David Robbins - Capital Run

“Who’s the runt?” a bearded biker inquired.

“Lex is back!” shouted a woman.

Terza slid from her bike and motioned for Rikki to do likewise. “Gather round!” she yelled to the throng.

Rikki saw Erika yank Lex from her bike. Lexine clenched her fists in frustration, and Erika shoved her toward Rikki.

“We caught the traitor!” Terza announced. “Just like I said we would!”

“Where’s Mira?” asked a husky woman.

“Wasted,” Terza responded. “And she isn’t the only one. This sucker,” and she nodded at Rikki, “wasted three of our sisters!”

There was a detectable stir in the assembled Leather Knights as each and every one fixed a baleful glare on the man in black.

“We know what we do with traitors!” Terza bellowed. “And we know what to do to anyone who wastes one of our own!”

“Let Slither have ’em!” cried a furious woman.

“Slither!” echoed another woman.

Dozens of voices rose in unison, almost as if they were chanting.

“Slither! Slither! Slither!”

“I demand a trial!” Lexine said to Terza.

Terza smirked. “Traitors don’t deserve trials!” She stood aside, waving her left hand toward Rikki and Lexine.

The Leather Knights swarmed in, enclosing Rikki and Lexine in a sea of black leather and sweaty flesh. Hands brutally grabbed the duo and propelled them along the street.

Rikki mentally debated the wisdom of resisting. There was a possibility he might be able to fight his way free of the mob, but he would have to leave Lexine behind to succeed and he would not abandon her under any circumstances. He noted her cool composure, her defiant demeanor, and admired her calculated courage. Here was a woman after his own heart!

The Leather Knights pulled, pushed, and shoved their captives to the east, in the direction of a wide body of water.

Rikki recognized the river ahead. They were being led toward the Missouri River. Why? What connection did the river have with the one called Slither?

Terza, walking alongside the prisoners, followed Rikki’s glance. “It’s the Mississippi River,” she told him.

“I know,” Rikki replied.

“Are you in the mood for a bath?” Terza asked.

“Not really,” Rikki said.

“Too bad, turkey!” Terza laughed. “You’re gonna get one whether you like it or not!”

Rikki tried to see the scenery on either side of the street, to serve as a reference for later use, but the mass of bikers prevented him from accomplishing his aim.

The Leather Knights bore to the right, leaving the road and marching down to the river. Trees lined the bank. Below a spreading maple tree was an old wooden dock, dilapidated beyond hope of redemption. One of the maple’s thick lower branches extended over the dock and the murky water beyond.

The crowd halted.

“I’m sorry I got you into this,” Lex said to Rikki.

“Ahhh. How sweet!” Erika cuffed Lexine across the mouth. “You bitch!”

Two ropes were produced and a pair of leather-garbed women carried them to the end of the dock. With practiced ease they tossed each rope over the lower branch in the maple tree, then turned and leered at the prisoners.

“Get moving!” Terza ordered, and shoved Lexine.

Rikki walked along the dock, the wood swaying under his feet. He was surprised by the rampant stupidity the Leather Knights displayed. Why hadn’t they thought to frisk him for additional weapons? Why hadn’t they interrogated him? They were enraged by the deaths of their fellow Knights, but unrestrained emotion was a pitiful substitute for seasoned leadership and responsible judgment.

Lexine reached the two women at the end of the dock first. One of them secured her rope to Lexine’s wrists, using one end of the rope for each arm. The woman gleefully tied the knots as tightly as she could.

The second woman hauled Rikki to her side and performed a similar binding operation on him.

Lexine was watching the surface of the water, her green eyes darting to the left and the right.

“What’s down there?” Rikki queried her.

“Find out for yourself,” said the woman who had tied him, and she grunted as she abruptly shoved him from the dock.

Rikki’s arms were wrenched upward by the force of the rope tugging on his arms. He dropped a few feet before the rope brought him up short with a jarring snap. The pain was intense but fleeting. He grit his teeth and looked to his right.

Lexine was also dangling above the river. Her eyes were closed, her mouth twisted in agony.

Rikki appraised their situation. Both of them were about a yard from the dock, Rikki being slightly further away because his rope had been placed beyond Lexine’s on the limb. His custom-made black shoes, constructed from dyed deer hide and cougar sinew, were only a foot above the Mississippi.

The Leather Knights gathered along the west bank, collectively surveying the expanse of water beyond the dock, eagerly waiting.

But for what?

The rocket was almost on them!

Blade instinctively executed the only maneuver possible; he wrenched the steering wheel to the right, causing the transport to lurch sideways, angling the passenger side of the vehicle, Hickok’s side, away from the hurtling rocket.

With an ear-splitting roar the rocket struck the highway about seven feet in front of the SEAL. Massive chunks of asphalt, dirt, and rocks were blasted upward. A jolting concussion, an irresistible shock wave of puissant force, slammed broadside into the transport like an unstoppable tidal wave onto a beach. The synthetic body withstood the shattering explosion intact, but the SEAL was flipped onto its passenger side and propelled several feet along the highway before it came to a rest.

Inside the SEAL, the two Warriors were tossed and buffeted by the tumbling vehicle. Blade struggled to maintain his grip on the steering wheel to prevent himself from falling onto the gunman. Hickok crashed against the passenger door, the handle digging into his ribs. The provisions in the rear section spilled over the central seat. One box of ammunition flew forward and narrowly missed Blade’s head.

Blade leaped into action as soon as the SEAL stopped moving. He lunged for the driver’s door and threw it open. Using the steering wheel for support, he vaulted outside onto the upturned body.

The helicopter was still hovering to the east of the transport.

Hickok was trying to untangle his contorted form from the bottom of the SEAL. “Dangblasted varmints! I’ll fix their wagon!”

“Stay put!” Blade ordered. “I’ll try to lead them off.” He jumped to the ground and ran toward the trees on the south side of the highway.

The helicopter, as if it were a metallic bird of prey, swooped down for the coup de grace.

Blade weaved as he ran, knowing the copter would open up again with its machine guns.

A crackling spray of lead from the whirlybird confirmed his expectation.

Blade flinched as the earth around him was stitched by a pattern of lethal slugs. He was only five feet from cover and safety when he risked a hasty glance over his left shoulder.

The helicopter wasn’t more than ten feet above the SEAL, swiveling for a clearer shot at its intended victim.

Blade dodged to the left, and as he did his right foot caught in something and he went down, sprawling onto his hands and knees, vulnerable and helpless.

The helicopter pilot instantly took advantage of the situation by edging his copter nearer to the trees and his rising target.

Blade, only two feet from the trees, braced for the impact of the machine-gun bullets, realizing it would be impossible for the copter gunner to miss at such close range.

Gunshots boomed to the Warrior’s rear, but they weren’t the sound of .45-caliber machine guns; they were the welcome bang-bang-bang of a pair of pearl-handled Colt Python . 357 Magnum revolvers.