Seattle Run

Chapter Seven

No one was more surprised than Hickok when he sailed over the top railing. He tried to grab for the rail but missed, and he felt the musty air rushing past his face as he dropped like the proverbial rock.

Why did these things always happen to him?

He glimpsed the third-floor landing and he tried to grasp at the metal railing. His fingers closed on the center of the three horizontal rails, and for a fleeting instant he thought he would arrest his fall. His right hand couldn’t bear the burden of his weight, though, and his hold was torn loose by his momentum.

He would only get one more chance.

Then splat!

Hickok acrobatically twisted in midair, extending his upper torso toward the landings, and when the second-floor landing materialized underneath him he was ready. Both hands closed on the top rail, gripping for all he was worth, and his body whipped around in a tight arch, slamming into the railing and knocking the breath out of him. He gasped and held on, his shoulder muscles feeling like they’d been torn in half. His senses swam and there was an acute ache in his abdomen.

Dear Spirit!

That was close!

Hickok dangled from the railing for a minute, gathering his energy and his wits. He vaguely became aware of a commotion far overhead.

Blade!

Hickok struggled to pull himself up and over the railing, his arms quivering, his shoulders throbbing. The excruciating anguish threatened to overwhelm him, and for a second he felt like he would pass out. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and succeeded in raising his head and shoulders above the top rail.

His sweaty hands were beginning to slip!

Hickok’s lips compressed together as he hauled himself up to his waist.

He teetered on the brink, marshaling his strength, then swung his chest all the way over the top rail. Gravity did the rest, and he tumbled onto the landing, his left shoulder absorbing the brunt of the impact.

Blazes!

Hickok almost cried out, but didn’t. He inhaled deeply, listening to the sound of a gun battle outside.

Rikki and Yama were in trouble.

But Blade took priority. The giant was the head Warrior, second only to Plato in importance to the Family. Hickok decided to save Blade first, then help Rikki and Yama. If they needed help. Those two could handle practically anything or anyone.

The commotion up above had ceased.

Hickok went to roll onto his back, the movement racking his body with torment. He suppressed the discomfort and turned over.

So far, so good.

He propped his palms on the landing and attempted to push himself erect, bu.t his arms and shoulders wouldn’t cooperate. His shoulders felt like burning coals had been imbedded in his flesh, and he wondered if one arm or both had been wrenched from its socket.

That would be all he needed!

Hickok waited, chafing at the delay, knowing he would do more damage if he tried to rise prematurely. Just a minute more, he hoped, and he would be able to stand. But would he be able to use his Pythons?

The gunfire outside had abated.

Where were Yama and Rikki?

Hickok cocked his head, perplexed by the sudden silence. Why didn’t he hear anything upstairs? The quiet upset him more than the sound of fighting. At least when he heard gunfire and a commotion, he knew his friends were alive and giving the enemy heck.

A minute dragged by. Two. Shots sounded farther away.

Enough was enough!

Come on, boy! Hickok goaded himself, grunting as he pressed his palms against the landing and shoved. His arms felt weak, but he was able to sit up. The exertion caused his shoulders to throb worse than before.

Who was the dummy who said this run would be a piece of cake?

He’d like to shoot the idiot!

Hickok grinned at his own joke. He shifted, tucking his legs under him, then stood without employing his arms.

Bingo!

But now what?

The gunman cautiously moved to the edge of the landing and looked upward. There was no one in sight. Where were their attackers? He slowly climbed the stairs, one at a time, as sensation returned to his arms.

Could he draw his Colts yet?

Hickok clenched and unclenched his hands, limbering his muscles, gauging the extent of flexibility in his hands. He placed his hands on the Pythons, feeling the cool grips against his skin. Pausing, he tried to whip the Colts free, but the best he could do was ease them from their holsters.

He leveled the barrels and continued climbing, becoming doubly alert as he neared the fourth floor.

This was where they’d been jumped.

He peeked over the landing, surprised to discover it was vacant. Even his M-16 was gone.

What about Blade?

Hickok boldly walked to the doorway and stared down the corridor, his eyes widening in amazement.

They were gone!

The bushwhackers and Blade were gone!

But if they hadn’t passed him, then there must be another way out of the building. A rear exit maybe.

Annoyed, Hickok turned and hastened down the stairwell to the lobby.

He rushed across to the glass doors, noticing one of them had been shot out. Bodies littered the steps beyond and the street below, but none of them were moving. And Rikki and Yama were nowhere in sight.

Blast!

Hickok shoved through the glass doors, forgetting his sore shoulders and paying for his neglect with a painful twinge. The air was refreshing on his face. He halted and surveyed the street and the nearest buildings.

No one.

Where was everybody?

Hickok went down the steps to the sidewalk, debating which way to go.

Faint yelling seemed to be coming from behind the edifice he’d just vacated. He heard a voice and glanced to the left.

Three men and a woman, all on the grubby side, unexpectedly appeared on the left side of the steps. They were in a heated discussion and they hadn’t seen him.

Yet.

Hickok darted to the right, his moccasins pounding, wanting to temporarily evade them until he regained better use of his arms. His accuracy was undoubtedly diminished, while theirs wasn’t. And two of the men carried rifles.

“Hey! There goes one!” a man bellowed.

“Stop!” shouted another.

Not on your life! Hickok mentally vowed. He weaved to the left as a shot rang out, into the street, the move saving his life, causing the rifleman to miss. He bounded across the street as a second shot cracked and missed.

What a bunch of cow chips!

Hickok ran behind a row of trees lining the opposite sidewalk, interposing the trees as a screen.

Two more shots blasted.

Something tugged at Hickok’s right sleeve as he raced to the south. He passed building after building, some damaged, some untouched.

The rifles weren’t firing.

Had the yahoos given up?

Hickok came to an intersection and jogged to the left, looking over his left shoulder as he made the turn, discovering the quartet a block behind him in hot pursuit. He grinned, confident he could elude them, facing forward, his eyes expanding in stark astonishment as he abruptly stopped, nearly tripping over his own feet.

No!

Not another one!

But it was.

Another gigantic crab was blocking the sidewalk not eight feet away, its eyes on him!