David Robbins - Capital Run

Blade spun around.

The gunman was only partially visible, with his shoulders and arms protruding from the open door on the driver’s side of the SEAL.

What did Hickok hope to accomplish? Blade wondered. The Pythons against an armed helicopter were seemingly insurmountable odds. But then he saw the gunman’s intent and grinned.

Hickok was going for the tail blade. The Colts bucked in his hands as he fired six shots in swift succession. He had to distract the copter gunner’s attention from Blade, and he succeeded.

On the gunman’s sixth shot, the helicopter suddenly lurched to one side, then began swerving back and forth. It darted upward, its flight uneven, the pilot evidently experiencing difficulty in keeping the craft level.

“Got ya’!” Hickok said, elated.

The helicopter continued to ascend until it was 100 feet above the highway. Its front end dipped as the craft proceeded to speed to the east.

Within less than a minute the helicopter was a dark dot on the eastern horizon.

Blade walked to the transport. “Thanks,” he said, smiling at Hickok.

“You saved my life.”

Hickok adopted the air of casual nonchalance. “It was a piece of cake,” he declared, then smiled. “Besides, I didn’t want your missus bawling her brains out on my buckskins.”

Blade’s brow furrowed as he studied the SEAL. “We have a major problem on our hands.”

“When don’t we?” Hickok said. He slid to the ground and immediately set about reloading his Pythons.

Blade slowly made an inspection of the transport, searching for structural damage. He conducted a complete circuit of the vehicle.

“What did you find, pard?” Hickok asked as Blade rounded the front end.

“It looks okay,” Blade replied.

Hickok’s left Colt was already in its holster. He ejected the last spent shell from his right Python, removed a bullet from his gunbelt, and dropped it into the cylinder. Satisfied, he swung the cylinder closed and twirled the Colt into his right holster.

“We won’t really know how it is until we try to start it,” Blade said, pondering their dilemma, “and we can’t try starting it until we have it upright again.”

Hickok frowned. “How the blazes are we gonna do that?”

“I wish I knew.” Blade stared at the east. This mission, like all the others, had devolved into a typical fiasco. Why was it events never went as you planned? Why did things always have to go wrong? Here they were, not more than ten miles from their destination, and now their transport was inoperational and one of them was missing. What next?

“What are we gonna do about Rikki?” Hickok inquired.

Blade stroked his square chin. “There is no way we can right the SEAL on our own,” he said, reasoning aloud. “We could do it if we had enough people or another vehicle and a lot of rope—”

“Which we don’t have,” Hickok interrupted.

“—so we’ll have to go look for what we need,” Blade stated. “And since we have to find Rikki, we’ll kill two birds with one stone. One of us will head for St. Louis.”

“One of us?” Hickok repeated.

“Just one of us,” Blade confirmed.

“Why not both of us?” Hickok wanted to know.

“We can’t leave the SEAL unprotected,” Blade explained.

“We’ve done it before,” Hickok protested. “All we have to do is lock this contraption up tight as a drum and it’ll be safe and sound until we get back.”

Blade pointed at the exposed undercarriage. “And what about that?”

“What about it?” Hickok asked, puzzled.

“The bottom of the SEAL might not be as impervious as the special body,” Blade said. “Someone could come along and damage it, render it totally useless. I can’t allow that to happen. The SEAL is invaluable to our Family. You know that.”

Hickok looped his thumbs in his gunbelt near the buckle. “And which one of us gets to waltz into St. Louis?”

“I’m going,” Blade said.

“Why can’t I go?” Hickok demanded.

“Because I said so,” Blade stated, settling the matter. Since he was the head of the Warriors, his decisions were final.

“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?” Hickok groused.

“Twiddle my thumbs?”

“You can check our supplies,” Blade instructed the pouting gunman.

“Make sure they’re okay and clean up the mess inside.”

“What if something happens to you?” Hickok queried. “How long should I wait?”

Blade considered a moment. “Give me three days. I should find Rikki and be back by then.”

“Fine,” Hickok said. “Three days it is. But if you’re not back here by then, I’m comin’ after you, SEAL or no SEAL.”

Blade chuckled. “Keep an eye peeled while I collect the provisions I’ll need.” So saying, he hoisted himself up and climbed into the transport.

The interior of the vehicle was a mess, but he found the items he wanted without much difficulty: a canteen, a canvas backpack confiscated from soldiers in Wyoming, strips of venison jerky, extra magazines for his Commando, and the Commando itself. He stuffed the canteen, jerky, and magazines into the backpack and clambered to the open driver’s door.

“Here,” he said to the gunman, and tossed the backpack.

Hickok caught it with a deft flick of his left wrist.

Blade used his powerful arms to haul his body from the SEAL. Holding the Commando in his left hand, he leaped to the highway.

“You sure ain’t takin’ much, pard,” Hickok observed, hefting the light backpack.

“I won’t be gone that long,” Blade said. He took the backpack and handed the Commando to the gunman.

“I hope Rikki is okay,” Hickok remarked, gazing eastward.

“Rikki can take care of himself,” Blade commented. He placed his brawny arms through the backpack straps. “You make certain that you stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

“Who? Me?” Hickok quipped. He gave the Commando to the Alpha Triad leader. “You’re the one who’d best take care.”

“May the Spirit watch over you,” Blade said. He started walking due east. About 50 yards ahead was a turn in the road, the highway evidently bearing slightly to the southeast. Blade could feel the heat from the sun on his broad back and legs as he marched along. He stopped when he reached the turn and glanced at the SEAL. Hickok was still standing exactly where he had left him, the gunman’s thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. Blade couldn’t discern Hickok’s face clearly, but he received the impression the gunman was frowning. Blade knew Hickok didn’t like the idea of staying behind one bit, but the gunman was too loyal a Warrior to lodge more than a minor protest.

Blade waved.

Hickok began jumping up and down and flapping his arms like crazy.

After a minute he ceased and made a show of blowing a farewell kiss in Blade’s direction.

Blade shook his head as the gunman started laughing. Thank the Spirit the gunman was on this mission! Rikki was naturally rather taciturn, and the lengthy ride would have been monotonous without the loquacious gunfighter. Blade resumed his journey, following the highway, sticking to the middle of the road. If anything came at him, he’d have the time to see it coming and respond accordingly. He raked his eyes across the forest to the right and left of the crumbling asphalt, alert for any sign of a mutate or other horror.

Time passed.

Blade was less than a mile from the SEAL when he spied the corpses on the road ahead. And three—what were they?—motorcycles!

What was this?

He slowed, advancing cautiously, his finger on the trigger of the Commando.

Bodies. Lots and lots of bodies.

Was Rikki’s one of them?

Blade paused 15 feet from the prone forms. He could see 3 dead women and counted 13 dogs, a few of which were alive, whining and whimpering in torment.