Dallas Run

Chapter Eleven

“The way I read it, the woman ran in here first and Hickok went in after her,” Geronimo said.

“Then we go after him,” Blade said, and motioned at the leader of the Chains. “Get over here.”

Marlon warily stepped closer. “What?”

“Where would she go from here?” Blade asked.

“How should I know?” Marlon retorted.

“She’s your fox, as you put it,” Blade reminded him. “Where would she go with someone chasing her?”

“Anywhere,” Marlon said. “We don’t have special hiding places, if that’s what you mean. Melanie knows this area really well. She’ll probably lose your friend in no time flat.”

Blade sighed. “Okay, Geronimo lead off,” he said, then reached out, grabbed Marlon by the right shoulder, and shoved the young tough between Geronimo and himself. “You’ll walk in front of me,” he instructed.

“Any funny moves and I’ll split your skull. Understood?”

“Understood,” Marlon acknowledged sullenly.

“Lieutenant Garber, bring up the rear. Stay alert,” Blade ordered.

“Will do, sir,” the officer replied.

Without another word they entered the building. On a hunch, Geronimo bore to the left and walked until he came to a junction. He paused, eyeing both branches. “Which way?”

“Pick one,” Blade said.

Geronimo studied the two branches for several seconds and noticed the light seemed slightly brighter at the end of the right fork. “We go right,” he declared, and suited his action to his words.

“Any chance of my getting my guns back?” Marlon asked as he followed the Indian.

“None,” Blade said.

“I don’t like being unarmed.”

“Who does?”

“Particularly in here,” Marlon went on. “There are all kinds of creepy-crawlies in these old buildings.”

“We know,” Blade said. “We ran into a bunch of lizards on our way in.”

“The lizards are the least of our worries,” Marlon commented without elaborating.

They hiked in silence to where the corridor turned abruptly to the left.

“There’s an open door!” Geronimo declared, and hurried to the exit.

Once outside, he stared at the sidewalk, the curb, and the asphalt covering the street, and frowned.

Marlon, Blade, and Garber came through the doorway.

“What’s wrong?” the officer inquired, noting Geronimo’s peeved expression.

“No tracks.”

“What?” Garber asked.

Geronimo pointed at the sidewalk. “Concrete doesn’t hold prints very well unless it’s wet.”

Lieutenant Garber gazed at the curb and the street. “Oh. Then we’re stymied temporarily, aren’t we? We can’t track them. What do we do now?”

“It’s up to Blade,” Geronimo said.

“Perhaps we should stay put,” Lieutenant Garber proposed. “Hickok might return to this spot.”

Blade ran his left hand through his hair, pondering their next move.

Garber had a point about the gunman returning. They shouldn’t stray very far from the alley. He decided to return and await Hickok. As he rotated toward the doorway he noticed a sign on the building across the street.

“Listen,” Geronimo suddenly stated.

“I don’t hear anything,” Lieutenant Garber remarked.

Blade cocked his head, and to his ears came the sounds of laughter and indistinct cries.

“It’s the Chosen!” Marlon exclaimed.

“How do you know?” Blade inquired.

“I know. Trust me,” Marlon said, facing to the south, his fingers twitching nervously. “We’ve got to hide or they’ll nail us.”

“They’re coming toward us,” Geronimo announced.

“Back inside,” Blade commanded, and hustled them into the hallway.

He stepped in last, then eased the door almost shut, leaving a three-inch space through which he could watch the street.

“I’ve got to warn the Chains!” Marlon declared.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Blade said.

“At least give me my damn guns.”

“Not yet.”

Marlon uttered an oath under his breath.

In less than a minute the pounding of running feet became audible, and Blade beheld a solitary figure racing down the center of the street, a man attired in torn jeans and brown shoes. He was shirtless, and the sweat glistened on every pore of his chest and shoulders. Looped around his slim waist was a chain. Blade glanced at Marlon. “Is this guy one of your gang?”

“Who?” Marlon responded. He moved to the doorway and peered out.

“Son of a bitch! That’s Gary! Yeah, he’s one of the Chains.”

“What’s he doing by himself?”

“I don’t know. He disappeared about four days ago,” Marlon divulged.

Other figures became visible, sprinting in pursuit of the man named Gary, 30 yards to his rear and narrowing the gap rapidly.

Blade’s eyes narrowed.

Gary appeared to be on his last legs. His chest heaved and his legs pumped sluggishly. He looked over his right shoulder and nearly stumbled.

“No!” he wailed.

There were 18 pursuers, and they were evidently making a game of the chase, laughing and shouting to one another. Ten of the 18 were men, and only they wore any clothing, loincloths covering their privates. All of the women were stark naked.

Blade felt a surge of excitement.

Green splotches dotted the skin of both the men and the women, irregular marks evincing no clear-cut pattern.

“The Chosen!” Marlon hissed.

Here was a golden opportunity to take a prisoner and complete the mission! Blade smiled and hefted the M60. A few of the Chosen were straggling well behind the rest. All he had to do was wait for the main pack to pass the door, then leap out and grab the last of the stragglers before the rest knew what happened. The simplicity of his plan delighted him.

Gary was now 15 yards south of the door, and he had slowed to a virtual walk. He appeared about to keel over from exhaustion.

Blade tensed and held his breath. Keep going! his mind shrieked. Don’t stop now!

But Gary needed more than mental encouragement. He faltered and sagged to his knees, breathing raggedly, swaying from side to side, his countenance pale.

“Look at him!” one of the women after him shouted gleefully.

“He’s ours!” yelled a skinny man.

Many of the Chosen laughed.

Marlon glanced at Blade. “We’ve got to help him.”

“Forget it.”

