Miami Run

Chapter One

“Did you hear that?”

“I heard it. Was it thunder?”

“Thunder don’t sound like that. Besides, there ain’t a cloud in the sky.”

“Then what was it?”

“I don’t rightly know.”

The twins studied the sky to the west, the bright sun, making them squint.

“Let’s go have a look-see,” suggested the boy.

“No way!” objected his sister.

“Come on!” he goaded her. “I think I saw somethin’ over there a ways.”

“Poppa would blister our butts, and you know it, Leo.”

“Come on, Ernestine! Don’t be such a candy-ass!” Leo said. He placed the bundle of sugar cane he was carrying on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Ernestine demanded.

“What does it look like?” Leo retorted. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his right hand.

“We can’t just leave the cane here!” Ernestine protested.

“What’s gonna happen to it?” Leo asked.

Ernestine gazed to the west, frowning. “We’ll get in trouble for sure.”

“It won’t take but ten minutes,” Leo assured her. “We got to go see what it was.”

Never one to deny her brother for long, Ernestine deposited her bundle of cane beside his.

“All right!” Leo declared. “That’s more like it!”

“You lead,” Ernestine said. “And we’d best not run into anything!”

“Don’t worry,” Leo said. He patted the machete in its sheath on his right hip. “I can take care of us.”

“Big talk for a fourteen-year-old,” Ernestine remarked.

“Poppa says I’m a man now,” Leo said. “And don’t you forget it!”

“Men do their duties. They don’t go chasing noises and funny lights,” Ernestine mentioned. “Then you saw the lights too?” Leo asked. Ernestine nodded. “What do you think they was?”

“I don’t know,” Ernestine replied. “It looked like the sun was reflectin’ off of somethin’ shiny,” Leo guessed. He hastened to the west. “Slow down!” Ernestine complained. “You’re the one who’s worried about gettin’ our butts blistered,” Leo reminded her.

Ernestine walked faster, sticking to her brother’s heels, watching the sweat trickle from under his Afro. The scorching July heat caked her faded jeans and yellow blouse to her trim body. Leo’s jeans and brown shirt were stained with sweat marks. She glanced down at her grungy sneakers, at the holes exposing her toes, thankful for the ventilation.

“It can’t be more than a mile,” Leo said.

“I ain’t going no mile.”

“A mile’s not far.”

“The hell it ain’t,” Ernestine declared. “We’re in the bush, you idiot!”

Leo skirted a dense cluster of shoulder-high bushes. “So?”

“So there’s mutants in the bush,” Ernestine stated. “There ain’t many mutants in these parts,” Leo said.

“One is enough to waste your black butt,” Ernestine commented. “All you do is gripe.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Ernestine advised. They trekked westward, staying in the open areas where possible. Once they startled a marsh rabbit, distinguished by its short, broad ears. It took off from a clump of weeds in their path and zigzagged to the west, its small gray and brown tail bouncing with each leap. “There must be water hereabouts,” Leo remarked. Ernestine felt her skin crawl. She didn’t like the idea of being near water. Water meant a swamp or a marsh. Water meant a lot of wildlife. Water meant possible mutants. “Let’s go back,” she recommended.

“Not yet.”

“Come on! This is stupid!”

“Just a ways yet,” Leo insisted. They hiked for several hundred yards.

“This is stupid,” Ernestine reiterated, peeved. Leo didn’t reply. He angled to the left, heading up a low hill.

“What are you doing?” Ernestine asked impatiently.

“We’ll see good from this hill,” Leo said. They reached the crest of the hill and halted. To the west stretched a swampy tangle of lush vegetation.

“This is it!” Ernestine announced. “I ain’t going no farther!”

“We could go a little ways,” Leo urged.

“Not into no swamp!” Ernestine stated. “You know better.”

Leo sighed. “I guess you’re right.” He sauntered down the hill toward a wide pool of brackish water.

“What are you doing?” Ernestine questioned, following. “I said this is it!”

“Just to the edge of the water.”

“What difference does it make?” Ernestine snapped.

Leo disregarded her protest, walking to the bank bordering the pool.

“Leo! I want to go home! Now!” Ernestine stepped to his left.

“Hold your horses,” Leo responded. He knelt at the edge of the bank and dipped his left hand into the water. “Don’t drink that!” Ernestine warned. “How dumb do you think I am?” Leo asked. He cupped water in his left hand and splashed the cool liquid on his face.

Ernestine hesitated for a moment, then joined him. “This feels nice,” she commented, swirling her right arm in the pool. She imitated her brother, feeling a sense of relief as the water trickled down her cheeks, over her chin, and moistened her neck. Leo rose. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” Ernestine said, reaching for another handful of water. As she did, her left foot slipped, throwing her off balance to the left.

