David Robbins - Seattle Run

Gar spied a tall Shark nearby. “Simms! Find out how many we lost, how many are injured. We’ve got to get the hell out of here! Move your ass!”

Simms hastened off.

Fab hefted the scabbard, staring at the hilt of the sword. “Why?” she asked.

“Why what?” Gar replied innocently, scanning the bodies on the bridge.

“Why did you let me have the sword?” Fab inquired.

“Why not?” Gar rejoined.

“That’s not a reason,” Fab noted.

Gar shrugged. “What’s the difference who has it? We might be attacked again, and I wanted you to have it in case lover boy gets in trouble,” he said quietly, so only Fab and Rikki could hear.

“But you just said you’d shoot him if he lays his hands on it,” Fab stated.

Gar glanced at his sister. “You do what you’ve got to do,” he told her gravely, his tone implying an ulterior meaning. “I’ll do what I have to do.”

Fab gazed at Rikki, then at her brother. “You know what I’ll do if need be.”

Gar sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

“You wouldn’t stop me?” Fab asked.

“You’re my sister,” Gar declared bluntly.

Rikki wasn’t certain he understood every nuance, but he believed he had acquired one, and possible two, newfound friends. “I thank both of you,” he said.

“For what?” Gar queried irritably.

“For being true to the Spirit within you,” Rikki said.

Gar looked at Rikki in amazement. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”

“I thank you anyway,” Rikki reiterated.

“Don’t thank us!” Gar snapped. “You haven’t met Tiger yet. And you may not be so grateful after you’ve met him.”

“Why not?” Rikki inquired.

Gar stared into the Warrior’s eyes. “Because you might be dead.”

What was that awful smell?

Hickok opened his eyes, and for several seconds he wondered if he was alive or dead. Everything was black. There wasn’t a glimmer of light anywhere.

So he couldn’t be dead.

Hickok shifted his eyes to the right and the left. The Elders had always claimed that those who experienced the translation of death, those who passed on to the higher mansions, were always aware of a light upon awakening. Since he couldn’t see a light, he was alive.

But where was he?

Hickok took stock. He was on his back, lying on a hard surface. A rank, fishy odor assaulted his nostrils. His chest ached and his buckskins were damp. Worst of all, his Pythons were gone! He ran his hands over his soggy clothing, checking his holsters, his belt, and the floor in his immedicate vicinity, but the Colts were definitely gone.

Some low-down varmint was going to pay!

There was a protracted moan from his left.

Hickok twisted onto his left side, probing the darkness. He reached out with his right arm and his hand brushed against soft fabric. His fingers traced the outline of a peculiar, pliant mound under the material, a mound with a rounded tip in the center. He…

Mound?

Rounded tip?

Like someone who had just touched a scorching coal, the gunman retracted his hand.

But not in time.

“Is that you, Hickok?” a feminine voice demanded.

Hickok balked at responding, embarrassed to his core.

“It’d better be you!” the voice declared. “Or I’m in deep shit!”

“It’s me,” Hickok admitted.

“I knew it!” Hedy exclaimed. “I knew you were the type to cop a feel the first chance you got!”

“But I wasn’t—” Hickok began, trying to defend his action.

“Pervert!” Hedy snapped indignantly.

Why bother? Hickok asked himself. She’d never believe him.

“At least you didn’t grope me downstairs,” Hedy was saying.

Hickok sighed. If there was any one lesson he’d learned during his marriage, it was this: never argue with a woman. A man will lose every time.

“What are you? A tit man?” Hedy queried sarcastically.

“Watch your mouth!” Hickok warned her.

Hedy made a sputtering sound. “What a hypocrite! Mr. Roaming Hands wants me to watch my mouth!”

“I didn’t mean to touch you there,” Hickok said.

“Oh, sure!” Hedy snickered.

“I didn’t,” Hickok insisted. “It was an accident. As soon as I realized what I was doing, I stopped. I didn’t mean to touch your… you know.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Why?” Hedy asked. “What’s wrong with my boobs? Aren’t they big enough for you?”

When would he ever learn? Hickok shook his head and sat up. He could distinguish Hedy doing the same.

“Where the hell are we?” Hedy inquired.

“I don’t know,” Hickok replied.

“Wait!” Hedy cried. “Do you smell it?”

“The fishy odor?” Hickok responded.

“Yeah. I know where we’re at!” Hedy stated, her voice rising in fear.

“Oh, God!”

“Where are we?” Hickok wanted to know.

A wooden door in front of them was abruptly yanked wide and light flooded over them.

“I can answer your question,” asserted someone in a raspy, sibilant tone.

Hickok shielded his eyes with his right hand, blinking rapidly in an effort to adjust to the bright glare.

There was an intake of breath from Hedy.

Hickok squinted upward, distinguishing details, his mouth slackening at the figure he beheld.

“So you are Hickok?” the figure asked, smirking. “I see you’ve accepted my invitation.”

“Manta!” Hickok blurted out.

“Of course,” the mutant replied.

Hickok did a double take. He’d seen a lot of mutants during his lifetime, but nothing like this one!

Manta was a hybrid of humanoid and aquatic features. He stood about six feet four and was broad through the shoulders, trim at the waist, and possessed stocky, powerful legs. And that was the extent of his human aspects. His entire body was covered with greenish scales, even his hands and feet, both of which were webbed. Long nails tapered from his fingers.

His lips were red, ringing a mouth filled with pointed teeth. The nose was a mere slit, while his eyes were pools of black. Except for skimpy briefs covering his genitals, briefs the same shade as his scaly skin, he was naked. The queerest part of his appearance was the bizarre triangular cowl, a flap of scale-covered flesh extending several inches outward from each circular ear, then narrowing to a point at his shoulder. “Are you finished admiring me?” he asked at length.

“You’re not what I expected,” Hickok said.

“Oh? What did you expect?” Manta queried.

“I don’t rightly know,” Hickok admitted. “But you sure as blazes ain’t it!”

“Such eloquence!” Manta stated contemptuously. “It’s difficult to believe you are human!”

“What do you plan to do with us?” Hickok ventured to inquire.

“Why, give you the grand tour, of course,” Manta said, moving to the left. “Step out here.”

Hickok slowly rose, then assisted Hedy in rising. Her legs appeared to have turned to mush, and she couldn’t take her wide eyes off Manta.

Manta uttered a nasal snicker. “I am irresistible, aren’t I, my beauty?”

Hickok led Heady from confinement.

“I trust you found the accommodations to your liking?” Manta said.

“You were in our first-class closet.”

Hickok glanced at the narrow cubicle they’d just vacated. “We were in a closet?”

“Not just any closet,” Manta declared, grinning. “Observe.” He closed the door and pointed at black letters stenciled on the upper panel.

“Sanitation,” Hickok read the word aloud.

Manta nodded. “An appropriate place to hold a human, don’t you think?”

“What have you got against humans?” Hickok absently questioned.