Atlanta Run

Chapter Sixteen

“Are you sure those two will take good care of the princess?”

“Scarlet and Jane will protect Chastity with their lives.”

“Have they ever baby-sat before?”

Locklin looked at the gunfighter in annoyance. “Will you give me a break? Chastity is in good hands.” He hurried ahead, muttering. “You’d think you were her father, the way you act!”

“Now what in the blazes got into that yahoo?” Hickok asked.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, walking on the gunman’s right, grinned. “You like the child, don’t you?”

“I reckon I’m a mite fond of her,” Hickok confessed. “She saved my hide yesterday.”

“So you’ve said,” Rikki mentioned. “About three dozen times.”

“I was tickled pink when I saw you walk into the clearing,” Hickok said.

“Another ape would’ve driven me bananas.”

Rikki glanced at his friend. “Have you made your decision yet?”

“She told you?”

“Last night, when we were sitting around the campfire,” Rikki disclosed. “She calls me Uncle Rikki now.”

“Well, Uncle Rikki, I need your advice.”

“You are asking for advice?” Rikki responded in surprise.

“What’s the big deal?”

“You never ask for advice,” Rikki said.

“I’m askin’ now.”

“The decision is yours,” Rikki stated.

Hickok frowned. “Remind me to never ask for your advice again.”

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes,” Rikki added.

“Are you tryin’ to cheer me up or depress me?” the gunman asked.

“I just want to help.”

Hickok made a snorting sound. “If you call this helpin’, I’d hate to see it when you’re being wishy-washy.”

“Will you two clowns keep the noise down?” Locklin snapped over his right shoulder.

“Cranky cuss, isn’t he?” Hickok said. He scanned the forest ahead, noting the point men 30 yards away, then stared along their back trail at the 32 men and women in green trudging toward the metropolis. Periodic breaks in the foliage enabled him to see the skyscrapers several miles distant.

“We should be there before nightfall,” Locklin announced.

Hickok gazed at the afternoon sun. “We should have gone in this morning.”

Locklin heard the comment and slowed to hike alongside the Warriors.

“Trying to enter the city in broad daylight would be suicide.”

“I hope this plan of yours works,” Hickok said.

The rebel leader’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you like me?”

“Why would you say that?” Hickok responded.

“You’ve been so critical of every decision I’ve made,” Locklin mentioned. “You didn’t like the idea of leaving Chastity with Scarlet and Jane, and you griped about my plan to wait until an hour before the Civil Council meeting to enter Atlanta.”

“It’s nothin’ personal,” Hickok assured him. “I’m worried about my pard, is all.”

“If your friend, Blade, is still alive, we’ll find him,” Locklin promised.

“If Blade isn’t alive, the Peers will regret the day they were born,” Hickok said.

They reached a field.

Locklin double-checked to insure the sky was clear of planes before giving the signal to advance.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask you something,” Hickok said as they started to cross.

“What is it?” Locklin responded.

“We have this gigantic library at our Home. When I was knee high to a whippoorwill, I spent many an hour readin’ all kinds of books. Westerns were my favorite, but I read other kinds. And one of them was about this gent who lived centuries ago in England. He was famous for robbin’ from the rich and givin’ to the poor. Like you, he was partial to the bow and arrow. Like you, he wore green all the time. And like you, he had a band of—what were they called?— happy hunters who would follow him anywhere.” Hickok hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. “Any connection?”

Locklin had listened with a smile spreading over his countenance. “You surprise me. Very few people know about Robin Hood.”

“Then there is a connection?”

“I came across a book on him and decided to emulate his style,” Locklin detailed. “Robin Hood was a master of the hit-and-run, a true guerrilla fighter. I patterned my band after him, and I gave each of them a code name based on the book. The Peers don’t know who some of us are, and there’s no reason to make their identification of us an easy job. Many of us have relatives living in the city, and to protect them we screen our true identities.”

“What’s your real name?” Hickok asked.

“Matthew. Matthew Brody.”

Hickok looked over his left shoulder at the one they called Big John.

“And him?”

“His real name is Harold Cridlebaugh.”

“I should’ve known,” the gunman said.

“Speaking of questions,” Rikki interjected, “there is an issue we haven’t discussed yet.”

