Capital Run

by David Robbins

  The mutant raised its bloated head and voiced a thunderous roar, shaking the walls and causing dirt to crumble from the sides of the pit. Three of the sisters reached the door and frantically threw it open. Almost immediately, a diminutive figure in black scooted into the room, a flashing sword in his hands, and with three glimmering strokes he dispatched the trio.

  It was Rikki!

  Blade started toward his fellow Warrior, but a stud came at him, a knife in the Knight’s right hand.

  Grotto was in a frenzy, hissing and roaring as it attempted to reach the pit rim. Its rear legs dug into the side, spraying dirt in every direction. It gave a stupendous heave and its front legs obtained a purchase on the pit edge, not more than eight feet from the Warrior.

  Blade, concentrating on his adversary with the knife, failed to see Grotto’s achievement. He dodged a wild swing of the knife and retreated a step, moving three feet nearer to the creature’s salivating jaws.

  Near the door, a stud with a rifle sighted on the swordsman in black, but a redheaded woman burst into the room, her machine gun chattering, and the stud’s chest was stitched by a line of heavy slugs.

  Lex had entered the fray.

  Blade backed up another step as the stud with the knife lunged again.

  Grotto’s head and shoulders were clear of the pit and his body was still rising.

  Rikki spotted Blade’s danger, but before he could race to his friend’s aid he was confronted by two sisters, both with drawn revolvers.

  One of the sisters fired.

  Rikki grimaced as his right side was creased, the bullet tearing a furrow in his ribs. He doubled over, feigning acute anguish, and when the sisters closed in to finish him off, he suddenly straightened, slashing the katana from right to left, hacking off the first woman’s left arm, her gun arm, and cleaving open the second woman’s stomach. The first woman seemed petrified by the loss of her arm: her terrified eyes frozen on the sight of her blood pumping from the severed stump. She barely noticed when another slash of the katana split her forehead, and she was dead before her body struck the ground. The second woman dropped her revolver and spread her hands over her ruptured stomach, futilely endeavoring to prevent her intestines and other organs from spilling out.

  The sword strike through her heart was anti-climatic.

  Blade ducked yet another knife swipe, and caught the stud’s wrist in his powerful hands. He swept his right knee up into the stud’s elbow, and heard the pop as it cracked.

  The stud grunted and tried to jerk free.

  Blade floored him with a right cross. He saw Rikki heading his way and took a step toward him, but a strident roar stopped him in his tracks. He whirled.

  Grotto was almost on top of the pit. Except for its pumping rear legs and tail, it was actually out of the pit, squatting on the rim.

  Damn!

  Blade broke into a run, making for Rikki.

  Lex downed two of the Knights with a burst from the Commando. The sole Knight left in the room, a tall blonde sister, was cowering against one wall.

  Rikki darted toward Blade, but he was still 12 feet away when Grotto surged over the rim of the pit and went after the giant Warrior.

  Rikki grabbed the hilt of one of the Bowies. “Catch!” he shouted, and tossed the knife.

  Blade deftly caught the Bowie on the fly with his right hand.

  Rikki threw the other Bowie.

  Blade stopped, his keen eyes following the knife’s trajectory, and his left hand plucked it from the air with deceptive ease. He spun, sensing the monster was right behind him.

  He was right.

  Grotto was six feet from the Warrior, its mouth wide open, displaying upper and lower rows of small but pointed teeth. The motion of its ungainly legs and tail caused the creature to weave from side to side as it advanced. The first, bite of its gruesome jaws closed on empty space.

  Blade leaped to the right as the creature attacked, driving his left Bowie up and in, under the mutant’s jawbone, into the fleshy area fringing the thick neck.

  Grotto recoiled, feeling the pain, jerking his head away from the Bowie.

  Knowing he would be too exposed if he tried to flee, Blade opted for the unexpected. He aggressively charged forward, under Grotto’s neck, and buried both of his Bowies in the thing’s vulnerable underbelly.

  Grotto roared and scrambled to the right, not far from the pit, hissing as it swiveled and snapped at the puny human.

