David Robbins - Houston Run

“We stand a better chance if we find an exit from the Intelligence Building now,” Blade remarked. “If we take the time to retrieve our weapons, we could wind up trapped inside.”

“I’m not leavin’ without my Colts,” Hickok repeated adamantly.

Blade hesitated, debating the wisdom of going for the Colts and the Bowies. Foolish as it was, he’d become attached to those knives. They’d saved his life time and again. The Bowies might be inanimate steel objects, but he viewed them as indispensable essentials to his life as a Warrior, as much a part of him as his arms or his legs. “Okay. We find our weapons.”

Hickok started toward the stairwell door 20 yards away. “Don’t worry none. We’re only on the third floor. That means we only have to go down four floors.” Hickok grinned. “It’ll be a piece of cake.”

Without warning, a door on the other side of the corridor and 15 yards to their rear unexpectedly opened, disgorging a veritable swarm of black-garbed storm troopers led by a Superior armed with a Laser.

Lynx slammed into Tom, propelling the floor supervisor backwards, and both of them crashed onto the cot as Melody ducked aside, upending the tray of food as the cot flipped over.

“Lynx!” Melody cried.

Lynx found himself flat on his back on the floor with Tom on top. His foe slashed at his eyes, and Lynx avoided the blow with a quick jerk of his head to the right. He drove his right hand up and in, sinking his tapered nails, his hard-as-iron claws into the floor supervisor’s chest just below the neck. Lynx raked his claws downward, digging deep furrows in Tom’s flesh, blood pouring from the wounds and covering Lynx’s fingers.

Tom threw himself backwards to evade those razor claws. He scurried to the left and stood, his feline features contorted with fury.

Lynx bounded to his feet, grinning, his green eyes ablaze with a feral blood lust.

For a moment the two adversaries glared at one another.

“You’re history, bub!” Lynx growled.

“You’ve got it backwards!” Tom retorted.

“You’re gonna pay for all the things you’ve done to Melody, you scumbag!” Lynx declared angrily.

Tom glanced at Melody, who was standing in the corner next to the north wall, then at Lynx. “Melody? What’s she to you?”

Lynx didn’t respond.

Tom laughed. “Don’t tell me! You and her? You’ve got to be kidding! The bitch is frigid!”

Lynx snarled as he sprang.

Melody watched the fight in dismay, concerned for Lynx’s safety, but knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. She saw them grapple to the floor, swiping at each other with their deadly claws, both connecting, both drawing blood. They rolled into the south wall, Lynx bearing the brunt of the impact, and Tom whipped his left hand across Lynx’s face, his nails slicing open Lynx’s right cheek. Lynx shoved, pushing Tom from him, and leaped to his feet. Tom rolled once, then rose.

Lynx crouched and circled to the right, seeking an opening. His right cheek was stinging and felt damp, but he ignored the discomfort, concentrating on the job at hand. They were pretty evenly matched. Tom was his size and about his weight, and the son of a bitch possessed lightning reflexes the equal of his own. But Lynx detected a slight weakness he might exploit. Tom was a floor supervisor in a medical building. The bastard spent his days insulting and hassling Melody, handling files, and checking on patients, and whatever the hell else floor supervisors did. All of which meant Tom didn’t devote any time to honing his fighting skills, to unleashing the savage side of his nature in primal combat. But Lynx had engaged in combat countless times. He actually reveled in a life-or-death struggle, thrilling to the conflict, relishing the clash of his sinews and claws against a worthy enemy. His expertise afforded him an edge over the inexperienced Tom, and Lynx intended to take advantage of Tom’s deficiency.

“Any last words?” Tom asked, baiting his opponent.

Lynx merely grinned, tasting some of his own blood as it flowed over his lips.

Tom swung his right arm at Lynx’s head.

Lynx adroitly ducked under the swipe, retaliating by spearing both his hands straight out, imbedding his nails in Tom’s stomach. He wrenched his arms to the left, tearing Tom’s white skin and ripping awful gashes in Tom’s abdomen.

Tom hastily backpedaled, a crimson stain blossoming on his shirt. He doubled over, his face betraying his pain.

Lynx smiled and advanced.

Tom suddenly uncoiled, lunging at his antagonist.

Lynx was a blur as he dropped to the floor, onto his right side, and swept his legs in an arc, catching the unsuspecting Tom on the shins.

Tom went down, tripping over Lynx’s legs, sprawling onto his hands and knees. He went to rise.

Lynx was faster. Still on his side, he pounced, twisting and driving his claws up and in, into Tom’s face, into Tom’s eyes, and Tom screeched as Lynx perforated his eyeballs. Lynx gouged his nails at a slant across Tom’s face, turning Tom’s nostrils into bloody ribbons.

“No!” Tom wailed, flinging himself back, stumbling to his feet, tottering to retain his balance. Blood spurted from his ravaged eyes and sprayed from his ruined nose. “No!” he blubbered, frantically waving his arms.

Lynx slowly stood. He wanted to prolong the fight, to make Tom suffer, but his gaze rested on Melody for an instant and he observed her horrified expression.

There was only one thing to do.

Lynx closed in, finishing off Tom with two quick slashes, slitting Tom’s throat wide open.

Tom gurgled as he sagged to his knees, a crimson geyser spuming from the cavity in his throat. “No!” he wheezed, blood spattering from his mouth and dripping over his chin. “No!” he cried again, but his voice was much weaker.

Lynx looked at Melody. She had her right hand pressed over her mouth.

He hurried to her side, taking her left hand in his.

Tom pitched onto his face, smacking onto the floor.

Melody glanced at Lynx, her green eyes pools of remorse. She removed her right hand from her mouth. “Was it necessary to do… that?”

Lynx nodded grimly.

Tom’s body was shaking uncontrollably. “No!” he said, the word barely audible.

Lynx stepped between Melody and Tom, blocking her line of sight. “If it upsets you so much,” he stated tenderly, “don’t look at him.”

“I’ve never seen anyone killed before,” Melody blurted out.

“If you come with me, if you leave Androxia, you’ll see more of it,” Lynx warned her. “I can guarantee it.”

“Really?” Melody responded.

“Really. The outside world ain’t nothin’ like what you’ve got here in Androxia. It ain’t this cushy,” Lynx stated. “There are some cities left out there, and outposts of civilization here and there, but mainly only one rule prevails. It’s called the survival of the fittest.”

Melody stared into his eyes. “Tell me the truth. You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

“I’ll always tell you the truth,” Lynx promised. “And yes, I have. I’ve done more than my share of killin’. It’s in my blood.”

“How can you say that?” Melody demanded. “I’m a mutant too, the same type you are, and I don’t have any compulsion to kill.”

“Count your blessings,” Lynx advised her.

Melody gazed over Lynx’s left shoulder at the window in the south wall.

“I wonder if I really know what I’ve gotten myself into,” she commented softly, then locked her eyes on Lynx. “Don’t get me wrong. I can take care of myself, if push comes to shove. But I’ve never been outside of Androxia.

I can’t predict how I’ll cope.” She paused. “I could be a burden to you. Do you still want me to go with you?”