“What is it?” Locklin responded.

“What will happen if you slay the Peers?”

“The people of Atlanta will finally be free,” Locklin said. “There will be celebrating in the streets.”

“Will there?”

“I don’t follow you,” Locklin stated.

“Is your small band representative of the populace of Atlanta?” Rikki probed. “Do you speak for a majority of the people, or are you in the minority? If you kill the Peers, what next? Will the people rise up to support you? Will new Peers arise? How will the Storm Police react? Will they stand idly by, or will they be actively involved in the redistribution of power?” He paused. “What will happen?”

Locklin pursed his lips and gazed absently at the ground. “I honestly don’t know,” he commented at length. “There are many people who resent the Peers and want a new government, but there are also many citizens satisfied with the status quo. I don’t know what will happen.”

“Those Storm galoots could pose a problem for you,” Hickok remarked.

“How will you deal with them? Killin’ the Peers won’t solve a thing if the Storm Police don’t side with you.”

“I’ve heard a rumor that the chief of the Storm Police, a man named Skinner, resents the Peers and wants them disposed of,” Locklin said.

“Rumors do not a revolution make,” Rikki philosophized.

“We can’t worry about the Storm Police now,” Locklin declared. “First things first. First, the Peers. We’ll tend to the Storm Police when the time comes.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Hickok said.

They finished traversing the field in contemplative silence, then hiked into another stretch of forest.

“I’d like to hear the plan again,” Hickok mentioned.

“We’ve already gone over our strategy twice,” Locklin responded.

“Humor me.”

The rebel leader sighed and scratched his beard. “The Civil Council meets in the Civil Directorate once a week at nine P.M. Their meeting chamber is located on the tenth floor of the Directorate. All we have to do is wait until eight, enter the city through the storm drains, and reach the Civil Directorate without being spotted. There should be a service elevator we can take to the tenth floor. Very few guards should be on duty because the Peers won’t be expecting any trouble.”

“It’s awful risky,” Hickok remarked.

“Do you have a better idea?” Locklin retorted. “If you want to save your friend, pray this works.”

They marched westward as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

Splendid tints of red, orange, and pink lent a grandeur to the sunset.

“I hope Chastity is okay,” Hickok commented at one point.

As the band drew ever nearer to the sprawling metropolis, they proceeded with heightened caution. Their green apparel enabled them to blend into the landscape, and they stealthily approached to within a hundred yards of the wall. Locklin gestured, and his followers instantly fanned out in a skirmish line from north to south. Putting his finger over his lips, Locklin led the two Warriors to a cluster of thick brush 70 yards from the city. He crouched and peered at the rampart.

“I count three guards,” he said.

“Four,” Rikki corrected him. “See the one to the right?”

Locklin looked and nodded. “You have good eyes.”

“But his nose is too big,” Hickok quipped.

“Where are the storm drains?” Rikki inquired.

“You can’t see them from here,” Locklin said. “There are two of them at the base of the wall, hidden in those tall weeds.”

“What about those coyotes on the wall?” Hickok asked.

Locklin consulted a watch on his left wrist. “My archers are already in position. In five minutes they’ll take the guards out.”

The gunman scrutinized the western horizon. “It won’t be dark for another half hour, at least.”

“It’s July,” Locklin said. “It doesn’t get dark until nine. But it will be on the dim side. Dusk usually is,” he concluded wryly.

The light was gradually fading as the sun began to sink out of sight.

Hickok checked the magazine in the Uzi, and saw Rikki doing the same.

On the wall, oblivious to the presence of the rebels, the guards went about their business. Two were engaged in conversation, while the remaining pair were conducting slow patrols of the rampart, one moving to the north, one to the south. All four were armed with AR-15s.

The gunman watched the tableau unfold, and he felt a degree of admiration for the skill the rebels displayed. With unerring accuracy, four arrows were released at the same moment and sped true to the respective target. Four shafts penetrated four hearts, and four forms sprawled onto the rampart.

“Now,” Locklin whispered, then held his right fist aloft. His band converged on the wall in an orderly, quiet dash.

Hickok and Rikki stayed abreast of Locklin. They waited as his men used long knives to slash an opening in the weeds, exposing a set of man-sized storm drains.

“They’re barred,” Rikki observed.

