David Robbins - Atlanta Run

“I won’t shoot it. I promise.”

“No.”

“You’re no fun,” Chastity declared.

“My missus says the same thing.” Hickok walked into the undergrowth, alert for anything out of the ordinary. Rikki’s absence confounded him.

The Family’s supreme martial artist was capable of handling any foe,and taking Rikki unawares was next to impossible. So where the dickens was he?

“Where is your family?” Chastity inquired.

“Hush up.”

“You’re not being nice.”

Hickok halted and looked back. “We can’t make any noise, Chastity.

There are a lot of bad things in the forest. We must be very careful.”

Her eyes widened as he gazed at high weeds to the right. “Do you mean more icky things?”

Hickok nodded.

“I’ll be quiet,” Chastity promised.

The Warrior turned and resumed his hunt, his hands resting on his Colts. There wasn’t a clear path in sight, and he had no way of knowing the exact direction Rikki had taken toward the highway. He skirted a tree and threaded through a cluster of bushes, constantly checking on Chastity.

Her fright was transparent, and she repeatedly bumped into his legs as she tried to stick close to him.

Birds were chirping in a tree to the left.

Hickok became increasingly annoyed the farther they traveled. The forest had swallowed Rikki-Tikki-Tavi without a trace. He reached a clearing and stopped, his blue eyes narrowing as his gaze fixed on the great hole in the center.

“What’s that?” Chastity whispered anxiously.

“A trap,” Hickok answered, then advanced. He moved to the rim of the pit and examined the caved-in covering. Someone had done a dandy job of camouflaging the affair. With Rikki in a hurry to reach Blade, the martial artist might not have noticed until too late.

“Did Rikki fall in?”

“Maybe,” Hickok replied, stepping around the pit, inspecting the ground. He found scuff marks on the far side and partial footprints leading to the east. The bottom of the pit did not contain spikes or stakes, and there was no evidence of blood. Rikki must still be alive!

“Hickok.”

“Not now.”

“It’s important.”

The gunman stared at the girl. “What could be so danged important?”

“I have to tinkle.”

“What?”

“I have to tinkle.”

“You have to go to the bathroom?”

Chastity nodded sheepishly.

“Now?”

“I’m sorry,” Chastity said.

“Don’t be sorry,” Hickok declared. “When you have to go, you have to go. So go.”

“Will you watch me?”

Hickok motioned at the trees. “A lady doesn’t let a man watch her tinkle.”

Chastity looked at the woods. “An icky thing could get me.”

“I’ll stand guard,” Hickok offered. “You can go behind one of the trees.”

“You won’t let an icky thing get me?”

“I said I’d stand guard,” Hickok reiterated, leading her to the trees to the south. “Now get to it.”

Chastity nervously walked around the wide trunk of a lofty maple tree.

Hickok leaned against the trunk and impatiently waited for her to finish. He watched the tops of the trees rustle and saw a flock of sparrows winging to the west.

Several minutes elasped.

“Are you done?” Hickok demanded.

Chastity did not respond.

The Warrior straightened and turned. “Are you done, little one?”

“Yes,” she replied, but whispering so softly the word was barely audible.

“Speak up,” Hickok said.

“I can’t,” Chastity whispered.

“Why not?”

“The thing might get mad.”

“What thing?” Hickok asked, hastening to her aid, taking four strides and freezing in midstep, his hands on his Pythons, his skin prickling.

“Don’t move!”

“I won’t,” Chastity said softly.

And well she shouldn’t. The slightest move could cause the creature ten feet away to launch itself at her. The thing was a mutant, a hideous beast with a squat torso and long, thin arms and legs. Shaggy brown hair covered its form. An oversized head rested on sloping shoulders. Above a slit of a mouth and a flat nose were baleful black eyes, fixed on the girl.

Hickok had never seen anything like it. The creature somewhat resembled photographs of apes in the Family library, but he was at a loss to explain the presence of apes in Georgia—unless several had escaped a zoo or circus during the Big Blast and their progeny had survived. The thing vaguely reminded him of a chimpanzee, but a monstrous, deformed caricature of the breed.

The beast growled, its lips stretching to reveal nasty, tapered teeth.

“Hickok,” Chastity said, sounding extremely scared.

“Don’t move!” Hickok advised.

But she did.

The creature growled again and took a lumbering pace forward, its arms reaching out.

Chastity screamed and bolted, dashing past the Warrior, fleeing into the clearing.

With a feral snarl, the mutant gave chase, astoundingly swift for such an ungainly animal. Relishing the prospect of a fresh meal, slavering at the mouth, the thing was not inclined to tolerate any interlopers.

Hickok’s Pythons were sweeping free of their holsters when the mutant slammed into him.

“I won’t ask twice,” said the man with the red hair when Rikki balked at releasing his sword. “I saw how you took care of Big John and Dale, so I know you’re skillful. One of the best I’ve ever seen. But you’re no match for thirty-seven archers, and killing you would be a waste. Why don’t you put your sword down and we’ll talk?”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi sighed, removed the scabbard from under his belt, and slowly placed the katana on the ground. He straightened, resigned to yet another delay. Resistance would be foolish.

The man with the red mustache and beard grinned. “That’s better. I’m glad you have some common sense.” He strolled toward the Warrior. “My name, by the way, is Locklin.”

“I am Rikki.”

Locklin stopped and extended his right hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Rikki shook. “Do you treat all your prisoners with such hospitality?”

“No,” Locklin admitted. “But we don’t often snare someone like you.”

“Why am I special?” Rikki asked, releasing Locklin’s hand, impressed by the man’s firm handshake.

“Because we usually trap police or Terminators looking for us,” Locklin said. “Only once before have we caught someone who wasn’t from Atlanta.”

“And you’re certain I’m not?”

“For several reasons,” Locklin stated. “Anyone from Atlanta would be wearing a prescribed uniform. You’re not. Citizens are not permitted to leave the city unless they obtain a special pass, and the Peers never issue such a pass. And finally, no one in Atlanta would be able to use their hands and feet like you do. What was that?”

“I’m somewhat proficient at the martial arts,” Rikki answered. He nodded at the two forms sprawled on the turf. “I did not harm them. They will awaken shortly.”

Locklin looked at several of his band. “Rouse them,” he ordered. Then, to the rest, he made a twisting motion with his left hand and all the bows were lowered.

“Hand signals,” Rikki remarked.

Locklin nodded. “They come in handy at times.”

“You are the leader of these Freedom Fighters?” Rikki asked.

“That I am,” Locklin confirmed. “I started the band fourteen years ago, in the heady days of my youth.”

Rikki scanned the men and women. “Are all of them from Atlanta?”

“Yes,” Locklin said. “Each and every one was a victim of persecution, or their family was. Each and every one has a score to settle with the Peers.”