  Blade felt the creature’s foul breath on his face, like the rank stink of a decayed corpse, and flung himself backwards.

  Grotto’s teeth crunched together mere inches from its prey.

  Blade stumbled, landing on his left knee. He saw Grotto rushing him, and he extended the Bowies to meet the assault.

  A streak of masterfully crafted steel sliced the mutant from its neck to its shoulder as Rikki came to Blade’s rescue. Green fluid sprayed from the wound, spattering the Warrior in black.

  Grotto turned to face this new threat, enraged. Its jaw distended, it pounced.

  Rikki rolled, avoiding the cavernous maw, and came up with the katana in a swirling motion, tearing open the side of Grotto’s face. He backpedaled, scurrying to Blade’s side.

  “Glad you could make it,” Blade quipped.

  “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” Rikki rejoined.

  Further conversation was precluded by Grotto; the mutant bellowed and charged the two Warriors.

  Blade dived to the right, toward the pit, while Rikki sprinted to the left.

  Grotto hesitated for a moment, uncertain of which victim to pursue. It snarled and went after Rikki.

  The Family’s consummate martial artist held his ground.

  Grotto reached its quarry and hissed, spreading its jaws, its tongue flicking outward in spasmodic anticipation.

  Rikki swung, slashing his katana up and around, the keen blade severing a third of the creature’s tongue from its mouth.

  Grotto recoiled and uttered a rumbling, shrill cry. It lashed its head from side to side, in misery, tormented by the loss of its tongue.

  Blade found himself standing behind the monster, not four feet from its tail. He saw Rikki take another swipe with his sword, and Grotto try to take Rikki’s head off. Rikki avoided the slavering jaws, but his left foot caught on the leg of a slain Leather Knight prone on the ground, and he lost his balance. He fell, landing on his left side.

  Grotto roared and surged forward.

  A desperate plan, a blaze of inspiration, pervaded Blade’s consciousness, and with the idea came action. He ran toward Grotto, and when just three feet from the creature’s tail he leaped, his coiled leg muscles carrying him over Grotto’s tail onto its back, at the junction of the tail and the spinal column. His knees clamped on the tail, as he sank his Bowies to the hilt in the genetic deviates back.

  Grotto stiffened, then whipped its tail in an arc, striving to dislodge the man-thing.

  Blade was clipped by the broad tail. He felt something hard strike his left shoulder, and he was knocked forward, the Bowies wrenching clear of the mutant’s rancid flesh. He rolled twice and came up on his knees, perched on Grotto’s squat neck.

  Grotto snapped its head up and down, shaking its whole body, attempting to toss the man off.

  Rikki closed in and delivered a deep slash to Grotto’s throat.

  Blade, clinging to the pliant skin on Grotto’s neck with all of his strength, racked his brain for a means of destroying the creature. There had to be a way! But how? It had sustained several severe injuries, it was pumping a sickly green fluid from its body by the gallon, and yet still it fought on, endowed with a fearless nature and a ravenous appetite. The Bowies and the katana seemed unable to deliver a death blow. Where would it be most vulnerable? In the heart? Where would the heart be located in a creature of this size? All these thoughts passed through his mind in the twinkling of an instant.

  And then it hit him.

  There was a way!

  Blade
lunged forward, wrapping his legs around the mutant’s neck. He extended the Bowies as far as his arms could reach, one on each side of the creature’s face, one next to each eye.

  “Do it!” he heard Lex scream.

  Blade plunged the Bowies into Grotto’s brown orbs, all the way in, and twisted.

  Grotto reacted as if electrified by a bolt of lightning, its huge form convulsing and contorting, hissing all the while, its head shaking from right to left and up and down.

  Blade could scarcely retain his grip. He felt the creature moving from side to side, and he could see Rikki yelling something to him, but he couldn’t hear the words over Grotto’s hissing.

  Grotto’s violent throes intensified.

  “—pit! The pit!” Rikki yelled in alarm.

  The pit?

  The pit!

  Blade jerked the Bowies free and rolled to the right, off of Grotto’s neck.

  Something collided with his back, and he was sent flying, arms and legs flailing in the air, to crash onto the ground in a daze. He shook his head to clear his fuzzy mind, and rose to his hands and knees.

