David Robbins - Capital Run

“Are we gonna have some fun with you!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lex said under her breath.

“But I told you before!” Jeff whined, his beard quivering. “I don’t know where they’d take your friend!”

“You must have some idea,” Blade said. They were parked next to the curb on Clayton Boulevard, the cycle’s motor idling. Several children were playing 40 yards to the east. A man and a woman were leaning against a building 20 yards from the children. None of them paid any attention to Blade and the biker. Why should they? Blade reasoned. With his leather vest, he must appear to be another Leather Knight. He had forced Jeff to stick to the side streets after they’d entered St. Louis. Once a pack of seven bikers had passed, but they’d only waved and continued riding. Blade had beamed at them and returned their wave.

“There are a bunch of places they could’ve taken him,” Jeff said. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Blade, seated behind the biker on the cycle, placed his right hand on the Leather Knight’s right shoulder and squeezed.

Jeff flinched and cringed.

Blade allowed his steely fingers to relax. “I’m losing my patience,” he informed Jeff. “I don’t care where you start looking, but you had better start right now!”

Jeff nodded and quickly accelerated from the curb. He traveled east on Clayton Boulevard, then made a left on Hanley Road, and shortly thereafter took a right on Delmar Boulevard.

Blade saw more and more people as they drew closer to the inner city.

Most of them did not wear the distinctive black leather of the Leather Knights. He was surprised to discover St. Louis inhabited by thousands of residents, and he wondered why St. Louis had been spared a direct hit during World War III. Weren’t there any primary or secondary military targets in the St. Louis area at the time of the war? He couldn’t remember.

They passed four Leather Knights heading in the opposite direction.

And what about the Leather Knights? Blade asked himself. How was it the people of St. Louis allowed themselves to be dominated by the Knights? Was it the protection the Knights afforded? Or simply the fact that, according to Jeff, the Leather Knights possessed almost all of the functional firearms and an armory of other weapons?

Up ahead loomed an intersection. Jefferson Avenue, said a sign.

Blade’s reverie deepened. He mentally compared the Leather Knights to his Family. In the Family, men and women equally shared the responsibilities and duties of preserving the Home and rearing children.

Women were even accorded Warrior status. But here in St. Louis it was different. The women evidently lorded it over the men. Why did the men permit it? By Jeff’s own admission, the men were no longer numerically inferior, as they had been immediately after the “turf wars.” So why didn’t the men, if they resented the treatment they were receiving, rectify the situation? Was it because, after a century of female control, the men were conditioned to accept it as an indisputable fact?

Lost in thought, Blade failed to notice the three Leather Knights parked at the side of the road, in a small grassy stretch behind a ruined truck, just past the intersection with Jefferson Avenue.

But Jeff did see them. One of them glanced in his direction, and Jeff silently formed the word “Help!” with his lips.

The Knights’ eyes narrowed.

Jeff repeated his action, twisting the left corner of his mouth backwards after he mouthed the word.

Where did the Leather Knights obtain their motorcycles? Blade speculated silently. How were they able to maintain the bikes? Where did they find the spare parts and the fuel? Why didn’t—

There was a loud rumble from the rear.

Blade looked over his left shoulder.

Three Leather Knights were rapidly bearing down on them.

Blade shifted in his seat. Why was the trio coming so fast? Were they on urgent business of some nature? Or did they suspect he was an impostor? Blade leaned forward. “Faster,” he ordered. He peered over his shoulder again, expecting his command to be obeyed. Blade knew Jeff was intimidated by him, and he confidently disregarded the possibility of the craven biker resisting. Complacency, one of the cardinal errors a Warrior could commit, inevitably precipitated adversity. And this time was no exception.

Jeff gunned the motor and the cycle streaked forward from 40 to 50 miles an hour. When he reached 50, Jeff unexpectedly rammed his left elbow around, slamming it into Blade’s side. At the same instant he jerked the cycle to the left, adding the momentum of the bike to his blow.

Caught completely unaware, Blade, one hand holding the Commando and the other loosely on Jeff’s shoulder, was knocked from the bike. It happened so quickly he scarcely realized what occurred; one second he was riding the motorcycle, and the next he was on the road, his body rolling end over end to the south side of the highway. His body crashed into a hard object, his right side bearing the brunt of the impact. Stunned, he shook his head to clear the cobwebs, then urged to his feet as the true magnitude of his dilemma hit home.

The three Leather Nights, guns drawn, were 30 yards off and roaring toward him.

Jeff had accelerated after dumping Blade, and was now hightailing it to the east.

Damn!

Blade realized the Commando was still in his hands. He’d instinctively clasped it to his chest as he tumbled from the cycle. Thank the Spirit his stupidity wasn’t total!

The three Leather Knights began firing. Two of them had revolvers, the third a rifle.

Blade crouched and fired a burst from the Commando.

One of the Knights screamed as his chest was cut to ribbons and he was flipped from his cycle. The bike crashed to the road and slid for 20 feet, sparks flying from underneath, before it came to a rest.

The two remaining bikers veered to the other side of the road, vanishing behind an overgrown hedge.

Doubledamn!

Blade rose and turned, scanning the nearby buildings for the best cover.

His left foot caught on something and he sprawled to the ground.

What the—?

It was a peculiar object, sort of a metallic reddish mushroom, with caps of some sort on both sides and a curved top. The red paint was peeled and faded. The lower end of the object was embedded in the concrete curb. It was the thing he’d hit after falling from the bike. What in the world was it?

A shot cracked from behind the hedge and the sidewalk near Blade’s eyes was chipped by a bullet, fragments spraying outwards.

Blade felt a cement chip strike his left cheek, drawing blood and he leaped up and ran for a large tree ten feet away.

The two Leather Knights opened up at random.

Blade reached the tree and ducked from sight. What now? He was afoot, in enemy territory, and he had no idea where Rikki was being held—if Rikki was still alive—in St. Louis, an immense city impossible for one man to adequately cover.

The Leather Knights had stopped shooting.

Maybe Hickok had been right. Maybe both of them should have ventured into the city.

Far off, to the east, appeared more bikers.

Terrific!

It was probably Jeff with reinforcements. So now he had Knights behind him and Knights in front of him.

What to do?

Blade peeked around the trunk of the tree. All was quiet in the vicinity of the hedge. He darted from the tree and raced to the corner of the street.

A weather-ravaged sign indicated this was the junction of Delmar and 23rd. He jogged to his right, staying on the worn sidewalk, seeking a hiding place or somewhere he could make a stand. He lost track of the distance he ran as he took one side street after another, first in one direction, then in another, hoping to lose the Leather Knights. He could hear their bikes to his rear and to his left. They were probably conducting a sweep.