David Robbins: Spartan Run

“If they’ll join,” Teucer said.

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t. It would be in their best interest to sign the mutual defense pact. They’d be able to trade with the Civilized Zone and the Free State of California for goods impossible to find in the Outlands. And they’d have friends they could rely on should they be attacked,” Blade stated.

“Everyone should have friends,” Teucer observed philosophically, and as was his habit, launched into a poem.

“Who wrote that?” Blade queried.

“A poet named Alexander MacLean.”

“Cute,” Blade said.

Teucer sat up. “Cute? Poetry is more than merely cute. Poetry is an expression of the soul, an attempt to reach out for spiritual values. Poetry is language at its most beautiful.” He paused. “Poetry is artistic expression.”

“Excuse me for living,” Blade mattered.

“Why do you like poetry so much?” Rikki asked the bowman.

“I’ve been hooked on it since I was a kid. My mom read me a poem every night when she tucked me into bed. I guess I learned to appreciate it fully,” Teucer responded, and glanced at the grant. “Unlike some people I can think of.”

Blade knew the remark was directed at him and grinned, then turned serious. “Rikki, what do you know about these Spartans?”

“Not a great deal. Apparently their society is patterned after ancient Sparta. Like their namesakes, they’re a war-oriented culture.”

“This Spartan you knew. What was he like?”

“One of the best fighters I’ve ever encountered. He was my equal at hand-to-hand.”

“Really?” Teucer interjected. “You’re the best martial artist in the Family.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rikki replied. “Blade and Yama are as talented as I am.”

“Blade maybe,” Teucer agreed. “But as good as Yama is, he’s not quite in your class.”

Rikki smiled for the first time in hours. “Tell that to Yama.”

“No way. I’m not about to commit suicide.”

For a minute they rode in silence. The condition of the highway improved marginally.

Blade idly surveyed the trees lining both sides of the road, his left elbow resting on the window, the air stirring his hair. He estimated the temperature to be in the seventies. Not bad for the first week in November. The weather had been exceptionally mild for weeks, and all of the trees still bore their leaves.

A slight curve appeared ahead.

Slowing marginally, Blade negotiated the curve with ease, alert for the cutoff to Dorchester and debating whether they should check out the town. A flutter of wings to his left drew his attention to five crows flapping into the air, and when he faced front again his eyes widened in alarm and he went rigid.

Not 30 feet distant, racing directly toward the SEAL, terror showing on her face, was a young woman.

Blade frantically spun the steering wheel to the left and tramped on the brake pedal. The SEAL slewed violently, straight at the woman, who had halted in her tracks and was gaping at the vehicle in stark astonishment, and for a moment he thought the transport would plow right over her.

Then the rear end swung back again, and the SEAL shot past her, missing her body by inches. The huge tires squealed in protest as the green van lurched to a stop.

All three Warriors were whipped forward; all reacted instantly. Blade merely gripped the steering wheel harder. Rikki pressed his hands to the dash. And Teucer caught himself by bracing his arms against the front seats.

“Warn a guy, why don’t you?” the bowman quipped.

Blade threw the gearshift into Park, shoved the door wide, and leaped out. He ran around the rear of the transport and found the woman still rooted in place, gawking. Her luxuriant shoulder length hair was black, her eyes brown. A blue shirt and brown pants, both of which were faded and worn, clung to her shapely body. “Hello,” he said, and held his hands out to indicate his peaceful intentions. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

Rikki and Teucer joined the giant.

“Why were you running?” Blade asked. “Are you in danger?”

The question snapped the woman out of her daze. She looked past them, back the way she had come from, and the terrified aspect returned.

“Yes,” she stated.

“From what?”

“From that!” she cried, and pointed.

Blade spun, his hands dropping to his Bowies, not knowing what to expect, but certainly not expecting the monstrosity that was charging toward them, a monstrosity that vented a tremendous roar.

“Dear Spirit!” Teucer breathed.

The creature was a mutation. Six and a half feet in height, with a thick body and stout limbs, the thing vaguely resembled a bear in its general shape, but there the comparison ended. Where bears spent most of their time on all fours and only rose on their hind legs for brief intervals, the onrushing beast ran on two legs just like a human, although with a shuffling, awkward gait. Instead of hair it had reddish, lumpy skin. Its elongated mouth contained wicked, tapered teeth. A pair of triangular ears crowned a rounded head. Most horrible of all were the eyes. They were oversized, as big as apples, and had tiny red pupils.

“Run!” the woman screamed.

The Warriors had no intention of doing so.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi moved to meet the deviate, gliding gracefully, his long black scabbard wedged under his belt and slanted across his left hip. He assumed a back stance, both hands on the hilt of the sword he could wield with unparalleled precision, and waited for the creature to reach him.

Blade drew his Bowies and went to aid his friend, wishing he had taken the time to retrieve his Commando submachine gun from the rear storage section of the SEAL. The creature sported five inch claws on each front paw, which combined with its size and ferocity made it a formidable adversary. The Commando could slay the deviate in seconds, whereas with the Bowies it would be much more difficult. He saw Rikki’s arm move, saw the martial artist’s gleaming katana streak from the scabbard, and with the mutation only 20 feet away he braced for the onslaught. Only the monstrosity never reached them.

A swishing sound arose behind them, and a long green shaft sped into the creature’s chest with a pronounced thud. The thing roared again and paused to swipe at the object protruding from its flesh. Another swish sounded, and yet another, the second an instant after the first, and two arrows lanced into the mutation’s eyes, one in each red pupil. For a moment the creature went rigid, snarling hideously, and then it toppled onto its left side, convulsed for a bit, and expired.

Blade and Rikki exchanged glances.

“Apparently we weren’t needed,” said the man in black.

“Don’t you just hate show-offs?” Blade asked.

Teucer walked past them, another arrow already notched, and warily approached the beast. He nudged its head several times, and satisfied the thing was dead, he lowered his bow.

The woman ran over to them, staring at the mutation in disbelief. “You saved my life! That thing chased me for half a mile!”

“Glad we could assist you,” Blade mentioned, sliding the Bowies into their sheaths.

“I meant him ,” the woman stated, indicating the bowman. She stared at him with frank, adoring eyes.

“It was nothing,” Teucer said, walking up to her.

“Are you kidding?” she replied. “You were magnificent.”

The bowman grinned and slid the arrow into the quiver he had slung over his back while exiting the transport.