David Robbins - Houston Run

RH-10 felt some of his fluid splatter over his eyes as his forehead caved in from the brutal impact. He tried to claw at the Warrior’s face.

Blade swung the silver giant a second time, pounding RH-10’s forehead into the wall again.

RH-10 stiffened. His hands drooped to his sides, and the metallic whip fell to the floor.

Blade shoved the silver giant backwards, releasing his hold.

RH-10 stumbled for a few feet, then attempted to straighten. His legs buckled, and he pitched backwards, crashing onto his broad back.

Blade whirled.

Hickok had already disposed of the other man in black. Ferret was still supporting Lynx, and Gremlin’s mouth looked like it wanted to sag to his navel.

“This way!” Blade directed, motioning to the west. “Make for the stairwell.”

Ferret started to comply. He paused and nodded at the whip. “You might want to bring that. It may come in handy.”

Blade stooped and retrieved the metallic whip. The 15-inch handle felt warm to the touch. He noticed a pair of red buttons, wondering about their purpose.

Hickok hurried past Blade. “I wish we had some iron,” he said. “This baton is for sissies.”

Gremlin was gawking at the fallen silver giant.

“Move it!” Blade ordered.

Gremlin hastened after Ferret and Hickok. “You did it, yes!” he said to Blade. “You defeated a Superior, yes!”

“A Superior?” Blade repeated quizzically.

“You didn’t know, no?” Gremlin said. “They are called Superiors, yes.”

“You can tell me about it later,” Blade stated. “Catch up with the others.”

Ferret, Lynx, and Hickok were already 15 yards away.

Gremlin nodded and jogged to the west.

“Hey! You!” shouted a belligerent voice from the east.

Blade turned.

Five figures in black uniforms were clustered in front of Cell 44. One of them was woozy, leaning against the wall. The other four had drawn their batons.

“Don’t move!” one of them, a squat, frog-like mutant with green skin and bulging eyes, yelled.

Blade glanced over his right shoulder. His friends had a long way to go before they reached the door at the west end of the corridor. He had to prevent the men in black from getting past him!

“Don’t move!” the frog-man cried, and four of them charged toward the Warrior.

Blade waited for them in the center of the hall. What were they? he speculated. Storm troopers? Security police? He flicked his right wrist, uncoiling the metallic whip to its full ten-foot length.

And a strange thing happened.

The four troopers checked their advance, slowing to a cautious shuffle, their eyes riveted on the metallic whip.

What was this?

Blade glanced at the whip handle. Why would four professional military types be afraid of a mere whip? A whip could lacerate the flesh, might even take out an eye or lash off an ear, but a blow from a whip was rarely fatal. From an ordinary whip, anyway. But what if the whip in his hand wasn’t ordinary? His thumb closed on the first red button, and the whip abruptly crackled and sparkled, writhing like a thing alive. Now he knew!

The whip was electrified!

The four in uniform halted. Twenty feet separated them from the hulking Warrior.

Blade grinned. If the troopers were deathly afraid of the whip, he could use their fear to gain the upper hand. He remembered an ancient axiom: a good offense is always the best defense. With that in mind, he attacked.

The four troopers bumped into one another as they attempted to flee, to avoid the path of the swinging whip.

Blade swung the whip from side to side, from one wall to the other, as he bore down on the four troopers. One of them, the frog-man, tripped and sprawled onto his stomach. Blade slashed the tip of the whip toward the mutant.

The frog-man was almost to his feet when the whip landed between his shoulder blades. There was a brilliant flash, and the frog-man reacted as if he’d been blasted from a canyon. His body soared over eight feet and collided with another of the troopers, knocking the man to the floor. The mutant smacked onto his abdomen, then was motionless.

Blade pressed his initiative, closing in.

The trooper the frog-man had bowled over frantically scrambled erect.

Blade arced the whip in a looping motion, and the metallic lash coiled around the trooper’s neck.

The trooper screamed as his body twitched spasmodically. His arms flapped wildly, and he inadvertently touched the steel baton in his right hand against the whip. There was a loud retort, a burst of white light, and the trooper reeled a few feet, then dropped.

Blade paused.

The other two men in black were fleeing for their lives to the east. They passed the trooper leaning against the wall near Cell 44, and he joined their pell-mell flight.

Blade let them go. Chasing them would be a waste of energy. He needed to reach the west stairwell as promptly as he could. The whip emitted a sinister sizzling sound. He pressed the first red button and the sizzling ceased.

“Blade! Come on, pard!” Hickok yelled to his rear.

Blade looked to the west. Hickok, Ferret, Lynx, and Gremlin were standing next to the door at the end of the hallway. He turned to race after them, then hesitated, curious. He quickly knelt alongside the last trooper he’d downed and felt for a pulse.

The trooper was dead.

Blade rose and raced toward his companions. The whip was lethal!

Little wonder the four troopers had balked at confronting him. Their steel batons were not very effective against an electrified whip. Why, he asked himself, didn’t the troopers pack guns? He thanked the Spirit they didn’t!

Otherwise, escaping from the prison would be next to impossible.

Hickok was motioning for Blade to hurry.

Blade increased his pace, and reached the door without further mishap.

“Took you long enough,” Hickok greeted him. “Maybe you should consider going on a diet.”

Blade disregarded the gunfighter and glaced at Ferret. “How’s Lynx?”

“Still out of it,” Ferret replied. “But he should come around soon.”

“Let’s hope so,” Blade commented, reaching for the door handle.

Gremlin pointed at another door, one to the left marked GUARD STATION 30. “Should we check in there, yes?”

“No,” Blade said. “There’s no time. The ones who got away will be back with help.” He suddenly realized the klaxons weren’t wailing anymore.

When had they stopped?

“You want me to take the point?” Hickok queried.

“I will,” Blade said. “You bring up the rear. And yell if you see any sign of pursuit.”

“Wouldn’t you prefer a chorus of ‘Home on the Range’?” Hickok asked.

“A yell will do,” Blade told him, and opened the stairwell door. The stairs were painted red, and they only went in one direction: up. Which meant, Blade reasoned, they were on the lowerest underground level. He headed up the stairs, two at a stride.

“Slow down!” Ferret said. “I can’t keep up with you and carry Lynx at the same time.”

Blade slackened his speed. He reached a landing and stopped, waiting for the others to reach him, his eyes on the closed stairwell door.

Ferret, with Gremlin assisting, lugged Lynx onto the landing. “Did you know we’re six floors underground?” he asked Blade.

“Are you sure?” Blade responded.

“Positive,” Ferret asserted. “I counted them on the way down. Am I right, Gremlin?”

“Ferret is right, yes,” Gremlin confirmed.

“They have elevators in this building,” Ferret went on. “But near as I could tell, the elevators don’t descend below ground level. Must be a security precaution.”

Hickok reached the landing. “Leave it to you yokels to take time to gossip when we’re close to buyin’ the farm.”