David Robbins - Memphis Run

And Blade made his move.

The giant Warrior reached the pair bearing the weapons in a single stride. Before they could react, he wrenched the Bowies from the grip of the Hound bearing them and slid the knives from their sheaths with a deft flick of his hands. The gleaming blades flashed, and both Hounds were sliced across the throat in the space of a heartbeat. They released their burdens, clutching at their necks, blood spraying between their spread fingers, shock settling in.

Blade whirled and pounced on Captain Tuchman, embedding his right Bowie in the officer’s chest to the hilt. Tuchman’s eyes widened in astonishment, and Blade yanked the knife free and shoved the collapsing officer aside.

Finally, belatedly, the Hounds began to come alive, several striving to bring their automatic rifles into play.

“No shooting! No shooting!” Aloysius the First unexpectedly shouted from his throne. “I don’t want my posters hit! Use your bayonets and knives! Any soldier who uses his gun will answer to the Dark Lord!”

The Hounds hesitated uncertainly, torn between their duty and their desire to blow the giant away.

Blade seized the initiative, wading into the column with his Bowies arcing left and right, crimson droplets dripping from the blades as he hacked and cut, stabbed and slashed. Five Hounds were down in as many seconds. The next raised his AR-15, about to violate the King’s order to preserve his life, but a booming retort sounded and the Hound’s head was jerked rearward by the impact of a .357 Magnum slug tearing through his forehead. Blade managed a fleeting look back, elated to see Hickok entering the fray.

The gunfighter had retrieved his Colts.

Shouting and bellowing, the Hounds surged toward the Warriors, intending to overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers.

Hickok checked their rush, decimating their ranks with his Pythons, firing coolly, methodically, his elbows bent at the waist, his aim unerring, going for those nearest Blade. With each shot a Hound was flung to the floor. Ten of them perished as they dashed forward, falling at the feet of their comrades, throwing the Hounds into temporary disarray.

Blade wasn’t about to allow them to reorganize. He glimpsed Aloysius the First darting through the red door out of the corner of his left eye, and then he attacked the remaining Hounds with the savagery of a primitive barbarian, his mighty physique rippling with power and ferocity, his conscious will supplanted by an instinctive drive to survive.

The Hounds tried to slay the rampaging titan, wielding their bayonets and knives as best they were able. A few decided to charge the gunman, thinking they could slay him before he could reload, but .357 slugs ripping apart their vital organs proved them wrong.

Blade was in his element, and he actually grinned grimly as he parried and thrust, blocked and struck. He felt stinging sensations in his arms, legs, and sides as he was nicked and cut, and he ignored the discomfort as he pressed his assault. A tall Hound attempted to spear his privates, and Blade impaled the man’s neck on his left Bowie. Another Hound rashly sprang at his head, and Blade whipped his right Bowie into the soldier’s groin, upending his foe with a powerful sweep of his steely arm.

Several of the Hounds opted to save their skins, turning and fleeing in stark panic. Two snapped off shots from their rifles. Both missed in the swirling melee of the battle, and both were promptly killed by the gunfighter in buckskins.

As he spun and shifted, always in motion, always the aggressor. Blade absently noted Bonnie and Chastity standing next to the wall near the entrance. They were transfixed by the violence unfolding in front of them.

Dead and dying Hounds littered the floor, moaning and groaning in torment, awash in puddles of their own blood.

Eight Hounds still fought on. One, a burly man with bushy eyebrows, turned and headed for the door, a bayonet in his left hand. He spotted the woman and child and angled toward them, his features contorting in fury.

“You did this!” he roared.

Blade saw the Hound going after Bonnie and Chastity and stepped in their direction, but the seven Hounds circling him closed in, cutting him off. He renewed his onslaught, splitting a Hound’s face with a slicing blow.

“Hickok!” he yelled. “Bonnie and Chastity!”

The gunman was already moving toward Blade, planning to assist his friend. He quickly scanned the room, searching for Chastity and Bonnie, and spied them on the far side of Blade and the Hounds. The swirling flow of the combat prevented him from seeing them clearly, and he raced to the right, skirting the combatants, his blue eyes picking out his daughter and the woman just as a Hound reached them.

Bonnie, unarmed, defenseless, had pushed Chastity behind her, screening the child with her own body. She turned to confront the charging Hound, but he was on her before she could lift her arms to defend herself.

The burly Hound rammed his bayonet into Bonnie’s abdomen, sneering in triumph as she gasped and doubled over. “Take that, bitch!” he cried, gloating. He looked down and saw the girl’s terrified visage peering up at him from the shelter of the woman’s legs. The child gazed past him and beamed in relief.

“Daddy!” Chastity shouted.

Tugging his bayonet loose, the Hound pivoted. Fear engulfed him at the sight of the gunman’s countenance.

Hickok was pale, his mouth a thin slit under his mustache, as he stepped closer. The Colts were held steady, trained on the burly Hound.

“No!” the Hound said, extending his left hand, palm out. “No! Please!”

Hickok shot him, just once, the slug boring through the Hound’s right kneecap and causing the soldier to buckle and fall onto his left knee.

“No!” the Hound bawled.

Hickok shot him again, planting a round in the Hound’s right shoulder.

The soldier twisted and almost went down, but he straightened with a determined effort.

“Please!” the Hound yelled plaintively. “Don’t kill me!”

Both Pythons boomed.

The Hound was slammed onto his back, his mouth sagging, his eyes gone, replaced by the entry holes made as the slugs bored into his optic centers.

Bonnie was on her knees, bent down, her arms pressed to her stomach, with Chastity crouched beside her.

Hickok glanced at Blade, noting the odds had been drastically reduced.

Only three Hounds remained, and as he looked he saw one of those topple over, gutted like a freshly caught fish. He hurried to Bonnie’s side and knelt. “Bonnie?”

She locked her eyes on his, conveying her misery and pain, her mouth trembling. “I’m scared to die.”

“You won’t die,” Hickok said. “Let me see it.”

“Don’t bother,” Bonnie declared, wheezing slightly.

Chastity moved to the gunman and draped her arms around his neck.

“Help her, Daddy,” she urged, tears streaking her cheeks.

Hickok leaned over for a better glimpse. All he could see was rivulets of blood and pale fluid seeping under Bonnie’s folded arms and dripping onto the floor. “Move your arms.”

“Forget about me,” Bonnie said.

“I want to help.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“You don’t know that,” Hickok stated, looking again at Blade.

One Hound left.

“I know,” Bonnie replied with conviction.

“Do you want to stand?” Hickok asked.

“No,” Bonnie said. “I’ll stay right where I am.” She grinned at Chastity.

“You got yourself a real nice daddy. Don’t let anything happen to him.”

“I won’t,” Chastity pledged, sniffling.

“There must be something I can do,” Hickok offered, feeling supremely helpless.

Bonnie shook her head feebly and sagged. “I never knew I could hurt so much.”