The motion saved her life.

An alligator surged from under the water, its mouth opening wide, its broad, rounded snout tilted upwards, its teeth exposed. The gator’s jaws closed within an inch of Ernestine, who screeched and scrambled backwards.

Leo gripped her by the armpits and hauled her from the bank.

The alligator came after them, a huge specimen over 12 feet in length, its powerful, squat legs propelling it up and over the bank at a speed belying its bulk. The beast snapped at Ernestine’s feet, missing her heels by a hairs-breadth.

“Leo!” Ernestine squealed.

Leo jerked her upright, twisted, and shoved, sending her stumbling.

“Run!” he shouted. He took a stride.

Her eyes riveted on the gator, terrified to her core, Ernestine saw the massive reptile lunge forward. She screamed as its maw closed on her brother’s right leg with a sickening crunch.

Leo stiffened, his brown eyes bulging, and shrieked.

The alligator twisted its head, upending its victim.

“Leo!” Ernestine cried.

Her brother was flat on his back, his face contorted in severe agony, desperately striving to draw his machete.

Ernestine froze.

The gator began to move backwards, dragging Leo, intending to savor its meal in the pool. With slow, measured steps, it slid toward the water.

“Leo!” Ernestine yelled, her fear for his safety eclipsing her instinctive sense of self-preservation. She darted to the left, past Leo, and up to the gator’s head.

“Run!” Leo shouted, pulling the machete.

Ernestine kicked at the reptile’s protruding right eye, but missed. “Let go of him!” she wailed.

The alligator abruptly shifted position, bending its body in half, whipping its heavily armored tail in a tight arc while keeping its teeth imbedded in its prey’s leg.

Ernestine felt something slam into her left side, and then she was sailing through the air to crash onto her back on the hard ground. Dazed by the impact, she forced herself to roll over and faced the pool.

The lower third of the gator’s serrated tail was already in the water.

Leo swung the machete, landing a blow on the reptile’s snout.

The beast’s eyes blinked, but that was the only reaction as it continued to ease backwards into the water.

“Leo!” Ernestine shouted in dismay. The alligator would drag her brother under the surface! Leo would drown! She pushed to her knees.

Half the reptile’s tail was immersed.

“Leo!”

A loud pounding unexpectedly sounded to Ernestine’s rear. A hurtling figure flashed past her, a giant of a man in a black leather vest, green fatigue pants, and black boots. She gaped at the newcomer in astonishment as he launched himself in a flying dive onto the alligator!

Mesmerized, she saw the man swing his legs around as he landed on top of the reptile. His left arm looped under the alligator’s thick neck as his right arm swept aloft. Clutched in his right hand was a gleaming knife.

Leo, about to swing the machete again, froze.

Ernestine couldn’t believe her own eyes! The giant was the biggest man she’d ever seen, at least seven feet in height, and his body rippled with layer upon layer of bulging muscle. His hair was dark, hanging above his gray eyes. She glimpsed his features in the fraction of a second before he went into action.

The giant’s right hand plunged downward, burying his large knife in the gator’s head between the eyes.

Ernestine saw the alligator respond in a fury, releasing her brother and swiveling its head toward the giant. It snapped at the man with the knife, unable to get a grip. The newcomer’s knife sank into the gator’s head again and again. With an enraged hiss, the reptile suddenly scrambled backwards into the pool, and no sooner was it in the water than the gator rolled, seeking to dislodge its foe.

The water became a wild whirlpool of thrashing forms, the reptile spinning over and over as the man hung onto its neck and repeatedly stabbed his knife into the gator’s head.

Ernestine was filled with awe at the white giant’s daring. But how could any man, even someone with his incredible physique, hope to kill a 12-foot gator with just a knife?

More pounding came from behind her. Two men raced to the edge of the pool and halted. One was a lanky man dressed in buckskins and moccasins. His hair and sweeping mustache were both blond. Around his slim waist were strapped a pair of pearl-handled revolvers. A camouflage backpack rested between his shoulder blades, and a rifle was slung over his left shoulder. He stood six feet tall, an easy head and shoulders above his smaller companion. The second man was dressed all in black, a glimmering sword held in his hands. His features were Oriental, his hair dark. Like the man in buckskins, the man in black had a backpack. An M-16 was slung over the Oriental’s right shoulder.

For a second or two Ernestine was distracted by the arrival of the two men. She glanced at the pool again to find the gator on its side, struggling feebly, as the giant continued to ram his knife into the beast.

The man in buckskins took a step into the pool, but the wiry man in black grabbed the blond’s left arm.

