Seattle Run

Chapter Eleven

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Hedy said, her tone conveying her anxiety.

“Quit gripin’,” Hickok declared.

Hedy looked at the man in buckskins. “Listen to me! This is too dangerous! We’ll never make it!”

“We’ll make it,” Hickok assured her.

Hedy stared directly ahead and shuddered. “Oh, God!” she exclaimed in horror.

“Get in the rowboat,” Hickok commanded impatiently.

“I’m dead,” Hedy mumbled, but she complied.

They were on the north bank of Portage Bay, midway between Montlake Bridge and University Bridge. The bluish-green water lapped at the weed-covered bank.

Hickok was pleased at finding the small rowboat stashed on the bank.

Hedy had led him southward after leaving the service station. She had intended to take him across Montlake Bridge until he had spied a large group of men and women heading for the same bridge. Sharks, he had guessed, and he had forced her to veer to the southwest to avoid them. All the water had surprised him. He had had no idea Seattle was divided in half by a series of canals, bays, and a lake. They had traveled along the bank in the direction of another bridge, University Bridge, which Hedy had claimed they could safely cross. And then Hickok had spotted the wooden, rickety boat.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Hedy insisted.

The rowboat was ten feet in length and half that in width. The seats were a pair of wide boards attached to the sides, one in the center and a shorter board a few feet from the tapered bow. Two yellow oars were lying on the bottom of the rowboat.

“Sit,” Hickok directed her.

Hedy reluctantly sat down on the board in the center, her back to the bay, facing the gunman.

Hickok leaned over, placing his hands against the bow. He had already pushed the boat to the edge of the water; now he gave a final shove, then quickly stepped aboard as the rowboat drifted into Portage Bay. “You do the rowin’,” he told her.

“What?”

Hickok rested his hands on his Colts. “You heard me. Pick up those oars and get crackin’. We don’t have all day.”

“Why should I do the rowing?” Hedy asked defiantly.

“Because I said so,” Hickok stated. He didn’t want her to know his shouldes were killing him. His mobility had improved, but shoving the rowboat into the bay had aggravated his injured muscles and tendons.

Hedy snorted. “Thanks a lot! I get to row to my own funeral!”

“You’re not going to die,” Hickok said.

Hedy leaned over to retrieve the oars. “A lot you know, jerk! No one goes on the open water! It’s stupid! It’s suicide!”

Hickok gazed at the tranquil bay. “What are you yappin’ about? There’s nothin’ out here.”

Hedy straightened with an oar in her hands. “Yes there is! There are giant fish, and the gulls. Not to mention the Brethren.”

“The Brethren?”

“Yeah, Mister-Know-It-All! The Brethren are mutants. They can breathe underwater.”

“Breathe under the water?” Hickok repeated skeptically. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“You’re hopeless!” Hedy stated angrily. She leaned toward the gunman.

“Please! I’m not pulling your leg! If we row out on the bay, we’re doomed!

Let’s walk to University Bridge.”

“Nope,” Hickok said. “I can’t afford to be wastin’ time arguin’ with you.

We’re already in this dinky boat, so we’ll row to the other side. The sooner I get there, the sooner I can find my pard. So row!” he ordered sternly.

Frowning, Hedy defly inserted the oars into the oarlocks.

“You’ve done this before,” Hickok noted.

“I know how to use a boat,” Hedy said testily. She took hold of both oars and began rowing out from the bank.

“I thought you never went on the water,” Hickok remarked.

“Open water,” Hedy corrected him. “The Brethren are based on Puget Sound and the waters around the Sound, but they’ll also enter any body of water connected to Puget Sound. This bay here, Portage Bay, connects to Lake Union. Lake Union connects to the west end of the Lake Washington Ship Canal. And the Canal leads to Shilshole Bay, which opens onto Puget Sound.”

“So we could run into some of the Brethren,” Hickok speculated.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to get through your thick skull!” Hedy snapped. “They don’t come in this far often, but they do from time to time.” She paused.