“He’s one of the Chains,” Marlon protested. “I can’t let those bastards snatch him.”

“There’s nothing you can do. If you went out there, they’d capture you too.”

“Not if I had my guns.”

Blade scanned the Chosen, noting they were armed with a variety of weapons: rifles, handguns, knives, clubs, and more. “You still wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“I’ve got to try,” Marlon said, and the next instant he flung the door wide and ran toward Gary.

“Damn!” Blade fumed, exposed in the doorway for the approaching Chosen to see.

“Gary!” Marlon bellowed.

The onrushing group of Chosen slowed, taken aback by the unexpected appearance of Marlon and the giant. One of their number, a tall man holding an iron bar, waved his weapon in the air excitedly. “Look! Two more!” The rest responded with whoops and hollers, and they charged.

Blade was in a quandary. The opportunity to grab a captive without a fight was ruined. He felt no compulsion to intervene to save the man called Gary. By all rights he should return to the alley and hold out there until Hickok returned. But he did feel obligated to Marlon because he’d confiscated the Taurus revolvers. If Marlon died now, then Blade knew he must shoulder a portion of the responsibility for disarming the Chains’ leader.

Marlon reached Gary and leaned down to help the man rise.

“Get them!” barked one of the Chosen.

Blade estimated there were 19 yards between the two Chains and the Chosen. Marlon and Gary wouldn’t be able to reach cover in time.

“Damn!” he snapped again, and jogged to the left, to the curb, wanting the angle to be just right. He raised the M60 barrel and fired, and he saw the heavy rounds tear through the pack of Chosen like buckshot through a paper target. Seven of them dropped in half as many seconds.

The Chosen retaliated. A woman swung a rifle to her shoulder and snapped off a shot, and others followed her example.

Marlon had his right arm around Gary’s shoulders and was bracing Gary as the man shuffled toward the curb.

Undaunted by the bullets striking the ground and the walls to his rear, Blade mowed down four more of the Chosen. He saw three stragglers turn and flee, leaving four to contend with.

Through the doorway came Geronimo and Lieutenant Garber, shooting as they ran.

Gary abruptly stiffened and clutched at his back, then fell forward.

Two of the four Chosen fell, and Blade, Geronimo, and Garber concentrated their fire on the remaining pair. In seconds the duo were dead.

Blade stared at the perforated bodies for a moment, at the blood oozing from the holes, exasperated at the turn of events. He glanced at the fleeing trio, who were now 30 yards distant and hauling butt. A sob drew his attention to the two Chains.

Gary lay on the asphalt on his back, his head cradled in Marlon’s hands.

He sobbed again, his features contorted in agony. Crimson drops formed at the corners of his mouth.

Holding the M60 in the crook of his left elbow, Blade walked over.

“How is he?”

The leader of the Chains shook his head sadly.

“Marlon?” Gary said, his eyes open but unfocused.

“I’m here.”

“Where?”

“Right here,” Marlon assured him, taking Gary’s hand. “Right here, old friend.”

“They jumped me when I was scrounging over by the Plaza,” Gary said, his voice weak.

“There’s no need to talk,” Marlon responded.

“Oh, God! I hurt!” Gary cried.

Marlon bowed his head.

“They made me drink it,” Gary stated.

“Drink what?”

“The Elixir.”

“The what?”

“The Elixir of Life. That’s how they do it,” Gary said.

“What do they do?” Marlon inquired.

Instead of replying, Gary blinked and inhaled deeply. “This world sucks,” he declared, and went limp.

“Gary?” Marlon said, shaking him gently. “Gary?”

“He’s gone,” Blade said.

“Gary was one of my best friends,” Marlon said. “This is one more I owe these bastards for.”

“What did he mean about the Elixir of Life?” Blade questioned.

“Beats me. I never heard about it before.”

“Uh-oh!” Geronimo suddenly interjected, staring to the south.

Blade looked at his friend, then pivoted. Seventy yards off were the three stragglers. They had halted and were conversing with another large party of the Chosen, perhaps 30 or more. Had the second party been nearby, heard the shots, and came to investigate? The Chosen seemed to be all over the city. How many had Melanie said there were? One hundred and fifty?

“Here they come,” Geronimo announced.

Sure enough, the second group of Chosen were advancing at a brisk clip.

Blade glanced at Lieutenant Garber. “Give Marlon his guns.”

The officer hesitated.

“Now,” Blade said, and faced to the north. If they retraced their steps to the alley, they’d undoubtedly be pursued by the Chosen. Even if they eluded the pack, the Chosen might linger in the area, posing a threat to Hickok when the gunman came back.

“Let’s stand and fight,” Marlon proposed, sliding his revolvers into their holsters.

“You can do whatever you want,” Blade told him. “We’re running.”

“We’re what?” Lieutenant Garber asked in disbelief.

“We’re going to lead them off to the north, then lose them and circle around,” Blade said.

“I’m not one of your men. I can do what I want,” Marlon declared.

Blade jabbed his right forefinger at the second party. “Do you want them to be nearby when Melanie and our friend show up?”

Marlon deliberated for several seconds, and finally shook his head. “No.

I don’t.”

“Then stick with us and maybe we’ll get out of this mess alive,” Blade said. “You know the city better than we do. Lead the way. Find a spot where we can lose them.”

“Fair enough,” Marlon said, and jogged northward.

Blade ran on Marlon’s heels. Pacing him on the right was Geronimo, on the left the officer.

“There’s a place I know about a mile from here,” Marlon stated. “A building that’s a real maze. We should be able to lose them in there.”

“Go for it,” Blade said.

But they had covered only 500 yards when an unanticipated obstacle to their plan materialized directly in their path. Around the corner of an intersection 90 feet away appeared another pack of the Chosen.