David Robbins - Houston Run

“We can do it,” Hickok asserted. “But first we’ve got to find those three feebleminded mutants.”

Blade, his pockets laden with hand grenades, rose. “I hope we can.” He scooped up the Lasers.

Hickok picked up his Gaskells and stood. “I’m not leavin’ without those misfits, pard.”

“We may not have any option,” Blade said somberly. “Androxia is immense, and we don’t have the foggiest idea where to begin looking for them.”

Hickok shook his head. “I’m not leavin’ without ’em.”

Their budding argument was terminated by the sound of a voice in the corridor.

“Go from room to room! Check each one!”

The two Warriors sidled to the doorway. Blade peeked out, then drew his head back.

“What have we got?” Hickok asked.

“Superiors and troopers,” Blade stated. “To the left, coming this way, going door to door.”

“Then we skedaddle to the right,” Hickok suggested.

Blade nodded. “But first we need a distraction.” He eased the Gaskells under his belt, then extracted a grenade from his right front pocket. “This should do the trick.”

They waited, listening, gauging the approach of their pursuers. They could hear boots pounding, doors slamming closed, and muted conversations.

Hickok was grinning in anticipation.

Blade fingered the grenade, his thumb touching the pin.

“You four!” bellowed someone in the corridor. “Check the Weapons Room!”

Blade darted into the corridor, pulling the pin.

Ten yards distant were four troopers, two mutants and two humans, and looming to their rear was a Superior. Visible behind the Superior were additional troopers and several more androids.

Blade tossed the grenade overhand, lobbing it over the heads of the startled quartet of troopers, tossing the grenade at the Superior.

The Superior and the four troopers all saw the Warrior emerge from the Weapons Room, and the Superior was opening his mouth to shout a command when the hand grenade detonated a centimeter from his face.

Blade was already diving for the floor.

The entire hallway shook with the thunderous explosion. The overhead lights flickered, several blinking out.

Blade felt wet drops splatter his arms, and then debris and dust and body parts were raining down, pelting him. A severed thumb struck him on the left cheek and dropped to the floor. He heaved erect, drawing his Gaskell Lasers.

Hickok burst from the Weapons Room, Gaskells in hand, moving between Blade and their foes. “Go!” he cried. “I’ll cover you!”

Blade turned and ran toward the far end of the corridor.

Hickok backpedaled, probing the dust cloud for movement.

A bloody trooper, doubled over, coughing, stumbled into sight.

Hickok shot him through the head.

A Superior appeared. The android spotted the Warrior and raised the Laser in its right hand.

Hickok took the android out with two shots through the cranium. He glanced over his right shoulder.

Blade was still sprinting for the door at the end of the hall.

Hickok continued to retreat.

A grainy gray cloud filled the other half of the corridor. Orders were being shouted, and one of the maimed troopers was screaming in agony.

Hickok halted, detecting shadowy motion in the cloud.

Two troopers rushed into view, their steel batons upraised.

Hickok killed them both, then wheeled and raced after Blade, who was waiting for him next to the door. The gunman weaved as he jogged, repeatedly looking over his shoulder, wary of being blasted in the back.

“Come on!” Blade goaded him.

Hickok covered the final 15 yards in a mad dash.

“I don’t think I’m the only one who should go on a diet,” Blade cracked as the gunman reached his side.

“Very funny,” Hickok muttered, huffing.

Blade shoved the door open, and together they exited the corridor.

“Another stairwell!” Hickok exclaimed.

Blade bounded up the steps, keeping near the inner railing.

“Wait for me!” Hickok said, struggling to match his lanky stride to Blade’s giant gait.

Blade slowed so the gunman could catch up.

“Where are we headin’?” Hickok asked. “The lobby again?”

“No,” Blade said. “There has to be another way out of here, a side door nobody uses.”

A beam of light abruptly struck the railing next to Blade’s right hand, and an acute burning sensation lanced his whole arm as he was peppered with scorching metal. He twisted, looking upward.

A Superior and two troopers were on the landing above, the landing at lobby level, evidently posted as guards in the east stairwell. The android was sighting for another shot with his Gaskell Laser.

Blade threw himself to the left as another shaft of deadly light hissed over his head.

Hickok crouched, firing his Lasers three times, each shot on target. The first bored through the Superior’s forehead. The second caught one of the troopers in the mouth. And the third seared into the last trooper’s right eye and out his left car. All three dropped from sight.

Blade was up and running as the gunfighter fired his third shot, taking the stairs three at a time. He reached the next landing, finding all three of their adversaries twitching and thrashing in the throes of death. He also discovered two doors, one to each side of the landing.

“That was close, pard,” Hickok commented as he reached the landing.

Blade stepped over one of the expiring troopers and crossed to the door to the right. He carefully eased it open a fraction. As expected, there was the large lobby, packed with milling Superiors and troopers. The Superiors appeared to be engaged in organizing the troopers for a complete sweep of the Intelligence Building. He also saw the familiar glass doors on the north side of the lobby, the long corridor over by the west wall, and, after craning his neck and pressing his eyes to the opening, he could see the row of elevators not more than 12 feet away.

“Psssst!” Hickok whispered.

Blade closed the door to the lobby and turned.

Hickok was crouched alongside the dead android, waving a key chain in his right hand.

Blade slid his left Gaskell under his belt and took the keys. He moved to the other stairwell door and tried the knob. It was locked.

“Hurry it up!” Hickok advised. “I hear somebody comin’ down the stairwell.”

Blade inserted the first key on the chain, the first of seven.

No luck.

“I heard footsteps down below too,” the gunman stated.

Blade attempted to unlock the door with the second key.

No go.

“I wonder if this is how David Crockett felt at the Alamo?” Hickok queried.

Blade inserted the third key and turned the knob.

The door swung wide open, allowing sunlight to shine inside.

The Warriors quickly exited the Intelligence Building. The door provided access to a narrow alley, bordered on the opposite side by a five-story structure. Blade removed the key before closing the door, then locked the exit from the outside.

“Which way?” Hickok asked.

Blade placed the key in his left rear pocket, debating. If they went to the left, the alley would take them to the front of the Intelligence Building.

“We go right,” he said.

The two Warriors ran toward the rear of Intelligence.

“They’ll find those three on the landing any second now,” Hickok remarked.

“I know,” Blade said. “But the locked door may throw them off. They may think we went up or down. And even if they suspect we used the exit, I have the key. They may need to find another one before they can come after us.”

“And the tooth fairy may show up and save our hides,” Hickok joked, “but I wouldn’t count on it.”

They slowed as they neared the end of the alley. Blade took the lead, flattening against the wall and advancing until he could peer around the corner.