David Robbins - Atlanta Run

something.

“What the hell was that?” called a deep voice.

“Did you see that blast?”

“Fan out! Find him!”

Blade climbed quickly onto the left-hand wall. He raised his head cautiously and surveyed the chamber.

Dozens of Storm Police were pouring through the door on the right side of the maze chamber, spreading into the maze, seeking him. But there was no indication of activity at the door on the left.

Perfect.

Still feeling slightly unsteady, Blade rose to a crouch and headed for the left wall. His sole purpose now was to escape from Atlanta and rejoin Hickok and Rikki. Glisson was gone. And there wasn’t any reason to locate Llewellyn Snow. If she had betrayed her sister-in-law, she would hardly welcome Leslie Snow’s child into her home. Besides, the Peers wanted Chastity exterminated. The Warriors would watch over the girl for the time being, until a suitable home could be found. He focused on the door in the center of the left wall, his teeth gritting in resolve.

No more pussyfooting around.

If anyone stood in his way, he’d slay them on the spot.

He crossed the maze without being spotted by the Storm Police and jumped to the floor near the door. In three bounds he was through the doorway and in a brightly lit stairwell. He peered upward, elated to discover the stairwell was empty. Grinning in anticipation of regaining his freedom, he ascended the stairs, taking four at a stride. A landing appeared with a door marked SUBLEVEL 5. He kept going. The next landing was SUBLEVEL 4. With renewed vigor, he passed landing after landing until he found the one he wanted.

GROUND LEVEL.

Blade tried the doorknob and it twisted in his grasp. With a smile creasing his features, he stepped boldly outside, into the night.

Only to find two figures rushing at him.

“We won’t go down without a fight,” Locklin said, notching an arrow on his bow string.

“Do you ever use guns?” Hickok asked.

Locklin did a double take. “What difference does it make at a time like this?”

Hickok glanced at the two groups of approaching Storm Police.

“Answer me. Do you ever use guns?”

“Once in every blue moon,” Locklin answered. “Why?”

The gunman looked at Rikki. “Do you get my drift, pard?”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi nodded.

“Are you with me?” Hickok queried.

“Need you ask?”

“Will one of you tell me what’s going on?” Locklin demanded.

“The Storm Police expect rebels to use bows,” Hickok said. “We might rattle them a mite with our irons.”

“All you have are a pair of Uzis and two revolvers,” Locklin noted.

Hickok nodded at the troopers in front of them, now about 50 yards distant. “They don’t know how many guns we have.” He paused. “I never should’ve left the M-16 with your man Scarlet.”

“You wanted him to be able to protect Chastity properly ,” Rikki reminded the gunfighter.

“Cryin’ over spilt milk never helped anyone,” Hickok stated. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” Rikki confirmed.

“What’s your plan?” Locklin inquired.

“Simple. We’ll charge the varmints.”

Locklin couldn’t seem to believe his ears. “ We’re going to charge them ?”

“Yep.”

“There are sixteen of us and dozens of them,” Locklin pointed out.

“Good. We won’t need to aim as hard.”

Locklin shook his head. “You’re crazy.”

The gunman looked at Rikki. “Why the blazes does everyone keep saying that?”

The martial artist shrugged. “Beats me.”

“If we’re going to charge, why don’t we charge them !” Locklin asked, and pointed at the Storm Police drawing nearer from their rear, from the direction of the outside wall. “If we break through, we’ll be in the forest before they can catch us.”

“You can charge them if you want,” Hickok said. “But we’re chargin’ the turkeys in front. We’re not leavin’ without Blade.”

“You can come back for Blade another time,” Locklin suggested.

“A Warrior never deserts another Warrior,” Hickok stated. “Never.”

Locklin gazed at his band. “You heard him. Stay close to me.”

“What about me?” Dale inquired.

“What about you?” Locklin answered. “You’re a member of the Freedom Fighters. Behave like one.”

Dale blinked a few times and swallowed hard.

“On me,” Hickok directed. He glanced at Rikki. “If something should happen to me, make sure Chastity finds a nice home.”

“She will,” Rikki promised.

Hickok grinned and faced the Storm Police 40 yards away. “Don’t fire until you can see their britches,” he said, and raced forward.

“Britches?” Locklin repeated quizzically as he followed.

The gunman concentrated on the flashlight beams sweeping the drain.

Those beams illuminated a 25-to-30 yard stretch of conduit ahead of the advancing troopers. He would need to time this just right.

Rikki was staying abreast of the gunfighter.

Hickok cradled the Uzi. “This is for Chastity’s mom and dad,” he said under his breath. He sprinted into the outer fringe of light cast by the beams and opened fire.

Beside the gunman, Rikki promptly added his Uzi to the din.

“Remember the Alamo!” Hickok shouted, his moccasins pounding on the concrete.

The flashlights began waving frantically, and several shattered and blinked out. Screams and yells punctuated the gunfire. A milling of shadows cast eerie reflections on the drain as the Storm Police wavered. A half dozen dropped in the initial seconds of the attack, and those unharmed seemed to believe that a horde of rebels was pouring toward them. A few desultory rounds were expended, and then the rest broke and bolted.

“Halt! Stand your ground!” a captain bellowed, and was flattened by a hail of slugs.

“Take no prisoners!” Hickok whooped.

“For freedom!” Locklin chimed in.

The Storm Police did not show any appetite for combat. Except for a few hardy souls who snapped off occasional shots, the majority of the troopers appeared to be more interested in saving their skins then in dying in the line of duty.

Hickok slowed as he slapped a fresh magazine into the Uzi. “What a bunch of wimps!” he commented.

Rikki abruptly stopped.

“What is it?” Hickok asked, halting. The Freedom Fighters also drew up short.

“This is too easy,” Rikki remarked. “Why are they fleeing?”

“Most of the Storm Police are not accustomed to resistance,” Locklin said.

“But patrols are sent out to engage your band all the time,” Rikki noted.

“They send their older troopers out to get us,” Locklin responded. “The younger recruits are kept in the city. Only the older ones are assigned to rebel hunts, as the Peers call them. Evidently, the older troopers are considered more expendable. The younger ones, as a result, don’t have much experience.”

“Do we keep chasing them?” Big John inquired.

Hickok gazed at the fleeing Storm Police, their forms outlined by their receding flashlight beams. “No. They could be runnin’ because they’re greenhorns, and they could be leadin’ us into another trap.”

“What do we do then?” Locklin wanted to know.

“We get the blazes out of here,” Hickok said.

“How?” Locklin inquired.

Rikki’s lighter flicked on. “We must find an open manhole.” He started walking deeper into the tunnel.

Hickok cocked his head to one side. “What about the troopers behind us? Are they still on our heels.”

“I don’t hear them,” the last rebel in line replied.

“They must be tryin’ to figure out what the dickens is happening,” Hickok said. “Good. We’ve bought us a few minutes. Now—”