“It’s not necessary,” the man in black said. “The alligator is finished.”

“I reckon,” the one clad in buckskins responded uncertainly. His hands hovered near his pearl-handled revolvers.

The short man in black turned and studied Leo for a moment. He replaced his sword in a black scabbard slanted under his black belt above his left hip, then walked to Leo. “I’ll tend your injury,” he offered in a soft tone.

Leo appeared to be in a state of shock. He simply nodded, his mouth slack.

Ernestine slowly stood.

The alligator was limp, all except for the sluggish twitching of its tail. A punctured mess of flesh, spurting blood, was all that remained of the creature’s upper head.

Ernestine watched as the giant straightened, the water reaching above his waist. He stared at the gator, evidently insuring the reptile was no longer a threat. Satisfied, he looked at the man in buckskins and smiled.

“You’re lucky it was just a little one,” the man in buckskins quipped.

“You call this little?” the giant retorted, moving toward the bank.

Ernestine saw the alligator abruptly turn upright, its wicked maw swooping at the giant’s back. She went to yell a warning, but the man in the buckskins was faster. His hands were twin streaks as his revolvers cleared leather, and both guns boomed simultaneously.

The gator’s eyes exploded.

Perhaps sensing his danger, the giant had started to pivot to confront the reptile. He watched as the great body sagged and was partially submerged, then he headed for shore again. “Thanks,” he said to the blond man.

The gunman chuckled and twirled his revolvers into their holsters. “It was a piece of cake, pard.”

“For you maybe,” the giant said. “But try killing an alligator with a Bowie knife sometime. It isn’t easy.”

“It gave you an excuse to take your annual bath,” the gunman remarked. “Besides, you like doing things the hard way.”

The giant placed his Bowie knife in a sheath on his right hip.

Ernestine realized the giant was carrying an identical Bowie on his left hip, and for the first time she noted the two ammo belts crisscrossing his broad chest.

“Do you think that critter might have a hubby hereabouts?” the gunman asked as his enormous friend stepped onto the bank.

“Maybe,” the giant answered. He glanced at the carcass. “What makes you think that one was female?”

“Anything that contrary had to be,” the gunman joked.

“And you talk about me being lucky,” the giant muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re the lucky one,” the giant said. “If Sherry wasn’t such an understanding wife, she would have booted you out the door years ago.”

The gunman elected to change the topic. He faced Ernestine and smiled. “Howdy, ma’am. The handle is Hickok,” he disclosed, crossing to her and extending his right hand.

Ernestine gazed up into a pair of alert blue eyes. “Hello,” she responded, shaking.

“The Spirit smiled on you today,” Hickok remarked, nodding at her brother.

Leo was lying on his back, grimacing, his right forearm on his forehead.

The short man in black had deposited his backpack on the dirt and removed a brown leather pouch. Having lifted Leo’s shredded pant material to one side, he was administering a greenish powder to the deep lacerations.

The giant walked over to the man in black. “How is he, Rikki?”

The one called Rikki looked at the man with the Bowies. “I believe the leg is broken,” he replied. “He requires stitches in two of the gashes. The rest is not as serious.” He paused. “The herbs will prevent an infection, but the leg should be set and the wounds cleansed with hot water as soon as possible.”

“We could start a fire here,” the giant proposed.

“Our cabin!” Ernestine blurted. “Bring him to our cabin!”

“Is your cabin nearby?” the giant inquired.

“It’s five miles or so that way,” Ernestine said, pointing to the east.

“The cabin would be better,” Rikki mentioned.

“Then the cabin it is,” the giant stated. “I’ll carry the boy. Hickok, you bring the girl. Rikki, my gear.” He nodded at a point behind Ernestine.

She turned and discovered another camouflage backpack and an automatic rifle ten feet to her rear. The giant must have dropped them when he came to their rescue. She began to rotate toward the giant, and was startled when a strong arm encircled her waist and another scooped her up by the knees. “What?” she exclaimed.

“Don’t fret none,” Hickok advised, holding her close to his chest.

Ernestine could see the giant lifting Leo with extreme care. “Put me down! I can walk!”

“It will be quicker this way,” Hickok told her.

“I can walk!” Ernestine protested.

“You’ve just been through a nasty ordeal,” Hickok observed. “You rest and leave the runnin’ to us.” He jogged to the east, heading up the hill.

The giant was following with Leo.

Rikki was donning his backpack.

“But it’s five miles!” Ernestine emphasized.

“So?” Hickok responded.

“You can’t carry me five miles,” Ernestine assured him. “It’s too far.”

“This is nothin’. I once had to lug him,” Hickok said, indicating the giant with a jerk of his head. “It about near gave me a hernia.”