Capital Run

Chapter Six

“But I told you before!” Jeff whined, his beard quivering. “I don’t know where they’d take your friend!”

“You must have some idea,” Blade said. They were parked next to the curb on Clayton Boulevard, the cycle’s motor idling. Several children were playing 40 yards to the east. A man and a woman were leaning against a building 20 yards from the children. None of them paid any attention to Blade and the biker. Why should they? Blade reasoned. With his leather vest, he must appear to be another Leather Knight. He had forced Jeff to stick to the side streets after they’d entered St. Louis. Once a pack of seven bikers had passed, but they’d only waved and continued riding. Blade had beamed at them and returned their wave.

“There are a bunch of places they could’ve taken him,” Jeff said. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Blade, seated behind the biker on the cycle, placed his right hand on the Leather Knight’s right shoulder and squeezed.

Jeff flinched and cringed.

Blade allowed his steely fingers to relax. “I’m losing my patience,” he informed Jeff. “I don’t care where you start looking, but you had better start right now!”

Jeff nodded and quickly accelerated from the curb. He traveled east on Clayton Boulevard, then made a left on Hanley Road, and shortly thereafter took a right on Delmar Boulevard.

Blade saw more and more people as they drew closer to the inner city.

Most of them did not wear the distinctive black leather of the Leather Knights. He was surprised to discover St. Louis inhabited by thousands of residents, and he wondered why St. Louis had been spared a direct hit during World War III. Weren’t there any primary or secondary military targets in the St. Louis area at the time of the war? He couldn’t remember.

They passed four Leather Knights heading in the opposite direction.

And what about the Leather Knights? Blade asked himself. How was it the people of St. Louis allowed themselves to be dominated by the Knights? Was it the protection the Knights afforded? Or simply the fact that, according to Jeff, the Leather Knights possessed almost all of the functional firearms and an armory of other weapons?

Up ahead loomed an intersection. Jefferson Avenue, said a sign.

Blade’s reverie deepened. He mentally compared the Leather Knights to his Family. In the Family, men and women equally shared the responsibilities and duties of preserving the Home and rearing children.

Women were even accorded Warrior status. But here in St. Louis it was different. The women evidently lorded it over the men. Why did the men permit it? By Jeff’s own admission, the men were no longer numerically inferior, as they had been immediately after the “turf wars.” So why didn’t the men, if they resented the treatment they were receiving, rectify the situation? Was it because, after a century of female control, the men were conditioned to accept it as an indisputable fact?

Lost in thought, Blade failed to notice the three Leather Knights parked at the side of the road, in a small grassy stretch behind a ruined truck, just past the intersection with Jefferson Avenue.

But Jeff did see them. One of them glanced in his direction, and Jeff silently formed the word “Help!” with his lips.

The Knights’ eyes narrowed.

Jeff repeated his action, twisting the left corner of his mouth backwards after he mouthed the word.

Where did the Leather Knights obtain their motorcycles? Blade speculated silently. How were they able to maintain the bikes? Where did they find the spare parts and the fuel? Why didn’t—

There was a loud rumble from the rear.

Blade looked over his left shoulder.

Three Leather Knights were rapidly bearing down on them.

Blade shifted in his seat. Why was the trio coming so fast? Were they on urgent business of some nature? Or did they suspect he was an impostor? Blade leaned forward. “Faster,” he ordered. He peered over his shoulder again, expecting his command to be obeyed. Blade knew Jeff was intimidated by him, and he confidently disregarded the possibility of the craven biker resisting. Complacency, one of the cardinal errors a Warrior could commit, inevitably precipitated adversity. And this time was no exception.

Jeff gunned the motor and the cycle streaked forward from 40 to 50 miles an hour. When he reached 50, Jeff unexpectedly rammed his left elbow around, slamming it into Blade’s side. At the same instant he jerked the cycle to the left, adding the momentum of the bike to his blow.

Caught completely unaware, Blade, one hand holding the Commando and the other loosely on Jeff’s shoulder, was knocked from the bike. It happened so quickly he scarcely realized what occurred; one second he was riding the motorcycle, and the next he was on the road, his body rolling end over end to the south side of the highway. His body crashed into a hard object, his right side bearing the brunt of the impact. Stunned, he shook his head to clear the cobwebs, then urged to his feet as the true magnitude of his dilemma hit home.

The three Leather Nights, guns drawn, were 30 yards off and roaring toward him.

Jeff had accelerated after dumping Blade, and was now hightailing it to the east.

Damn!

