David Robbins - New Orleans Run

Loud voices penetrated the brush.

“What happened?”

“I saw two of them. A hairy thing and DeCoud. They got away.”

“Fool! Did you hit them?”

“I don’t think so, Captain Francois.”

“What is that?”

“What?”

“No wonder you missed. You can’t even see a dead boar lying ten feet in front of you.”

“Mon Dieu!”

“Simpleton.”

Five seconds of quiet ensued.

“The hairy one must have done this to the boar. Trés formidable , no?”

“Nothing human could do this, Captain.”

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you? Come. We must get to the boats. The Baron will be waiting for us.”

“But the hairy creature and the girl?”

“They are trapped here without a means of navigating the bayou. In a few days we will return and find their putrid corpses. Right now we have the ceremony to consider. Midnight will be here before we know it.”

“I can hardly wait, Captain. Damballah will be very pleased.”

The voices began to fade as the speakers bore to the north.

“The Baron and Majesta have promised something special for tonight.”

“Did they say—”

“—multiple sacrifices, which will—”

“—Snake God—”

Lynx strained to hear additional details, but the pair of tonton macoutes were too far off.

“Did they mention multiple sacrifices?” Eleanore queried. “I could barely make out the words.”

“Yeah.”

“Dear God! They must mean Jerry and Adrien. We’ve got to save them.”

“How? There are dozens of them and only two of us.”

“We can go into New Orleans. Violet will know what to do.”

“Who?”

“Violet is the leader of the Resistance. She’s also an old friend of mine. We go back a long way.”

Lynx flattened and squirmed out of the thicket. “I’m not leavin’ until I locate my buddies.” He stood and waited for her to join him.

“For all you know they could be dead or captured,” Eleanore noted as she rose and ran her fingers through her hair. “It makes more sense to head for New Orleans.”

“Feminine logic never ceases to amaze me,” Lynx declared, and grabbed her by the right wrist. “Come on.” He marched northward, pulling her along.

“What’s this? I thought we were friends?”

“We are. If we weren’t, I’d slug you and throw you over my shoulder.”

“Please, Lynx. Let go.”

“Just move your tush and quit yakkin’.”

“I can’t keep going.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. Just keep puttin’ one foot in front of the other.”

“You don’t understand,” Eleanore said weakly, and unexpectedly collapsed, falling to her knees.

Lynx turned, his expression contorted in anger until he saw her eyelids fluttering and realized she was about to pitch onto her face. He stooped and caught her in his arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

Eleanore mustered a wan smile. “Haven’t eaten for almost two days, remember?” She sagged in his arms, her eyes closing.

“Damn,” Lynx growled. Now what should he do? She needed food, but he wanted to search for Ferret, Gremlin, and Blade. In her weakened state she was bound to slow him down. Either he fed her or carried her. He looked back at the dead boar and contemplated tearing out a large chunk of fresh meat. A steak would undoubtedly revive her. Unfortunately, he doubted she would eat the meat raw like he often did, which meant taking the time to get a fire going and roasting the flesh. Since he didn’t have matches, starting a fire would be a bitch.

Double damn.

Lynx decided to compromise. He scooped her unconscious form into his arms and jogged to the north. He’d carry her until they came across something edible or his pals, whichever he found first. So resolved, he moved at a swift clip, the pain in his chest having subsided to a tolerable level. His wiry form flowed over the ground with the athletic grace of his namesake, and his nostrils constantly quivered as he tested the air for scent.

He thought of his mate, Melody, and experienced a twinge of guilt at leaving her alone to traipse off to Louisiana. She had hugged him with tears moistening her lovely eyes just before he stepped out the door and urged him to be careful. Not that he would ever be otherwise.

Caution was his middle name.

Well, sort of.

Lynx pondered on what his next move should be if he failed to hook up with his companions. For the first time the idea that he might wind up stranded in New Orleans occurred to him, and his brow knit in intense contemplation. Talk about gonad-busters. If he wound up stranded, he’d have to fight his way across hundreds of miles of hostile countryside to reach the Home, probably taking on countless scavengers and mutations in the process. A grin creased his thin lips.

Bop his way over hundreds of miles, huh?

Maybe being stranded had its plus side too.

The prospect of going against so many adversaries, instead of filling him with dread or at the least a sense of realistic reservation, actually appealed to his genetically created capacity for action and mayhem. He loved a good fight almost as much as he did anything—maybe even more—and he anticipated such a hazardous journey with relish.

Bring on the wimps!

He’d waste every one.

Lynx glanced at the sun hovering in the western sky, acutely conscious of the dwindling daylight hours, and increased his speed. If he didn’t locate the others, he at least wanted to find a safe place to spend the night.

Not for his sake so much as for the woman. In her frail condition another night exposed to the elements could precipitate an illness.

That, and the fact a lot of gators and snakes were nocturnal; they did most of their hunting in the cool of the night.

He definitely didn’t want to bump into a snake in the dark. Even little snakes gave him the creeps, and had for as long as he could remember.

Why, he had no idea.

For long minutes Lynx continued on his course, and he was about to stop and take a break so he could hunt for food for Eleanore, when from a couple of dozen yards ahead arose the sounds of voices. He was moving through an open stretch of field where the weeds reached past his waist.

Ten feet to his left a solitary bush reared over six feet in height. He hunched over, holding the woman close to his chest, and darted to the bush.

The voices grew louder, indicating whoever was doing the talking must be approaching his position.

Lynx gently deposited Eleanore at the base of the bush and eased to the right until he could peer at the field beyond. He discovered he’d been mistaken; the voices weren’t arising directly ahead, they were coming from a point 50 feet to the northwest.

A party of tonton macoutes was hiking from west to east along the faint trail.

Lynx vented his low trilling noise at the sight of the three figures in the middle of the file. Blade, Ferret, and Gremlin! Naturally, the dummies had been captured. He watched the group draw closer, thankful the bush must have partially screened him from their view.

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.