David Robbins - Atlanta Run

“Your files could be mistaken,” Blade said.

“Our files are never in error,” Captain Weis claimed.

Blade knew he was trapped, but he wasn’t about to surrender without a struggle. He opted to stall, hoping an opening would present itself. “Then I guess there’s no need for this pretense any longer.” He smiled. “I’m impressed. How did you know the lady was trying to access the information?”

“Llewellyn Snow is under surveillance,” Captain Weis explained. “We have put a lock on her file. If someone tries to gain entry, an alarm sounds at Storm Police headquarters. A second after this Escort tried to obtain the data, we were tracing the request. HQ immediately alerted all patrols in the area, and since we were already in the vicinity searching for a big guy with a lot of muscles and a bum, we responded. And who should we find!”

“We’re dead meat,” Glisson mentioned morosely.

“So we’ve killed two birds with one stone,” Captain Weis declared contentedly. “Now we will conduct you to our headquarters.”

“Where is your headquarters?” Blade inquired.

“On the third floor of the Community Directorate,” Captain Weis revealed. He stepped to one side and pointed at the door. “After you.”

Blade frowned as he took a stride toward the doorway. He’d gone from the frying pan into the fire in short order. The likelihood of contacting Llewellyn Snow was becoming dimmer by the moment. In fact, if he didn’t get his act together, the likelihood of rejoining Hickok and Rikki was even slimmer. He glanced at the Storm Police waiting outside of the office, then grinned at the officer.

“I’m glad you’re taking this so well,” Captain Weis remarked. “I was told you might give us trouble.”

“Whoever told you that was right,” Blade said, and whipped the blackjack into the startled officer’s jaw.

Captain Weis went stumbling backwards and toppled over.

One of the women in the Visitors Bureau screamed.

And Blade was in motion, bounding through the doorway into the troopers. To his consternation, he found there were over a half dozen in the hallway. In fact, there were more like 20, and they swarmed upon him with the intent of overpowering him by sheer force of numbers. The Warrior flailed away with all of his prodigious might, striking down trooper after trooper, feeling their blackjacks pound on his arms, chest, neck, and shoulders. He successfully warded off their blows to his face, with his extraordinary height working to hinder them and limit the effectiveness of their head strikes.

“Stay behind me!” the Warrior bellowed for Glisson’s benefit, hoping the tramp was with him.

“Get him!” one of the Storm Police was shouting, his voice rising and bordering on hysteria. “Get him!”

Blade slugged a trooper on the nose, then spun and delivered a rock-hard punch to the chin of yet another. Between the blackjack and his left fist he was making good headway, but the tide of battle would definitely shift in his favor if he could reach his Bowies.

The Storm Police, however, were doggedly determined to bring the giant down. One hit him low, around the ankles, in an effort to tackle the Warrior.

Blade tottered, unable to take another step, and shook his legs in an attempt to dislodge the trooper.

Seeing their adversary temporarily impeded, the rest of the Storm Police piled on him.

Blade was gripped by the wrists on both arms, but he managed to free his right arm by slamming the two troopers holding him into the wall. The respite was fleeting, as three aditional policemen took their place and clamped onto his arm for dear life. With both arms and legs rendered ineffectual, he could do nothing but utter a cry of defiance as he was buried under a milling mass of blue uniforms. “No!” he thundered, exerting his Herculean strength until the veins on his temples bulged.

Four troopers were sent flying, but then two others struck him on the forehead with their blackjacks and the world dissolved into a galaxy of spiraling stars.

Hickok snapped off a hasty shot as the mutant plummeted from the rim, and before he could fire again the creature was on him. The gunman dodged to the left, evading the falling beast, although the deviate did manage to lash out with its right arm and connect with a glancing blow to the Warrior’s jaw.

Chastity was shrieking in sheer terror.

The gunfighter whirled as the mutant landed upright, swiveling the M-16 barrel at the brute’s midsection.

Hissing like a viper, the mutant grabbed the barrel and tore the weapon from the gunman’s hands.

“Hickok!” Chastity shouted, her hands pressed to her cheeks, her eyes panic-stricken saucers.

The ape flung the M-16 to the dirt and bared its fangs.

Hickok took several swift strides backwards, his hands hovering near his Pythons, a sneer on his lips. He wanted to lure the beast farther from the girl.

Drooling and grunting, the monstrosity took the bait and lumbered after the human in buckskins.

“Hickok!” Chastity yelled once more.

“Piece of cake,” the gunfighter assured her calmly. His hands flashed to the Colts, and he planted the first two shots in the creature’s beady eyes, the slugs tearing into the pupils and bursting out the rear of the mutant’s cranium. In a fit of pique, he shot the thing twice more in the face, each blast causing the creature to stagger and weave, and with the final round the ape toppled onto its back.

Chastity saw the gunman twirl the pearl-handled Colts into their holsters. “You did it!” she exclaimed in relief.

“There was never any doubt,” Hickok said.

She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his legs. “You saved me.”

Hickok leaned over and picked her up. “I’d never let anything happen to you, princess.”

Chastity impulsively kissed him on the right cheek. “I love you,” she blurted out.

The Warrior pecked her on the forehead. “And I reckon I’m right fond of you.”

“I’d be the happiest girl in the world if you’d be my daddy,” Chastity said hopefully.

“I told you that I need to ponder the notion,” Hickok reminded her.

“You’ll say yes,” Chastity predicted.

“You sound very confident,” the gunfighter observed.

“I’ll pray to God,” Chastity said. “Mommy always said God will answer our prayers.”

Hickok looked at the rim of the pit. “Time for us to mosey on. Let’s climb to the top. Hang onto my neck,” he advised, squatting so she could climb aboard.

Chastity attached herself to his neck. “All set.”

The Warrior reclaimed the M-16 and slung the automatic rifle over his left arm. “Here we go,” he said, and gripped the pole. With deceptive ease, moving hand over hand, he ascended the shaft to the surface. After swinging his legs onto the edge, he clambered to a standing position.

“Carry me piggyback,” Chastity prompted.

“I can’t,” Hickok said. “Climb down.”

“Why can’t you?” she inquired.

“I need to have my arms and hands totally free in case we’re attacked again,” Hickok answered. “So climb down.”

“You’re no fun,” Chastity groused, but she slipped to the ground.

Hickok gazed at the deceased mutant. “We were fortunate. The Spirit smiled on us.”

Chastity scanned the forest. “Which way do we go?”

“We head east for a spell,” Hickok replied. “First we’ll locate Rikki, and then we’ll go after Blade.”

“Which way is east?”

Hickok pointed in the appropriate direction. “The sun always rises in the east and sets in the west. Remember that, and you’ll be able to keep track of your location.”

Chastity went to take a step, then paused and stared at the corpse.