Blade realized the Commando was still in his hands. He’d instinctively clasped it to his chest as he tumbled from the cycle. Thank the Spirit his stupidity wasn’t total!

The three Leather Knights began firing. Two of them had revolvers, the third a rifle.

Blade crouched and fired a burst from the Commando.

One of the Knights screamed as his chest was cut to ribbons and he was flipped from his cycle. The bike crashed to the road and slid for 20 feet, sparks flying from underneath, before it came to a rest.

The two remaining bikers veered to the other side of the road, vanishing behind an overgrown hedge.

Doubledamn!

Blade rose and turned, scanning the nearby buildings for the best cover.

His left foot caught on something and he sprawled to the ground.

What the—?

It was a peculiar object, sort of a metallic reddish mushroom, with caps of some sort on both sides and a curved top. The red paint was peeled and faded. The lower end of the object was embedded in the concrete curb. It was the thing he’d hit after falling from the bike. What in the world was it?

A shot cracked from behind the hedge and the sidewalk near Blade’s eyes was chipped by a bullet, fragments spraying outwards.

Blade felt a cement chip strike his left cheek, drawing blood and he leaped up and ran for a large tree ten feet away.

The two Leather Knights opened up at random.

Blade reached the tree and ducked from sight. What now? He was afoot, in enemy territory, and he had no idea where Rikki was being held—if Rikki was still alive—in St. Louis, an immense city impossible for one man to adequately cover.

The Leather Knights had stopped shooting.

Maybe Hickok had been right. Maybe both of them should have ventured into the city.

Far off, to the east, appeared more bikers.

Terrific!

It was probably Jeff with reinforcements. So now he had Knights behind him and Knights in front of him.

What to do?

Blade peeked around the trunk of the tree. All was quiet in the vicinity of the hedge. He darted from the tree and raced to the corner of the street.

A weather-ravaged sign indicated this was the junction of Delmar and 23rd. He jogged to his right, staying on the worn sidewalk, seeking a hiding place or somewhere he could make a stand. He lost track of the distance he ran as he took one side street after another, first in one direction, then in another, hoping to lose the Leather Knights. He could hear their bikes to his rear and to his left. They were probably conducting a sweep.

Over a dozen residents saw him run by, but none of them displayed any inclination to interfere with a bronzed giant carting a machine gun.

An alley appeared on his right, its entrance filled with rusted trash cans and other debris.

Blade paused and surveyed the street he was on. He was alone. Perfect!

He hurried into the alley and slid behind a pile of moldy boxes and piled garbage.

None too soon.

Two Leather Knights thundered into view, slowly cruising the street, each biker concentrating on one side.

Blade flattened against the west wall of the alley and tensed. Would they stop and investigate the alley?

The pair of Knights, a woman and a man, a “sister” and a “stud,” drew abreast of the alley.

The woman braked.

Blade could see them through a crack between the boxes.

The woman was eying the alley speculatively, apparently considering whether to check it out.

The man stopped and glanced at the woman. “Come on,” he said. “No one would hide in that crap.”

“You never know,” the woman stated. She turned off her bike and dismounted.

Blade placed his finger on the Commando’s trigger.

The male Knight sighed and did the same.

Blade focused on the slim opening dividing the boxes and garbage at the mouth of the alley.

The sister drew an automatic pistol in her left hand and cautiously advanced.

The stud was ten feet behind her, his revolver still in its holster on his right hip, certain they were wasting their time.

Blade made a calculated decision. If the women ruled the Leather Knights, then one of them was his best bet for supplying the information he required.

This woman was of average height, about five feet six, and in the neighborhood of 115 pounds. She wore a black vest and black shorts, revealing an ample cleavage and very shapely legs. Her hair was a dusty blonde, her facial features lean but attractive. The automatic was aimed straight ahead and her brown eyes alertly probed the alley as she neared it.

Blade held his breath and clutched the Commando.

The woman reached the mouth of the alley. She took a tentative step forward and glanced to the east.

Blade sprang, sweeping the Commando stock around and in, catching the Leather Knight in the abdomen.

The woman doubled over as the stock plowed into her stomach. She gasped and dropped the pistol, dazed, out of breath.

The stud’s face had betrayed his astonishment as the sister was struck, and now he went for his revolver, clawing at his holster, frantically attempting to draw.

Blade, thankful his opponent lacked even a third of Hickok’s speed, raised the Commando and fired over the woman’s back.

His hand still striving to draw his gun, the Knight was hit in the head by the burst. His eyes and nose caved inward in a spray of red and he toppled to the street.

No time to lose!

Blade clipped the woman on her jaw as she took a step backwards. She moaned and sagged to the ground, unconscious.