  “Are you all right?” asked a concerned male voice.

  Blade looked up.

  Rikki smiled at him. “The Family will tell this tale for generations.”

  Blade glanced around, confused, disoriented. “Where…”

  “The pit,” Rikki answered before Blade could complete his question.

  Blade stumbled to his feet. He tottered to the edge of the pit, his whole body aching like hell, and peered over the edge.

  Grotto was lying in the center of the pit, on its side, its mouth open and slack, its eyes pools of green fluid, its legs curled up, its tail quivering.

  Grotto was dead.

  “I never saw anything like that!” Lex said as she joined them. “I wanted to shoot,” she added, holding up the Commando, “but I was afraid I’d hit one of you.”

  Blade nodded absently, not yet fully recovered, staring at the creature on the pit floor.

  “Are you all right?” Rikki repeated.

  “Just a little dazed,” Blade responded.

  “Its head hit you as you were rolling off,” Rikki disclosed.

  Blade glanced at the black hole in the side of the pit, the hole providing access to the sewers. “Terza told me there are more of those things down there,” he commented in a low voice.

  “Yeah,” Lex confirmed. “So?”

  “So sooner or later those things are going to start coming out of the sewers to feed,” Blade predicted.

  “A few have already done it,” Lex stated. “What’s the big deal?”

  Blade stared at her, sweat beading his brow. “Population growth is going to force more and more of them to take to the streets,” he said wearily. “From what we’ve seen in our travels, many cities are like St. Louis. Living in them may become untenable.”

  Lex gazed at Grotto, frowning. “So what? I don’t like living here anyway.”

  Rikki touched Blade on the left elbow. “We should be leaving.”

  Blade nodded. He realized he was still holding the Bowies, and he held them up. They were covered with the sticky green fluid. “Yuck,” he said, and walked to a fallen sister.

  Rikki scanned the room. “We are the only ones here,” he observed.

  Blade wiped his knives clean on the sister’s black-leather vest. “You can bet reinforcements are on the way.”

  “You can have this,” Lex offered, extending the Commando. “I’ll take one of the rifles.”

  Blade sheathed his Bowies and took the Commando. “Thanks.” He paused. “I appreciate all of the assistance you’ve rendered. And I know how you feel about living in St. Louis. How would you like to come and live with us?”

  Lex grinned. “Rikki already made me the same offer.”

  “And?”

  “And the sooner we get to this Home of yours,” Lex said, “the better.”

  Blade smiled. “Lead the way.”

  Lex took a rifle from a dead stud, and found a handful of ammunition in his right front pocket. “Rikki told me you guys are called Warriors,” she mentioned as she straightened.

  “There are fifteen Warriors,” Blade affirmed.

  Lex swept the room with her right hand. “And you Warriors do this kind of thing all the time?”

  “It does seem to happen a lot,” Blade admitted. “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Lex said. “But after seeing what you guys do for a living, I can’t help but wonder what you do for kicks.”

  Chapter Twenty

  This was another blasted mess he’d gotten himself into!

  The gunman was seated on a long bench on one side of the cargo bay.

  Across from him, on another wooden bench, sat five Red soldiers, each with an AK-47, each pointing their weapon in his general direction.

  Nearby, toward the rear of the aircraft, boxes and crates and miscellaneous equipment were stacked to the ceiling. In the opposite direction, a narrow alley between more crates and boxes led to a closed door. The sixth Red, the one he’d first seen in the cargo bay doorway and evidently a sergeant or of some equivalent rank, had disappeared through the door mere minutes before. After the sergeant and one other trooper had hoisted the gunfighter into the helicopter, they’d shoved him to the bench and ordered him to sit.

  But the rascals had made a serious mistake.

  Hickok wanted to laugh. The cowchips had neglected to search him for weapons. Consequently, the Pythons were safely tucked under his belt, hidden by the bulky uniform shirt over his buckskins.

  “Any of you gents feel like shootin’ the breeze?” Hickok amiably inquired.

  None of them responded.