“They keep out of the shallow creeks and rivers, and they won’t go near landlocked ponds or the reservoirs.”

“Why not?”

“Because, dummy. They’re afraid of being trapped,” Hedy said. “If we find one in a pond or a shallow river we can kill it pretty easily.” She paused, continuing to row. “The water is their element, and they can move a lot faster in the water than they do on land. But in a pond there’s nowhere they can hide. They’re strong, real strong, and they can breathe air like us, but there are somewhat more of us than there are of them. So they don’t risk straying from their territory too much.”

Hickok admired the Shark’s fluid movements as she expertly rowed toward the south side of Portage Bay. “Why are your people called the Sharks?” he inquired.

“I don’t know where we got our name,” Hedy replied. “The Sharks have been around for decades, long before I was born.”

“You know about boats,” Hickok said. “But what about cars and trucks?

Do you have any?”

“Are they those things that were used to get around on land before the war?” Hedy queried.

“Yep.”

“We don’t have any,” Hedy disclosed. “I’ve seen rusted-out wrecks all over the city, but I don’t know of one in running order. And I don’t think Manta has any, either.”

“Seattle is such a mess,” Hickok commented. “Why do the Sharks stay here? Why don’t you go somewhere else?”

“Where would we go?” Hedy retorted. “Seattle, bad as it is, is our home.

We’ve heard stories about who’s outside the city. Cannibals. Monsters.

Starvation. No thanks. We’re safer here.”

“You call this safe?” Hickok quipped.

“I was until I met you,” Hedy said.

Hickok gazed to the right. They were approximately 50 yards from the north bank, and they had a long way to go before they would reach the south side. He saw the ruined hulk of a huge boat protruding from the water off to the west. When he glanced at Hedy, he noticed she was examining him critically. “Why are you starin’ at me?” he asked.

“I’m trying to figure you out,” Hedy explained.

Hickok chuckled. “Don’t bother. My missus hasn’t been able to figure me out and we’ve been hitched for years.”

“You have a wife?” Hedy inquired, sounding amazed at the prospect.

“Yep,” Hickok said. “The best-lookin’ filly this side of the Milky Way.”

“Filly? Has anyone ever told you that you talk funny?” Hedy questioned.

“Just about everybody,” Hickok admitted.

“Then why do you do it?”

Hickok shrugged. “Keeps me from twiddlin’ my thumbs.”

Hedy shook her head. “You’re really weird, Hickok.”

Hickok grinned. “But I’m adorable too.”

Something splashed on the surface of the water to their left.

Hickok shifted in his seat, drawing his left Python. “What was that?”

Hedy laughed. “Just a fish. A small fish.”

“It’s nice to see you’re relaxed,” Hickok observed.

“Who the hell is relaxed?” Hedy rejoined. “I’m scared stiff.”

Hickok rested his left hand in his lap, his finger on the trigger. It didn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Look!” Hedy abruptly exclaimed, releasing the right oar and pointing to the east.

Hickok gazed to his left. All he saw was the water, Montlake Bridge a ways off, and a flock of birds between the rowboat and the bridge. “What am I lookin’ for?”

“Don’t you see them?” Hedy queried excitedly.

“See what? Those birds?” Hickok asked.

“They’re gulls!” Hedy declared.

Hickok stared at her. “Yep. So what?”

“They’re gulls!” Hedy repeated, as if that explained everything.

“So they’re gulls? So what. What’s the big deal over a nock of birds?”

“You don’t know nothing, do you? Gulls will go after you. They’ll tear you apart,” Hedy said.

Hickok snickered. “Gulls? Birds? You’re pullin’ my leg again. What can a bunch of measly birds do?”

Hedy sighed and resumed her rowing. “Thank goodness they’re heading toward the bridge and not this way. We’d be in deep shit.”

“What a mouth for a lady,” Hickok muttered.

