David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

Don’t stop! Keep calm!

Blade reversed both knives, sweeping the Bowies in and imbedding them in the neck of the Wack chewing on his stomach, the blades slicing the neck in half. The man convulsed as his blood poured over Blade’s chest and belly. Blade heaved, dislodging the Wack, concentrating on the one holding his legs.

The Wack let go and jumped up, an axe in his left hand.

Blade rolled as the loony brought the axe down, the handle brushing his left shoulder. He lunged to his feet and stood braced, his heart pounding in his chest.

He couldn’t take much more of this!

One of the Wacks was dead, the one who’d tried to eat him alive. The other two were seriously injured, and one of them ran into the hospital, screaming.

Damn! Reinforcements would be coming soon! He had to end this, now!

The Wack wielding the axe was playing it safe, staying out of Blade’s reach, biding time until help arrived.

This was getting him nowhere!

Voices were raised in alarm in the building.

Time for a desperate move!

Blade tried a basic knife-fighter’s ploy, feinting with his left Bowie, slashing at the Wack and causing him to bound to one side to avoid the blow. The man was off guard and off balance in the second it took him to move, and in that instant Blade drew his right arm back behind his ear and flung the Bowie with all his might, the knife clearing the four feet between them and sticking into the Wack’s chest above the left breast.

The man’s eyes bulged and he wildly tugged at the Bowie, withdrawing several inches of the blade before he collapsed on the pavement.

Blade wrenched his knife loose, and ran, bearing for the far end of the parking lot, avoiding the ruts and cracks in the aged tarmac. His lungs were hurting, and he had to limp, the wound on his left thigh open again and bleeding profusely. He reached the edge of the parking lot and paused, glancing back, his breathing labored.

Damn!

A score of Wacks were outside the rear exit, standing around the men he’d cut. One of the crazies, a woman, spotted him.

“There he go! After him!”

Yelling and screaming in anticipation of their next meal, they came after him.

Blade pivoted and hurried along the street bordering the parking lot, searching for a hiding place or a suitable position to make a stand. Not that he entertained any delusions about his ability to withstand another onslaught. If they caught up with him now, he was as good as dead.

He reached an intersection and bore right, frantically seeking any cover.

The Wacks were out of sight, coming up the street from the parking lot, still a distance from the intersection.

Blade slowed as he neared a ruined automobile. The hood and all four doors were gone, and the inside had been set afire, the seats a charred wreck. The tires were gone, but the body was supported on cinder blocks.

Cinder blocks?

Had someone placed the car on the blocks for a purpose?

Blade stopped and knelt. There was a foot of space between the floor of the car and the ground. It would be a tight fit, but it was his best hope! He lay on his back and quickly pulled himself under the automobile, out of sight.

The Wacks reached the intersection, and there was momentary confusion as they argued over which direction their prey had taken.

“This way!” a man shouted. “Me saw him go this way!”

They poured down the street Blade had selected.

Blade held his breath, his body tense, considering the merits of his move. If they found him now, he wouldn’t have room to move, to fight back.

A moot point.

The Wacks came alongside the destroyed vehicle, and kept running.

Blade twisted his neck and watched the dirty feet pound the pavement, racing away from his hiding place. He craned his head out from under the car.

The Wacks reached the end of the block and paused at another intersection.

“This way!” a woman yelled. “This way!”

As one, they made off to the left, disappearing from view, the sound of their cries fading.

Blade wearily clambered from under the vehicle and stood on shaky legs. He required rest and nourishment, but where would he find it in the Twin Cities? Everyone he met would be a potential enemy, prepared to kill him on sight.

A wave of dizziness struck him and he leaned against the car for support, breathing deeply until the sensation passed.

Blade noticed an alley ten feet away and he shuffled into it. Maybe he could locate a secluded spot where he could lay down and sleep for a spell.

The alley was packed with old, rusted trash cans, broken furniture, and other articles.

Blade weaved between the obstructions, forging ahead.

Loud cries abruptly broke the silence behind him.

Had the Wacks returned?

Blade worriedly glanced over his right shoulder. He couldn’t see any of the crazies, but they might have returned, backtracking, realizing he had given them the slip.

He had to hide!

Blade stumbled forward, bumping into a trash can and knocking it over, creating a racket, but not caring anymore. He was too tired, and depressed. He’d failed. Failed miserably. Failed Plato, and he hit another can, and Jenny, and he was picking up momentum, and Hickok, and he kicked another can out of his path, and Joshua, and…

He saw the end of the alley coming up, and he ran, drawing his Bowies in case they were waiting for him, catching a glimpse of a leg suddenly poking out and tripping him, and his vision spun as he went down, hard, knowing the Wacks had caught him and determined to give them an accounting they would recall for generations to come.

Blade scrambled to his feet, surprised to discover the business end of a revolver staring him in the face.

“Blade?”

It took Blade a moment to recognize the man standing in front of him.

He was covered with sewage and filth and grime, his skin almost black from the dirt.

“Geronimo?” Blade asked incredulously.

“Blade! It’s you!” Geronimo impetuously embraced his friend, hugging him close.

Blade returned the affection. “I can’t believe it,” he mumbled.

“Believe it!” Geronimo elatedly exclaimed.

Blade held Geronimo at arm’s length, and stared into his eyes. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my whole life.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Geronimo’s brown eyes twinkled. “Where have you been? I thought the Wacks had you.”

The Wacks!

“It’s a long story.” Blade glanced at the alley. “Right now we’ve got to get the hell out of here or we’ll wind up being the prime rib on someone’s plate!”

“Are they after you?”

“Yeah. And I don’t mind telling you, I’m running out of steam.”

“Don’t worry,” Geronimo assured him, smiling, the white of his teeth a stark contrast to the smudged dirt all over his face. “We’ll get out of this mess in one piece.”

“I hope,” Blade stated as they jogged away from the alley, “the same can be said for Hickok, Joshua, and Bertha.”

“You and me both!”

Hickok raised the C.O.P. and blasted the shocked Porn in the face, the man tumbling backward from the door he’d just opened and collapsing on the floor.

The men at the table froze, some with their spoons or forks in midair.

Hickok knew he couldn’t afford to miss a beat. He rushed into the dining room, the Winchester already at his shoulder. By all rights, and his Warrior training, he should have gone for the men nearest him, the ones posing the immediate threat, but he picked another target, the big gun booming and the slug ripping into Maggot’s right shoulder and propelling the fat man from his chair. Hickok went after Maggot for two reasons, two personal justifications, violating every precept of his long and arduous instruction and discipline. First, he wanted Maggot away from the Pythons and the Henry. Secondly, and an overwhelming sentiment, he hated the son of a bitch!