“No problem,” Locklin stated confidently, and nodded at three of his men. Each one carried a large, brown leather pouch, and from the pouch each pulled out a hacksaw. “Get to it,” he directed.

The trio applied themselves to the bars of the left-hand drain, their sawing sounding like the buzzing of a swarm of bees.

Hickok surveyed the rampart, his fingers on the Uzi trigger.

“The Storm Police assign their guards to a specific sector on the wall,” Locklin explained. “The ones we killed aren’t due to be relieved until midnight, and my men are keeping an eye on the guards north and south of here.”

“These bars are tough,” one of the men sawing commented.

“Don’t stop,” Locklin said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”

Hickok gazed into the gloomy drain. “Where does this oversized gopher hole lead?”

“These were installed after the war, when the climate changed,” Locklin answered. “Atlanta began receiving twice as much annual rainfall. The experts claimed a shift in the jet stream was to blame. Anyway, right now we’re between Rock Springs Road and La Vista. The drains lead to the Atlanta Water Works Reservoirs, to channel the overflow during the rainy season. One of the branches will lead us to within a block of the Civil Directorate. We won’t have to worry about the Storm Police.”

“Good,” Hickok said.

“We’ll just need to watch out for the rats, the spiders, and the tunnel mutants.”

“The what?” Hickok asked.

“Thousands of rats and spiders live in the drains,” Locklin detailed. “A lot are drowned during the runoff, but somehow they always multiply like rabbits afterwards.”

“And the tunnel mutants?”

“Mutants are everywhere. You know that. The storm drains are no exception,” Locklin said.

“You have used the drains before,” Rikki deduced.

“Yes,” Locklin confirmed. “We used them regularly to sneak into the city until about a year ago. Then the Storm Police caught on and installed bars on every drain.”

“Has anyone ever seen mutant apes in the drains?” Hickok inquired.

“Not to my knowledge,” Locklin replied. “Why?”

“Oh, nothin’.”

The three men were sawing at a frantic pace.

Locklin checked his watch again. “We’re falling behind schedule.” He nodded at three of his band. “Take over for them.”

A woman in green raced up to them. “More guards are coming!” she declared.

“Where?” Locklin asked.

“From the north,” the woman disclosed. “Two of them.”

“How far off?”

“Five hundred yards or better.”

“Have everyone take cover,” Locklin commanded. “Take three with you.

I want these guards stopped before they get too close. Use two archers for each guard.”

“I understand,” the woman acknowledged. She pointed at three rebels, and together they sprinted northward. The rest crouched low.

“Keep sawing,” Locklin told the men at the drain. “The guards are too far off to hear us.”

“Do you think they know we’re here?” Big John inquired.

“They have no way of knowing,” Locklin said.

Hickok stared to the north, pleased to notice the increasingly murky light.

Working strenuously, the men at the drain grunted and huffed.

The gunman gazed at the Freedom Fighters, regarding their determined, courageous expressions. Face after face conveyed a grim sense of purpose.

All except for one.

Hickok studied the singular exception, a young man with blue eyes and blond hair. What was his name again? Rikki had introduced them the night before. Dale. That was it. The youth was gnawing nervously on his lower lip and gazing apprehensively at the woods to their rear.

Why?

The gunman focused on the vegetation, searching in the shadows for signs of life.

Nothing.

Footsteps pounded on the turf and the woman returned. “More Storm Police!” she declared, out of breath.

“How many?” Locklin demanded.

“I lost count,” she responded. “I left the others to keep watch. There are dozens of police coming from the north.”

Another runner suddenly arrived from the south. “Locklin! Storm Police!”

“How many?”

“Over three dozen,” the second runner disclosed.

“What the hell is going on?” Locklin commented. “They can’t know we’re here.”

Hickok saw the youth swallow hard. “I wouldn’t bank on that, bucko.”

“Why?” Locklin asked in consternation.

Before Hickok could reply, the men at the drain removed a quarter of the barred grate.

“Locklin!” someone shouted. “The trees!”

As one, all the Freedom Fighters turned to discover the forest abruptly infested with a horde of Storm Police.

“Rebel scum!” a gruff voice bellowed, the speaker using a megaphone. “Drop your weapons and surrender, or you will die where you stand?”