If only he knew how to ride a motorcycle!

Blade knelt and lifted the woman in his brawny left arm. He effortlessly draped her over his broad shoulders and wheeled, making for the gloomy interior of the alley. His nose was assailed by absolutely revolting odors, almost prompting him to gag. Avoiding soggy mounds of garbage, his boots squishing with every step, he reached a low wall at the end of the alley. The top of the wall was six feet from the ground.

The Leather Knight groaned.

Blade slung his Commando over his right shoulder, then leaped, his arms clearing the top of the wall up to his elbows. He easily pulled himself over the brick wall, with the woman over his shoulder, and dropped to the ground on the other side.

A vacant parking lot fronted the alley wall.

Blade unslung his Commando and began walking across the lot.

Tumble-down buildings bordered the parking lot on three sides, possibly former apartment dwellings now in a state of terminal decay. The north side of the lot was adjacent to a street.

Would the Leather Knights be hunting for him in this area? Or had they already done so and departed?

Blade glanced in both directions when he reached the street. Good! No one was in sight. On the other side of the street rose a three-story brick building, obviously uninhabited to judge by the number of broken windows and its grubby appearance. He jogged across the street and up a flight of cement steps to the landing. The door was slightly ajar, and he eased it open with his right foot. The hinges creaked as the door swayed outward. He crept inside, keeping his back to the wall, listening for sounds.

All was quiet.

Blade resisted an urge to sneeze. There was a lot of dust in the air and a musty scent about the place. He was in a wide hallway leading into the dim recesses of the building. A flight of stairs to the right led to the floors above.

The woman was moaning.

Blade opted for the stairs. He took three at a stride as he climbed to the third floor. This floor received considerable light through its missing or cracked windows, illuminating the rooms with a diluted, dusty haze. He entered a room providing a vista of the street below and deposited his prisoner on the floor, near the one window, propping her against the wall to the left of the sill. He took a step back and aimed the Commando at her head.

She woke up.

Blade had to admire her reaction. There wasn’t a hint of fear in her brown eyes, just a trace of surprise and unconcealed defiance.

“Who the hell are you?” the blonde demanded angrily.

Blade grinned and wagged the barrel of the Commando. “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind,” he said.

The blonde shrugged. “Suit yourself, slime! You’ve got the upper hand, for now anyway.”

“How are you feeling?” Blade asked.

She gingerly rubbed her sore chin. “I’ll live, no thanks to you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mel,” she answered, examining him from head to toe.

“Mel? That’s a strange name for a woman,” Blade said.

“It’s short for Melissa,” Mel revealed.

“I’ll get right to the point, Mel,” Blade said. “I’m looking for a friend of mine, a short man dressed in black with what you might describe as Oriental features. Have you seen him?”

Mel’s face tightened. “No,” she responded defensively.

Blade moved the Commando closer to her face. “You’re lying. I don’t have time to play games with you. Either you cooperate, or I’ll take this gun and smash your teeth in.”

Mel studied him a moment. “I believe you would at that,” she said.

“And I sure don’t want to call your bluff. My teeth are important to me.”

She smirked and moved her mouth back and forth. “I’m lucky I have any left after that sock you gave me.”

“So where is the man in black?” Blade pressed her. “Have you seen him?”

“Yep. Just a short while ago. Terza hung him and Lex out for Slither, but they escaped.” Mel laughed at the memory. “No one’s ever got away from Slither before! Terza was ready to shit bricks!”

“You say they escaped?” Blade inquired hopefully.

“Yes and no,” Mel said.

“How do you mean?”

“They got away from Slither, but then they were caught again nearby,” Mel elaborated.

“Where are they now?”

“Terza is holding them at the library. I don’t know why. She probably has something special in store for your friend. Maybe she’ll feed him to Grotto,” Mel disclosed.

“What is this Grotto I keep hearing about?” Blade inquired.

Mel seemed to shiver. “Grotto is one of the things— you know, like Slither—those mutant things we’ve got all over the place.”

Blade pondered for a minute. “How far are we from the library?”

“Not far,” Mel said.

“How long would it take us to get there?” Blade asked.

“Not long.”

“Be specific,” Blade instructed her. “Fifteen minutes? A half an hour?

What?”

Mel appeared to be confused. “What’s a minute?” she questioned him.

Blade chuckled. He kept forgetting! People living outside the Home or the Civilized Zone existed, for the most part, in profound ignorance.

