David Robbins - Houston Run

The police car was puny in size compared to the huge truck. The transport easily slammed the cruiser to the left, into the oncoming lanes of traffic.

Blade saw the Superior on the passenger side gesturing directly ahead.

A brown van was in their path.

The police car tore into the van at 60 miles an hour. A tremendous crash rent the night air. The grill, windshield, and front of the van were flattened by the impact. The cruiser crumpled like an accordion. The two Superiors were crushed to a pulp.

One down, two to go.

Blade glanced in the rearview mirror.

The remaining cruisers had separated, one coming up on each side of the truck.

What were they trying to pull? Blade gripped the steering wheel, prepared to ram them the way he had the first one.

“Look out!” Gremlin shouted.

Almost too late, Blade saw the compact white car in front of the transport. He jerked the steering wheel to the right, passing the compact car.

The driver of the compact, apparently spotting the onrushing truck at the last second, angled his vehicle to the left even as the transport passed, putting his vehicle into the path of one of the pursuit cruisers.

Blade looked into the mirror, in time to see the police car smash into the white compact. Both vehicles spun out of control.

Two down, one to go.

The last cruiser sped forward, swinging around the transport on the passenger side.

Blade smiled. Didn’t these idiots ever learn? He waited, keeping the truck at sixty.

The police car came abreast of the rear wheels and kept coming.

Blade bided his time.

“Over here, yes!” Gremlin yelled, staring out the passenger door window.

“I know,” Blade stated, and twisted the wheel.

The transport clipped the cruiser, sending the police car careening to the right. Its brakes squealing, the cruiser jumped the curb and became airborne. It sailed over 50 feet and collided with a small parked truck, exploding on impact, sending a fireball billowing heavenward.

“You did it, pard!” Hickok said, elated.

Blade spied a junction ahead. He slowed and took a right when the transport reached the intersection.

“Do you think we should ditch this buggy?” Hickok asked. “A truck this big is going to be easy for them to find.”

“We’ll stick with it a while longer,” Blade said. “I want to find a secluded spot first.”

“Good luck,” Hickok quipped.

Both sides of the avenue were lined with towering structures. Their height varied, although ten stories was average. A few, however, gave the illusion of rearing to the stars.

“All these buildings,” Blade commented, “and I don’t see very many people on the sidewalks.”

“Most of them aren’t allowed out at night,” Ferret said.

“How do you know?” Blade inquired.

Lynx answered the question. “We bumped into a dimwit by the name of Barney. He told us all about this place.”

“Fill me in,” Blade directed.

For the next ten minutes Blade took one turn after another, alert for any hint of pursuit, wanting to put as much distance as he could between them and the avenue where he’d wrecked the cruisers. He was certain more police cars would swarm to the area. As he drove, he studied the city and listened to Lynx and Ferret recount their experiences since finding the aircraft at the Home. “So this city is called Androxia,” he said when they had concluded.

“Weird name,” Lynx observed. “But then, everything about this dump is weird.”

Blade noticed a peculiar structure ahead, to the left. It was some sort of gigantic dome. What was its purpose? he wondered. Another intersection appeared and he took a right.

“Wow! Look at that!” Lynx exclaimed.

With good reason. A mile ahead on the right side of the avenue was the largest edifice they’d seen so far, a colossal building, its sides constructed of a scintillating golden substance. A yellow radiance enveloped the skyscraper, imbuing the night with a saffron glow.

“What the dickens is that?” Hickok asked.

“That can’t be real gold,” Lynx mentioned in amazement.

“Perhaps it is,” Ferret suggested. “Nothing in this city would surprise me.”

“Gremlin has another question, yes?” Gremlin chimed in.

“What is it?” Blade asked.

“What is that, yes?” Gremlin queried, leaning forward and pointing skyward.

Blade bent over the steering wheel and gazed in the direction Gremlin was indicating, and there it was, half a mile distant.

An intensely bright light was poised in the night sky about 500 yards above the ground, poised in the middle of the roadway.

Coincidence? Or design?

“What is that, yes?” Gremlin repeated.

“I don’t know,” Blade admitted. “But I don’t like it one bit.”

Hickok looked at the light. “Could be a traffic light for birds,” he joked.

“Or it could be a light on an aircraft,” Ferret suggested.

“Gremlin doesn’t like it, no,” Gremlin said.

Neither did Blade. He repeatedly glanced at the light as the transport continued in the direction of the gold structure.

“The light is lowering, yes?” Gremlin stated.

“Could it be one of those aircraft we came here in?” Hickok inquired.

“Looks too small,” Lynx remarked.

“The light is still lowering, yes?” Gremlin declared.

As they drew closer to the light. Blade distinguished the dark outline of a craft and perceived the light was a spotlight on the mysterious craft’s underbelly.

“It’s a damn helicopter!” Lynx suddenly exclaimed.

And the copter swooped toward them.

Where could the two Warriors be?

Plato, the elderly, gray-haired Leader of the Family, stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his long hair whipped by the cool night breeze, his blue eyes gazing at the celestial display overhead, musing. He raised his left hand and absently scratched his lengthy beard.

They couldn’t simply vanish!

Plato felt the wind on his neck. For an April night, the air was exceptionally chilly. He buttoned the top button on his faded blue shirt.

Someone was coming.

Plato straightened. He stood outside the front door of his cabin, just one of many situated in a line from north to south in the center of the Home. The cabins were the residences for the married Family members, and his was the seventh from the north. The row of log cabins served to separate the eastern section of the compound, maintained in a pristine natural state and devoted to agricultural cultivation, from the western half, where the gigantic concrete blocks were located and the Family gathered together most often.

A lantern suspended from a metal hook imbedded in the exterior wall to the left of the cabin door threw a ring of light over the nearby grass and trees.

The light also revealed the approaching woman. She was tall and lean, with blonde hair and green eyes. Her thin lips were pressed together in frustration, accenting her prominent cheekbones. Her attire consisted of baggy green pants and a brown blouse. She conveyed an initial impression of frailty, an impression promptly dispelled by the inner strength reflected in her face, by her firm tread, and by the Smith and Wesson .357 Combat Magnum in a holster on her right hip. The revolver was indicative of her status as one of the Family’s skilled defenders; she was a Warrior.

“Any success, Sherry?” Plato inquired as she neared him.

Sherry frowned. “We can’t find a trace of them!” she snapped in disgust. “Where the hell can that ding-a-ling husband of mine be? And where’s Blade?”

“I’m positive Hickok is all right,” Plato assured her. “He’s one of the best Warriors we have.”