David Robbins - Dallas Run

The creatures attained the rim and paused.

Gazing down, Hickok could see that the interior of the mound resembled a miniature volcano. There was a nine-foot drop to a circular flat area that had been packed down or scooped out. The light from the windows only partly illuminated the flat area, but there was enough to disclose the grisly white objects cluttering the bottom.

Hickok’s eyes widened.

For there, dotting the floor of the mound, lay a score of human skeletons.

“The way I read it, the woman ran in here first and Hickok went in after her,” Geronimo said.

“Then we go after him,” Blade said, and motioned at the leader of the Chains. “Get over here.”

Marlon warily stepped closer. “What?”

“Where would she go from here?” Blade asked.

“How should I know?” Marlon retorted.

“She’s your fox, as you put it,” Blade reminded him. “Where would she go with someone chasing her?”

“Anywhere,” Marlon said. “We don’t have special hiding places, if that’s what you mean. Melanie knows this area really well. She’ll probably lose your friend in no time flat.”

Blade sighed. “Okay, Geronimo lead off,” he said, then reached out, grabbed Marlon by the right shoulder, and shoved the young tough between Geronimo and himself. “You’ll walk in front of me,” he instructed.

“Any funny moves and I’ll split your skull. Understood?”

“Understood,” Marlon acknowledged sullenly.

“Lieutenant Garber, bring up the rear. Stay alert,” Blade ordered.

“Will do, sir,” the officer replied.

Without another word they entered the building. On a hunch, Geronimo bore to the left and walked until he came to a junction. He paused, eyeing both branches. “Which way?”

“Pick one,” Blade said.

Geronimo studied the two branches for several seconds and noticed the light seemed slightly brighter at the end of the right fork. “We go right,” he declared, and suited his action to his words.

“Any chance of my getting my guns back?” Marlon asked as he followed the Indian.

“None,” Blade said.

“I don’t like being unarmed.”

“Who does?”

“Particularly in here,” Marlon went on. “There are all kinds of creepy-crawlies in these old buildings.”

“We know,” Blade said. “We ran into a bunch of lizards on our way in.”

“The lizards are the least of our worries,” Marlon commented without elaborating.

They hiked in silence to where the corridor turned abruptly to the left.

“There’s an open door!” Geronimo declared, and hurried to the exit.

Once outside, he stared at the sidewalk, the curb, and the asphalt covering the street, and frowned.

Marlon, Blade, and Garber came through the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” the officer inquired, noting Geronimo’s peeved expression.

“No tracks.”

“What?” Garber asked.

Geronimo pointed at the sidewalk. “Concrete doesn’t hold prints very well unless it’s wet.”

Lieutenant Garber gazed at the curb and the street. “Oh. Then we’re stymied temporarily, aren’t we? We can’t track them. What do we do now?”

“It’s up to Blade,” Geronimo said.

“Perhaps we should stay put,” Lieutenant Garber proposed. “Hickok might return to this spot.”

Blade ran his left hand through his hair, pondering their next move.

Garber had a point about the gunman returning. They shouldn’t stray very far from the alley. He decided to return and await Hickok. As he rotated toward the doorway he noticed a sign on the building across the street.

“Listen,” Geronimo suddenly stated.

“I don’t hear anything,” Lieutenant Garber remarked.

Blade cocked his head, and to his ears came the sounds of laughter and indistinct cries.

“It’s the Chosen!” Marlon exclaimed.

“How do you know?” Blade inquired.

“I know. Trust me,” Marlon said, facing to the south, his fingers twitching nervously. “We’ve got to hide or they’ll nail us.”

“They’re coming toward us,” Geronimo announced.

“Back inside,” Blade commanded, and hustled them into the hallway.

He stepped in last, then eased the door almost shut, leaving a three-inch space through which he could watch the street.

“I’ve got to warn the Chains!” Marlon declared.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Blade said.

“At least give me my damn guns.”

“Not yet.”

Marlon uttered an oath under his breath.

In less than a minute the pounding of running feet became audible, and Blade beheld a solitary figure racing down the center of the street, a man attired in torn jeans and brown shoes. He was shirtless, and the sweat glistened on every pore of his chest and shoulders. Looped around his slim waist was a chain. Blade glanced at Marlon. “Is this guy one of your gang?”

“Who?” Marlon responded. He moved to the doorway and peered out.

“Son of a bitch! That’s Gary! Yeah, he’s one of the Chains.”

“What’s he doing by himself?”

“I don’t know. He disappeared about four days ago,” Marlon divulged.

Other figures became visible, sprinting in pursuit of the man named Gary, 30 yards to his rear and narrowing the gap rapidly.

Blade’s eyes narrowed.

Gary appeared to be on his last legs. His chest heaved and his legs pumped sluggishly. He looked over his right shoulder and nearly stumbled.

“No!” he wailed.

There were 18 pursuers, and they were evidently making a game of the chase, laughing and shouting to one another. Ten of the 18 were men, and only they wore any clothing, loincloths covering their privates. All of the women were stark naked.

Blade felt a surge of excitement.

Green splotches dotted the skin of both the men and the women, irregular marks evincing no clear-cut pattern.

“The Chosen!” Marlon hissed.

Here was a golden opportunity to take a prisoner and complete the mission! Blade smiled and hefted the M60. A few of the Chosen were straggling well behind the rest. All he had to do was wait for the main pack to pass the door, then leap out and grab the last of the stragglers before the rest knew what happened. The simplicity of his plan delighted him.

Gary was now 15 yards south of the door, and he had slowed to a virtual walk. He appeared about to keel over from exhaustion.

Blade tensed and held his breath. Keep going! his mind shrieked. Don’t stop now!

But Gary needed more than mental encouragement. He faltered and sagged to his knees, breathing raggedly, swaying from side to side, his countenance pale.

“Look at him!” one of the women after him shouted gleefully.

“He’s ours!” yelled a skinny man.

Many of the Chosen laughed.

Marlon glanced at Blade. “We’ve got to help him.”

“Forget it.”

“He’s one of the Chains,” Marlon protested. “I can’t let those bastards snatch him.”

“There’s nothing you can do. If you went out there, they’d capture you too.”

“Not if I had my guns.”

Blade scanned the Chosen, noting they were armed with a variety of weapons: rifles, handguns, knives, clubs, and more. “You still wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“I’ve got to try,” Marlon said, and the next instant he flung the door wide and ran toward Gary.

“Damn!” Blade fumed, exposed in the doorway for the approaching Chosen to see.

“Gary!” Marlon bellowed.

The onrushing group of Chosen slowed, taken aback by the unexpected appearance of Marlon and the giant. One of their number, a tall man holding an iron bar, waved his weapon in the air excitedly. “Look! Two more!” The rest responded with whoops and hollers, and they charged.