Public education was a thing of the past. Few books survived because most had been destroyed in the century since World War III, many used as kindling for fires during the frigid winters. Here and there, isolated pockets of humanity retained minimal knowledge of the cultural and scientific achievements extant at the outbreak of the war. “A minute is a measure of time,” Blade told her. “Don’t any of the Leather Knights own a watch?”

Mel shook her head. “Nope. Should we?”

“No,” Blade stated. “I guess not. It’s hard to imagine a watch lasting a hundred years.” A puzzling thought occurred to him. If most of the Leather Knights were as ignorant as Melissa, then how were they able to maintain their motorcycles? “About your bikes,” he said.

“What about them?”

“Where do you obtain them?” Blade queried. “Where do you get them from?”

“We get them from our head when we take the oath,” Mel answered.

“Your leader gives them to you when you take your oath of admittance?”

“That’s what I said,” Mel declared.

“But where does your leader get them from? Do you have your own mechanics?” Blade asked.

Mel nodded. “A lot of the Knights can fix their own bikes.”

“Where do they learn to do it? Where do they get the parts?” Blade inquired.

“As far as fixing the bikes goes,” Mel said, “we sort of pick it up from each other. The parts we get from the Technics.”

“The Technics?”

“Yeah. They live up north, in a city called…” She paused, trying to recall the name she wanted.

“Is it a big city?” Blade goaded her. “A small city? What?”

“I’ve never been there,” Melissa said. “But I heard it’s real big. I remember something about wind…”

“The Windy City? Chicago?” Blade ventured.

“That’s it! Chicago,” Mel confirmed.

“Who are these Technics?”

“I don’t know much about them,” Mel said. “Except that they control a lot of turf north of us and they’re very powerful.”

“Why do they supply you with parts for your cycles?” Blade asked.

“Because of the pact.”

“What pact?”

“There’s a pact between us Knights and the Technics. They’ve agreed to help us out with our bikes, and we help them by controlling this territory and making sure the Reds don’t get past us.”

“I had a run-in with the Reds,” Blade disclosed. “Who are they?”

“The Reds? They’re the Commies,” Mel said matter-of-factly.

“Communists? These Reds are Communists? Are they Russians?” Blade inquired in an excited tone.

“I don’t know nothing about no Russians,” Mel responded. “I only know we’ve been calling them Reds or Commies since I was a little girl. They’re our enemies. They spy on us a lot with those copters of theirs, and we take potshots at them whenever we get the chance. Mostly they stay on their side of the river and we stay on ours.”

“So the Communists control the land east of the Mississippi?” Blade probed.

“They control a lot of it, I hear,” Mel affirmed. “The Technics control some too. And there are other groups.” Her voice lowered. “The Dragons are the ones you want to avoid. I’ve been told stories about them you wouldn’t believe!” She trembled.

“Where are these Dragons located?”

“Way to the east of here,” Mel replied. “But south of the Reds.”

Blade contemplated her revelations. He’d never heard of the Dragons or the Technics before. But the Communists were another matter. The Family’s leaders had often wondered what happened to the Russians after the war. Why hadn’t the U.S.S.R. taken over the U.S.? After the devastating nuclear exchange, not to mention all of the chemical and conventional weapons employed during the war, the remnants of the U.S.

Government had evacuated the populace and reorganized their forces in the Midwest and Rocky Mountain region, locating the new capital at Denver, Colorado. They had braced for a Russian invasion, an eventuality which had never transpired. Except for vague rumors, the Russians had never materialized. The U.S. Government had devolved into a dictatorship known as the Civilized Zone, and only recently had the people of the Civilized Zone reclaimed their heritage and asserted their independence.

During the intervening century, as the years rolled on and the Russians never attacked, the people in the Civilized Zone had forgotten about their former adversaries. But if, as Melissa asserted, the Russians did control a section of the U.S., then the Civilized Zone and all of the other members of the Freedom Federation must be warned! The Family, the Cavalry in the Dakota territory, the Flathead Indians in Montana and the Moles in their subterranean city in northern Minnesota must all be alerted to the Soviet presence.

Melissa was waiting for Blade to speak.

“Has anyone ever gone into Red territory?” Blade asked.

“Years ago some tried,” Mel answered.

“What did they discover?”

“Nothing. They never came back,” she said.

Blade stared out the window, noting the light was fading. “I want you to take me to the library where my friend is being held.”

Mel started to rise.

“Not now!” Blade said. “After it’s dark we’ll leave.”

She resettled herself on the floor. “Fine by me. But you’d be doing yourself a favor if you took off. There’s no way you’re going to save him.”

“I’ve got to try.”

“Any last words you want me to say when we plant you?”