David Robbins - Atlanta Run

“Who are these Peers?”

Locklin pointed eastward. “Our camp is five miles off. Join us for a meal, and I’ll tell you everything of importance about the Peers and Atlanta.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Locklin questioned.

“I am with two friends,” Rikki said. “I won’t leave without them.”

“Where are they?”

Rikki watched three men engaged in awakening Big John and Dale. His instincts told him Locklin was trustworthy, but he was not about to needlessly endanger Hickok and Blade by exercising a premature confidence. He looked at the rebel leader. “Sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”

Locklin shrugged. “A person can’t be too trusting nowadays. I won’t press the issue.” He paused. “I will insist on your accompanying us to our camp. On my word of honor, you will not be harmed.”

“I will go with you,” Rikki said. For the moment, he was outnumbered and constrained to comply.

Big John was rising and rubbing his sore neck. His gaze rested on the man in black and his face went crimson. “You! You did this to me!” He clenched his fists and took a step toward the Warrior.

Locklin moved between them. “John! No!”

Furious, Big John glared at the diminutive stranger. “He hurt me!”

“He could have killed you,” Locklin commented.

“I want to tear him apart,” Big John declared.

“He is our guest,” Locklin said. “I’ve given my word that he will not be harmed.”

Big John gaped at Locklin. “You can’t be serious.”

“Very.”

The big man’s hands relaxed and he frowned. “This isn’t fair. I want another crack at him.”

“You heard me,” Locklin said harshly.

“Yeah,” Big John stated, pouting. “I heard.”

Locklin glanced at the martial artist. “I want your word that you will hear me out.”

Rikki did not respond.

“Look, I know you’ll try to escape the first chance you get,” Locklin said.

“I’m no dummy. And I’m a shrewd judge of character. If you give your word, I know you’ll keep it. So I want your word you’ll listen to what I’ve got to say. Do I have it?”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi realized all eyes were upon him. If he declined, Locklin would still demand he accompany them to their camp, probably under close guard. If he accepted, he might be able to name his own terms. “If I agree, I want your word in return.”

“On what?”

“You will allow me to leave without interference,” Rikki said.

“Is that all? You have it,” Locklin vowed.

“Then I give my word I will hear you out.”

Locklin beamed. He looked at Big John. “Give him his weapons.”

“What?”

“Do you need your ears checked?” Locklin quipped. “Give the man his weapons.”

Big John’s features reflected utter bewilderment. “But, boss—”

“There are no buts about it,” Locklin said testily. “Do it!”

With manifest reluctance. Big John retrieved the katana and the Uzi and gave them to the man in black.

“Thank you,” Rikki said, taking his weapons.

Locklin stared at Dale. “And how are you doing?”

“I feel like I was flattened by a two-ton boulder,” Dale replied. “But I can walk.”

“Then we head out,” Locklin commanded. He raised his right arm and gestured to the east. “To camp. Scarlet and Jane on point. Partington and Stutely, the rear. Move it people.”

The band mobilized rapidly, forming a column of twos, the rear guard and the point pair hurrying to their respective positions.

“Your band is highly trained,” Rikki said, complimenting their leader.

Locklin smiled proudly. “They’ve worked hard. Our lives are on the line every day. If we don’t stay on our toes, we’re dead.”

The Freedom Fighters marched to the east, Locklin and Rikki at the head of the column.

“Why bows?” Rikki asked after they had traversed a mile.

Locklin chuckled. “It does seem an odd choice, doesn’t it? Bows and arrows against guns and flamethrowers—”

“Flamethrowers?” Rikki asked, interrupting.

“The Terminators use flamethrowers,” Locklin disclosed. “They can burn you to a crisp at three hundred feet.”

Rikki thought of the words Chastity had used concerning her mother.

The child had claimed the Bubbleheads burned her mom. “Are these Terminators known by other names?”

“Like what?”

“Bubbleheads.”

Locklin did a double take, then laughed. “Where did you hear that?

Bubbleheads is the word the children use to describe the Terminators.”

“Unusual name,” Rikki observed.

“Not really. The Terminators wear fireproof outfits, including oversized helmets. The headgear makes them look like beings from another planet.”

“Or Bubbleheads,” Rikki said.

Locklin grinned. “You’ve got it.”

“And you fight them with bows?”

“Guns are a scarce commodity,” Locklin explained. “We’ve appropriated a few, but obtaining ammunition is next to impossible. Bows are easier to locate or construct, and they’re relatively silent.”

“The odds would seem to be stacked against you,” Rikki mentioned.

“Forty against an entire city.”

“Forty against the police and the Terminators,” Locklin said, correcting the Warrior. “True, there are several hundred Storm Police and a score of Terminator squads. But justice is on our side. We’ll triumph eventually.”

“I know nothing of conditions inside Atlanta,” Rikki said.

“Then allow me to fill you in,” Locklin proposed. “Atlanta is ruled by seven people, five men and two women, known as Peers. They form a body called the Civil Council, and everyone in Atlanta is under their thumb. The city has become a police state. Liberty has died and been replaced by legalistic fascism.”

“Why do the residents tolerate such a situation?” Rikki inquired. “Why don’t they revolt en masse?”

“You don’t understand the first thing about revolutions,” Locklin said.

“It’s not as simplistic as that.”

“Enlighten me,” Rikki prompted.

Locklin stared at a fluffy white cloud overhead. “Study history. There have been countless oppressed societies. Dictators have come and gone.

Fascists, Communists, and despots of every stripe have left their legacy of hatred and death. Millions, no, billions of men and women have lived under autocratic regimes. Most of them never revolted. Why? Because they accepted the status quo. They were indoctrinated into complacency.

They valued having food on the table more than they valued their freedom.”

“Aren’t you being a bit hard on them?” Rikki inquired. “Dictatorships invariably have powerful military machines to enforce governmental edicts.”

Locklin looked at the man in black. “You know your history. Then you know about the American Revolution. The colonies threw off the British yoke because the majority of the colonists considered their freedom worth any price.” He paused. “When I was twelve, I found a shelf of ancient books in a library. The paper was yellow and threatened to crumple at the touch. One of the books was a history of the American Revolution, and I still feel a tingle every time I remember the words of Patrick Henry.”

Rikki’s mind drifted back to his schooling days at the Home. “What about Henry?”

“His words fired my soul,” Locklin declared, and his eyes lit up as he quoted his favorite passage: “I know not what course others may take; but for me, give me liberty, or give me death!”

Rikki recognized Locklin’s sincerity; the rebel leader was ardently devoted to his cause.

“I’d like to have those words engraved on my tombstone,” Locklin was saying. “A man couldn’t have a finer epitaph.”