David Robbins - New Orleans Run

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.

“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 sacrificial 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.”