David Robbins - Yellowstone Run

We’re affected by all of this, just like you, only we learned a long time ago to take what comes as calmly as possible. Humor is just one of the tools we use. Otherwise, we couldn’t stand the strain.”

“I could never be a Warrior,” Eagle Feather said.

“You never know until you try,” Hickok said, He saw a trio of familiar figures coming toward them. “Uh-oh. Here comes Gruesome again.”

Longat and the two creatures with him approached to within a yard of the prisoners, then halted.

“Forget something?” Hickok quipped.

“No,” Longat replied, and nodded at the pair beside him. They immediately walked to Milly Odum and roughly hauled her to her feet.

“What are you planning to do with her?” Priscilla asked. “Leave her alone!”

“Yeah!” Hickok stated. “What’s she to you?”

A scornful smile creased Longat’s countenance. “Breakfast.”

Blade felt strong hands clamp on his shoulders as a heavy body struck him squarely in the chest, and the next instant he was flying from the saddle with the creature on top of him. He twisted to the right as he fell, hoping to dislodge his hairy attacker. They both crashed onto the rocky ground with a bone-jarring impact.

The thing snarled and lunged at the Warrior’s throat.

A repulsive image of hair and teeth and hate-filled eyes loomed inches from Blade’s face. Sharp nails bit into his neck, and before they could rip his throat apart he grabbed the creature’s wrists and strained, pulling its hands loose.

The booming of Achilles’ Bullpup reverberated in the stony defile.

Blade heaved, shoving the mutation from him, and swept to his feet. A hasty glance showed three of the creatures converging on Achilles, but there was nothing he could do to assist the novice. The thing that had pounced on him was erect, and there were two others charging him, their clawed fingers extended to tear into him.

Damn.

He’d waltzed right into their trap.

Although the Henry was slung over his left arm and the Commando over his right, and even though he had the Pythons jammed under his belt. Blade’s hands flashed to the weapons he preferred the most, the knives he had wielded ever since he was old enough to hold them. The Bowies speared up and out just as the first creature leaped at him.

The mutation threw back its head and vented a strident screech as the blades sank to their hilts in its chest.

Blade wrenched the Bowies downward, slicing the creature open all the way to the abdomen. Then he wrenched the knives sideways, tugged them out, and spun.

Too late.

One of the Bear People closed in from either side. Each took hold of a brawny arm and held fast, apparently intending to capture the Warrior alive.

Blade whipped his body forward, causing the creatures to lose their balance, and quickly, savagely reversed direction. His tactic succeeded.

The two mutations lost their footing and stumbled, their grips slackening.

With a herculean effort, every muscle of his arms and shoulders bulging, Blade tore his arms from their grasp, causing the Henry to fall to the ground in the process.

His respite was short-lived.

The thing on the right swiped its claws at the giant’s eyes.

Ducking, Blade narrowly missed having his pupils punctured. He pivoted and lanced the Bowies into the creature’s exposed jugular, and he blinked when blood sprayed onto his forehead and cheeks. To nail the mutation on the right he’d been forced to turn his back on the one on the left, and now a grimy arm encircled his neck from the rear and squeezed.

Blade released the Bowies and tottered backwards as intense pressure, threatened to crush his trachea. He frantically drove his right elbow around in a tight arc and connected with the creature’s ribs, but the pressure only increased. He reached up, seized the arm squeezing him, and executed a flawless jujitsu throw, dropping onto his right knee and flipping the mutation onto the ground. The Commando clattered at his feet.

He had no time to grab it.

The creature he’d stabbed in the throat had pulled the knives free. A crimson spray gushing from his neck, the thing hissed, raised the Bowies overhead for a downward thrust, and sprang.

In a lightning insight. Blade perceived that he’d discovered the key to defeating his foes. They were fierce brutes who relied on their strength and speed; they knew nothing of the martial arts. To win, he had to take the offensive and employ every martial skill he knew. No sooner did the thought flicker through his mind than he placed his palms on the ground and performed a full circle sweep, his left leg rigid. He caught the creature behind the knees and the thing slammed onto its back.

But the other two were already up.

Blade straightened, staring in astonishment at the mutation he’d gutted. Intestines and gore were oozing from the cuts, and still the thing was coming at him.

What did it take to kill them?

The Warrior went for the weakest creature first, for the one with the intestines hanging out. He leaped into the air and delivered a spinning back kick. His foot struck the mutation in the head and bowled the creature over.

The third mutation charged as the giant landed.

Blade barely had time to react. The thing rammed him in the stomach and looped its arms around his waist, upending him, and he rolled with the momentum, falling onto his buttocks and arching his back while driving his left knee into the creature’s midriff. He succeeded in tossing his bestial adversary over his head, then rolled to the left and rose, drawing the Pythons.

So much for the martial arts.

The things could fight all day, if need be, even when severely injured.

He needed to end the battle, and end it now.

At point-blank range Blade shot the one creature he hadn’t knifed in the head, then whirled and planted two slugs in the brain of the brute with the ravaged throat.

Leaving Gutsy.

Blade pointed both barrels at the mutation as it stood unsteadily.

“Don’t make me shoot,” he warned.

The thing glanced at the Warrior and grinned, a chilling gesture of defiance. “Screw you, human!”

For a moment Blade was stupefied. He’d never anticipated that the thing could Talk! Stunned, he was sluggish to respond when the creature roared and shuffled toward him. It almost reached him before he squeezed the trigger on the right Colt, intentionally aiming low.

Growling and lashing out with its tapered nails, the mutation collapsed when the slug tore through its left knee. It fell onto its left side, its inner organs still seeping from the gaping slashes.

“Drop the guns, human!”

Blade whirled at the command, the Pythons level in his hand.

Two of the three Bear People who had attacked Achilles were dead, their craniums blown to bits by the Bullpup. The Mossberg lay on the ground between the pair.

The third creature had its left arm encircling Achilles’ neck. In its right hand, the barrel touching the novice’s temple, was the Taurus. “I won’t tell you again!” the mutation snapped. “Just because we seldom use human weapons, don’t think I can’t use this.” He gouged the Taurus into Achilles.

“Now drop those damn guns or your friend is wolf bait.”

Blade hesitated. If he possessed Hickok’s skill, he’d be tempted to shoot the bear-man before it knew what happened. But his expertise, the skill to which he had devoted almost all of his life, lay in the consummate use of edged weapons. Frowning, he started to lower the Colts.

Achilles appeared to be in a bind. With the mutation holding him from behind, there didn’t seem to be much he could do. His left hand gripped the arm that held him. He could feel the Taurus digging into his skin, and he saw Blade reluctantly comply. His right hand disappeared under the folds of his red cloak.