  “I have a pard by the name of Joshua,” Hickok genially told them. “He once told me a motto of his. You bozos could learn from it. If you ever want to make friends, old Josh once said, you’ve got to be friendly. You jokers sure ain’t the friendly type.”

  One of the Reds wagged his AK-47. “Shut your mouth. We are not your friends.”

  “Why do we have to be enemies?” Hickok countered. “The war was a hundred years ago.”

  “The war is not over until Communism has conquered the globe,” the soldier said.

  Hickok sighed. “You must be minus a few marbles. There ain’t no way you turkeys will conquer the world.”

  “In time we will,” the trooper said confidently.

  “You’re breakin’ wind.”

  The soldier’s eyebrows narrowed. “Breakin’ wind?”

  “Do you really expect the folks to just roll over and play dead while you run roughshod over ’em?” Hickok asked. “If you do, you must be eatin’ loco-weed on a regular basis.”

  The trooper was about to speak, but the door toward the front of the aircraft opened. The sergeant returned, followed by a familiar figure. They approached the gunman.

  “Hello, Hickok,” Lieutenant Voroshilov greeted the warrior. “This is a surprise.”

  “Not as big of a surprise as I wanted,” Hickok said.

  “I just finished talking to General Malenkov on the radio,” Lieutenant Voroshilov revealed. “He was equally surprised. It seems we underestimated you.”

  “So how soon before we get back to Washington?” Hickok asked.

  “We are not turning around,” Lieutenant Voroshilov disclosed.

  Hickok’s own surprise registered on his features. “Why not? I reckon the general is a mite eager to get his paws on me.”

  Lieutenant Voroshilov nodded. “He is most desirous of talking with you again,” he said. “Only the next time it will be different. Your escape angered the general. He is going to have his… consultants… question you next time. Perhaps you have heard of them? They are the KGB.”

  Hickok shrugged. “Never heard of ’em.”

  “Why don’t you relax,” Lieutenant Voroshilov suggested. “We will be in the air several hours before we refuel.”

  “Why aren’t you takin’ me back to Washington?�
�� Hickok inquired.

  Lieutenant Voroshilov sat down on the bench alongside the gunman.

  His green eyes studied the warrior, as if he were examining an inferior life-form. “Several reasons. Precious fuel would be wasted by the return flight, and fuel is one resource we cannot afford to waste.”

  “Don’t have a lot of it, huh?” Hickok interrupted.

  “Not as much as we would like,” Voroshilov said. “We have two refineries in operation, but they can’t supply enough fuel for all our needs.”

  “Why don’t you just get some more from Russia?” Hickok queried.

  Voroshilov’s mouth tightened. “If only we could.”

  “Why can’t you?” Hickok pressed him.

  Voroshilov considered the question for a while. “I see no reason why I can’t tell you. The information isn’t classified, and you won’t live to pass it on.” He thoughtfully stared at the closed cargo bay doors. “We lost touch with our motherland thirty years ago.”

  “What? You’re kiddin’,” Hickok said.

  “I do not jest,” Voroshilov stated bitterly. “The war took its toll on our country too. It depleted our natural resources and restricted our industrial capability. The non-Russian peoples in the U.S.S.R., the ones who always resented our superiority and our control, saw our weakness and decided the time was right to throw off their yoke. The Baits and the Mordivians, the Udmurts and the Mari, the Tartars and the Kirgiz, and many others rose in rebellion.” He stopped, his face downcast.

  “And what happened?” Hickok goaded him, stalling. The longer he could keep the lieutenant talking the further they would get from Washington and the more likely a chance would develop to make his play.

  “We don’t know,” Voroshilov said sadly.

  “You don’t know?”

  Voroshilov sighed. “During and right after the war, thousands of our troops were sent to America, to invade and conquer the capitalistic pigs.

  Our forces took over a large territory in the eastern U.S., but we did not have enough supplies and men to continue our push to the north and west of the Mississippi. Our drive through Alaska and Canada was stopped in British Columbia by the worst winter they had there in centuries. Over the decades, we have consolidated our domination of the American area we rule. Until thirty years ago, we maintained contact with the motherland.