David Robbins - Cincinnati Run

Which brought him back to square one.

What accounted for the danged spider?

Hickok was becoming impatient. He didn’t want Blade and Geronimo to get too far ahead. Surely they had noticed his absence by now! He expected them to show up at any moment.

Gunfire suddenly punctuated the blackness, arising from the direction of Delhi Road.

Blade and Geronimo were in trouble!

Hickok hesitated for less than a second. He couldn’t stand idly by and do nothing while his friends were fighting for their lives. He might be bitten if he so much as moved a muscle, but that was the risk he would have to take. His hands were at his sides, and he tensed his fingers and his shoulder muscles in preparation for making his play.

There was a slim hope.

If he could smash the spider before the arachnid bit him, he’d be home free. Everyone claimed he was one of the fastest men with a shooting iron who ever lived. Here was his chance to prove his speed with his hands.

Then again, the creature might not even be a spider and might not be poisonous, in which case he was standing there like an idiot running in mental circles and worrying over nothing. He gritted his teeth, clenched his fists, and went into action.

Hickok whipped his fists up and around, his arms arcing at the thing with all the swiftness of a striking rattlesnake, yet as quick as he was, he wasn’t quick enough. His fists were midway to his head when he felt an intense stinging sensation an inch or so above his hairline. The mutant started to rise, using its legs to push itself erect. Hickok brought his fists down with all the force in his sinews, smashing whatever-it-was to a pulp, plastering his hair with its flattened, gory form. His loathing compelled him to pound the creature again and again, until he was certain it was dead, until his head ached. He relaxed and leaned against the right-hand wall, expelling a long breath.

He’d done it!

But the critter had nailed him.

He straightened and took a stride forward. A liquid substance trickled past his ears and onto his neck. Feeling nauseous, he hurried, eager to catch up to Blade and Geronimo. The stinging on his scalp was spreading rapidly and growing worse.

Blast!

Hickok reached up and used his fingers as scoops, wiping his hands back and forth, trying to remove the mashed, pasty residue from his blond hair. His hands became sticky, and he detected the scent of a putrid odor.

The shooting outside seemed to have ceased.

He abruptly felt extremely hot, as if his body temperature had elevated five degrees, and his head was now burning terribly. His eyes were having difficulty focusing.

Was that a ribbon of light up ahead?

Blade had mentioned seeing a light.

The thought of Blade and Geronimo pushed him onward. The dummies needed him. He couldn’t fail them now when the chips were down.

Ooooh, his aching noggin!

Hickok noticed a strange tingling in his limbs, and his movements were becoming sluggish. He shook his head, striving to concentrate on reaching the light, but his body was refusing to cooperate. A peculiar lethargy engulfed him and he halted, weaving, flushed and disoriented.

What a pitiful way to buy the farm.

Bumped off by a measly spider.

The gunman mustered his flagging strength and tottered toward the light, and for a few seconds he believed he would make it. Then his knees buckled and he sagged to the dusty floor, doubling over, his whole body on fire, and his consciousness plunged into the flames of oblivion.

“You are impressed, are you not?”

“I’m impressed,” Blade grudgingly admitted.

General Ari Stoljarov smirked. “We depleted our Treasury to construct this facility, a small price to pay for the capability to conquer the world.”

“What loony bin did they find you in?” Geronimo quipped.

The Butcher halted and glared at Geronimo. “Have a care, Warrior. I could have your life snuffed out like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“I’m shaking in my boots,” Geronimo responded, and his eyes suddenly widened. “You know who we are?”

“Of course, simpleton,” General Stoljarov said contemptuously.

Blade’s lips compressed as he stared at the towering edifices around him. They were 30 yards inside the massive front gate, walking along a wide avenue amply lit by intermittent streetlights. The ten troopers comprising the general’s personal guard ringed them with AK-47’s at the ready. Geronimo and he had been frisked and their weapons confiscated by one of the soldiers. Although they were not bound, they were powerless to resist.

“It would take more than a Soviet uniform to disguise the likes of you, Blade, or you, Geronimo,” General Stoljarov went on. “Our file on the two of you is quite extensive. After all, your accursed Family has been a thorn in our side for years. You have thwarted our plans repeatedly.”

“We’ve tried,” Blade said with a smile.

“Enjoy your arrogance while you can,” General Stoljarov said. “I will take great delight in teaching both of you the meaning of humility.”

“We’ve been threatened by experts,” Blade replied, intentionally sounding bored. “You’re just one more power-monger in our eyes.”

“Power-monger?”

“The term the Elders apply to anyone who craves power, anyone who tries to impose their will on others, anyone who thinks everyone else should live by their dictates.”

General Stoljarov made a snorting noise. “Your definition could apply to every living person.”

“Not everyone has the potential inside them to become a power-monger,” Blade said. “Only those who presume to recast the world in their own biased image.”

The general’s brown eyes locked on the giant. “For once the stories weren’t exaggerated.”

“General?”

General Stoljarov motioned for them to proceed. “As I indicated, I have read your dossier. I have also attended Defense Ministry meetings devoted to discussions of the most expedient methods of liquidating the Warriors and exterminating the Family, preferably both in one fell swoop.” He paused. “I believe you’re familiar with the name Malenkov?”

“General Malenkov,” Blade said. “He captured Hickok once, sent a special squad to the Home to kidnap a Family member, and had a spy infiltrate the Freedom Federation. I’ve never had the displeasure of meeting the man personally, but yes, I’m familiar with General Malenkov.”

“Comrade Malenkov and I are close friends,” General Stoljarov disclosed.

“Figures,” Geronimo stated. “Snakes in the grass tend to breed together.”

The Butcher glared at Geronimo for a moment. “I mentioned General Malenkov because he will be very glad to see the two of you.”

“He’s here?” Blade asked.

“No. But I intend to contact him shortly and advise him of your apprehension. I am positive he will drop everything and fly here immediately.”

“Is Malenkov your superior officer?” Blade inquired.

“Comrade Malenkov is a man of prominence in the North American Central Committee, and he is largely responsible for administering our occupational forces. He is a three-star general. I, unfortunately, have but one star.”

“So you plan to get some brownie points by informing General Malenkov that you lucked out and caught us,” Geronimo said, baiting the Butcher. “Taking us prisoner will look real good on your service record, and might help you get your second star. Not that you’d deserve it.”

“Luck was not a factor in your capture!” General Stoljarov snapped.

“Have you forgotten your run-in with two of our helicopters? Every Soviet unit in Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New York was placed on alert after your unique vehicle was discovered so close to our lines.”