David Robbins - Seattle Run

Manta laughed. “You are not going anywhere, human. Both of you will stay here for the remainder of your natural lives.”

“I can’t stay that long,” Hickok quipped. “My missus would have a fit if I missed my son’s birthday.”

“Take this prattling fool away!” Manta barked.

The two mutants took hold of the Warrior, one on each arm, and forcibly propelled him to the north.

Hickok glanced from one to the other. “When is the grub served around here?”

As Blade hurtled down the metallic shaft, he envisioned several horrific possibilities awaiting him at the other end: he could fall into a vat of acid; or there could be a slavering mutant waiting to rip into him; or perhaps a score of Sharks were going to welcome him with a hail of gunfire. He tried to reach his Bowies, but couldn’t.

The shaft abruptly ended, and Blade plummeted from the mouth and dropped onto a dirt floor, jarring his left side. He rose, drawing the Bowies, ready to sell his life dearly, only to find he was in a cell!

The compartment was ten feet by ten feet. Two of the sides were brick walls, the other two consisted of iron bars spaced close together. The cell was situated in the middle of a wide chamber, and both the chamber and the cell were illuminated by lanterns hanging from the chamber walls.

Damn! How could he have been so dumb?

Moments later, a door in the chamber wall opened and Tiger appeared.

He grinned at the Warrior and came up to the bars. “I’m afraid these accommodations are on the spartan side, but fortunately you won’t be using this cell for long.”

“I was sitting on a trap door the whole time,” Blade said.

Tiger nodded. “I’ve made certain modifications to the Art Museum.

This lower level was constructed by the Sharks.”

“So what now? Death by starvation?”

“Nothing so crude!” Tiger replied. “I want to be fair about this. I’ll give you a fighting chance.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I am in need of a workout,” Tiger stated. “And since you won’t accept the fact of my superiority, I must prove it to you.”

“How?” Blade asked.

“You’ll see,” Tiger said, grinning. He turned and departed, closing the door behind him.

Blade placed the Bowies in their sheaths. He should never have attempted to befriend the Shark leader, to persuade Tiger to become an ally. True, he had only extended Tiger the benefit of the doubt, the same as he would have done to any person. But he should have seen this coming.

The slaying of Oakes had revealed Tiger’s unpredictable nature.

Doubledamn!

Blade walked up to the iron bars and ran his hands over their cool surface. The bars were too tightly aligned to permit his hands to slip through. There was a door, a heavy metal affair, in the center of one of the brick walls. But the doorknob and the hinges were on the outside. He experimented and forsook the door as a lost cause. Even his mighty muscles couldn’t budge it.

There had to be a way out!

There simply had to be!

Blade knelt and touched the dirt underfoot. The soil was compact and hard. He might be able to dig his way free, but the digging would take forever.

Was there any othe way?

Blade studied the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. He gazed at the shaft for a moment. There was his way out!

The wine tasted pleasantly refreshing on his lips and tingled his tongue as he gulped a mouthful from a crystal glass. A strip of steak, a lobster claw, and clam shells were all that remained of his delicious meal. He shoved the plate back and set the glass on the table. Such a feast invariably made him drowsy. After a short catnap, he’d be as good as new.

Then he would attend to the pretender in the cell.

Footsteps pounded in the corridor, and a second later one of the Sharks burst into the room. “Tiger!”

Tiger swiveled in his chair, glaring at the man. “This had better be important! You know I don’t like to have my repast interrupted.”

“Fire!” the man blurted. “There’s a fire!”

Tiger straightened. “Where?”

“In north Seattle,” the man said. “You should see all the smoke!”

“Is this fire in our territory?”

“Yep. It’s on our side of I-5,” the man answered.

“Okay, Collins. Take fifteen others with you and investigate this fire,” Tiger ordered. “Insure everyone is armed.”

“Yes, sir!” Collins wheeled and started off, but halted in the doorway.

“Oh! Almost forgot!”

“What?” Tiger asked.

“Gar and Fab are on their way back,” Collins informed the Shark leader. “We saw them from the roof. They’re about half a mile away.”

“Excellent. On your way north, tell Gar and Fab to report to me immediately,” Tiger directed.

“Yes, sir!” Collins raced off.

Tiger sat back in his chair. A fire, eh? Fires were an infrequent occurrence in Seattle. The climate was too damp, for one thing. Lightning strikes started fires, but rarely. None of the Sharks would start a blaze for fear of arousing his wrath. Prior to his assumption of command, a few of the least intelligent Sharks had periodically indulged in petty arson. He had forbidden the practice on the grounds the fires might destroy items the Sharks could use. So if the fire couldn’t be attributed to the weather, and if the Sharks hadn’t started it, three possibilities were left. The fire could have begun accidentally, with the sun igniting an overheated combustible object. Which was not very likely. Or the blaze could have been intentionally lit by the Brethren, but for what purpose? Manta would expect the Sharks to investigate, but Manta would also know only a few Sharks would be sent. No. If Manta was launching an assault, he wouldn’t employ such an obvious ruse as a fire.

There was only one other likely candidate. Or candidates.

The strangers.

The initial reports had indicated there were four strangers in the city: the giant, a man in buckskins, a big man in a dark blue outfit, and a runt in black. With the giant in the holding cell, the remaining three were the probable culprits.

But why?

What were the strangers up to?

Tiger stood and clamped his hands behind his back. He began to slowly pace around the table, immersed in speculation on the activities of the newcomers.

There was a faint scraping noise from underfoot.

Tiger came to the opposite end of the table and halted, staring at the hole in the floor. He had neglected to reset the trapdoor after triggering the mechanism to plunge the giant into the cell. The door, which was three feet by three feet, now hung down inside the shaft. He dropped to his knees and reached for the small metal ring in the center of the door, about to haul the door up, when he heard the odd scraping again.

What was this?

He lowered his face to the rim of the shaft and peered down. The shaft descended at an angle, and his view of the cell was limited to the middle of the floor. He caught sight of Blade and almost laughed aloud.

What resourcefulness!

The giant was erecting a mound of dirt!

Tiger instantly perceived the purpose behind Blade’s digging, and he grinned in admiration. How unfortunate the man had to die! He debated whether to close the trapdoor or spring a surprise on his clever guest.

The surprise, definitely.

Tiger stepped around to the rear of the shaft. He reached his right arm to the small of his back and clasped one of the pair of gold-handled daggers hidden in leather sheaths slanted under his wide black leather belt. The gold handle glistened in the light as he brought the 12-inch dagger around in front of him. He smiled wickedly. The giant was not the only one adept at the use of knives, as he was about to discover.