David Robbins: New Orleans Run

“I repeat. What the hell are we doing here?”

The giant was walking up a low mound. He halted on the crest and pointed. “We must dispose of them.”

“Of what?” Lynx snapped testily, then stopped, astounded.

An immense circular depression lay on the other side, formed in the soft grass by the weight of a great body. Lying in the center of the nest were eighteen white eggs, each one a yard in length.

“I found this when I was out searching for a suitable branch to use as a spear,” Blade related.

“Then this means Damballah was a she, yes?” Gremlin queried.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Blade replied.

“It means there’s another one of those things out there somewhere,” Ferret said, staring out over the bayou.

“And it’s not our worry,” Blade stated. “We’ve already proven Damballah wasn’t a god. Jerry, Eleanore, and the rest will have to exterminate the mate if it ever shows up.”

Lynx gestured at the nest. “Look. Can we get this over with and take off?”

“Something bothering you?” Ferret asked.

“Not a thing,” Lynx answered, a tad nervously. “All the loose ends have been wrapped up.”

Blade drew his Bowies, “Then let’s get to it.”

“Wait a minute,” Lynx said.

“What?”

“There is one item I need cleared up. Have any of you guys ever heard about these geek octopuses—”