lack the courage to piss without permission."

  "Someone has courage. Someone sent a distress call."

  "And the message brought you here? Then you're a fool for becoming involved in matters that are none of your concern."

  "Tyranny and oppression are rightfully the concern of every person who cherishes freedom."

  "My, my. You would make a great Resistance fighter."

  "Why won't you admit the days of the Black Snake Society are numbered? If a resistance movement has already sprung into existence, then you'll be looking for a new line of work shortly."

  Jacques laughed and twirled the sunglasses in his left hand.

  "Keep dreaming, Dieneces."

  Shrugging, Blade feigned an interest in a hawk winging high above the bayou.

  "Dieneces isn't your real name, is it, man?"

  "What was your first clue?"

  "I've never heard such a name before. It's too—strange— to be a legitimate name."

  "Dieneces was a warrior in ancient Greece."

  "Where?"

  "Greece. You know. The small country on the north side of the Mediterranean Sea."

  "Is this sea connected to the Gulf of Mexico?"

  "Not quite," Blade replied, glancing at the sergeant. "Geography isn't your strong suit, I take it."

  "I don't know very much about the world." Jacques admitted.

  "Learning such facts is difficult when there are no books to learn from."

  "What happened to all me books?"

  "The Baron has a huge library at his estate, but only Majesta and him are allowed to use it. All the other books were burned many years ago."

  "Ignorance is servitude, huh?"

  Jacques wedged his Uzi between his knees and used both hands to place his sunglasses in his left shirt pocket. "You say the strangest things, monsieur. Everything about you is different. I know we've never met and yet I feel I know you. How is that possible?"

  "You certainly didn't read about me in a book."

  "Perhaps I've heard of you then?"

  "I doubt it. I'm not famous," Blade said. He slowly curled his forearms under his seat, screening his wrists. More slack had resulted from his exertions, and he would be ready to make his move soon. "Are you married, Sergeant?"

  Jacques did a double take. "What an unusual thing to ask for a man in your position. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am."

  "Is your wife a member of the Black Snake Society?"

  "No. She spends most of her time raising our five children. We have a modest house on Fillmore Avenue nea
r the old City Park."

  "How does she feel about you being one of the tonton macoutes?"

  "Maylene knows I do what I must for the security of my family."

  "Ahhh. So that's it. You became a member of the Society for the benefit of your loved ones. Men will often compromise their ideals if it means the ones they care for will be happier," Blade stated.

  Jacques features became rigid for a bit. "I think I see what you are trying to do, giant one, and I'm not amused. You will be so kind as to keep your mouth shut for the rest of the trip unless you're spoken to. Is this understood?"

  "I didn't mean to offend you."

  "No, but you are trying to put dangerous thoughts in my head. You are very clever, mon ami. You manipulate the minds of others to your advantage, and unless they are very smart they have no idea what has been done to them."

  "If you say so."

  "I do," Jacques insisted testily. "Now keep your mouth shut or we will shut it for you."

  Blade shrugged and resigned himself to spending the rest of the journey in silence. Actually, it didn't matter. The nylon cord was now loose enough to be shed with a sharp motion, so all he had to do was bide his time. He used the trip to rest and gird himself for the coming battle. After all he had learned about the Black Snake Society, he rated them as one of the worst postwar despotic groups. The tyranny must be brought to an end and he was just the man to do it.

  Slowly the time passed. The sun sank to just above the western horizon and the air became cool due to a brisk breeze blowing from the northwest.

  The drone of the outboard motors kept most of the wildlife away from the boats, although once an alligator 18 feet in length approached to within ten yards of the lead craft before sharply turning aside.

  A large island appeared approximately a half mile ahead.

  Blade noted an expansive compound situated at the center of the southern shoreline, almost at the water's edge, a compound surrounded by stone walls 20 feet high. The Baron's estate, he conjectured, and noticed the three boats were angling toward a pier jutting into the bayou from near an iron gate positioned in the middle of the south wall.

  A dozen other boats were already docked at the pier. Many guards, tonton macoutes armed with automatic weapons, were posted on the pier or walked on the rampart at the top of the wall.