“Where are you from, Hickok?” Hedy asked.

“Minnesota,” Hickok revealed. “Know where it is?”

“Is it a city near here?” Hedy responded.

“I can see you were a whiz in geography class,” Hickok cracked.

“I never took no geography class,” Hedy said. “I never took any class.”

“You never went to school?” Hickok inquired.

“What’s a school?” Hedy replied.

“You ain’t got no schools here in Seattle?” Hickok asked. “How do you learn things?”

“From our folks,” Hedy said. “From the other Sharks. We learn how to survive. That’s all that counts.”

“Can you read?”

“No,” Hedy answered. “I want to learn,” she added quickly. “Gar and Fabiana can read. So can Tiger. And they’re the smartest of the Sharks. I bet if I could read I’d be as smart as them.”

“What do they read?” Hickok probed.

“Books, dummy. What else?”

“I was in a city once where they’d burned almost all of their books during their cold winters,” Hickok mentioned.

“Well, we have lots of books left,” Hedy said. “I’ve seen some of them. I like the ones with the pictures.”

“Why don’t you get someone to teach you to read?” Hickok suggested.

Hedy shrugged. “I’ve never found the time.”

“My Family could help you learn to read,” Hickok said. “We could help all of the Sharks. That is, if you wanted our help.”

“Why would you help us?” Hedy queried suspiciously.

“We’ll help anybody,” Hickok stated. “All you have to do is ask.”

“I can’t see Tiger asking anyone for help,” Hedy remarked.

“Looks like I’ll need to have a long talk with this Tiger,” Hickok said.

“Tiger doesn’t like outsiders,” Hedy divulged. “He thinks all outsiders are trouble.”

“You’ve been isolated here too long,” Hickok commented. “Cut off from the rest of the world. True, there are a heap of misfits out there ready to stab you in the back the first chance they get. But there are a lot of friendly folks too. People who are ready to lend a helping hand. My Family is just one group. There are others, and we’ve all joined together in the Freedom Federation.”

“Never heard of it,” Hedy said.

“I’m not surprised,” Hickok declared. “You don’t know what’s going on out there in the world. It’s about time you learned.”

“I don’t know,” Hedy said uncertainly.

“What have you got to lose?” Hickok asked. “Look at the way you live.

Hand to mouth, never knowing if the next day will be your last. The Sharks must change things around, make Seattle a safe place to live again.”

“As long as Manta and the Brethren are here, Seattle will never be safe,” Hedy asserted.

“So I gather,” Hickok said.

They lapsed into silence. Hedy rowed. Hickok idly gazed over the water, the tangy air tingling his nostrils, squinting because of the bright glare on the water.

Time passed.

Hickok checked his bearings, estimating they were in the middle of Portage Bay. He was becoming adjusted to the gentle rhythm of the boat, and he was lulled into a state of fatigued complacency. His eyelids were sagging when the first thump resounded on the bottom of the rowboat. He sat up straight, instantly awake. “What was that?”

Hedy had ceased rowing. Her features were pale, her mouth slack. “Oh, no!” she moaned.

“What was it?” Hickok asked.

“I told you!” Hedy whined.

“Was it a fish?” Hickok inquired, peering at the water.

“That was no damn fish!” Hedy snapped.

“Keep going,” Hickok instructed her.

Hedy hastily obeyed, rowing strenuously for the north shore.

Hickok drew his right Colt and held both Pythons in his hands, searching the water for any sign of motion.

“Please don’t let it be what I think it is!” Hedy said. “Please! Please!”

Hickok probed the water for signs of motion, a fish, anything. For 12

feet or so the water was relatively clear; beyond that was an alien realm of insidious shadow.

The rowboat was suddenly struck a second time, a distinct thud.

Hedy froze. “No!” she cried.

“Keep rowing,” Hickok commanded. “We can still make it!”

Hedy applied herself to the oars in a frenzy.

Hickok was feeling extremely uncomfortable. He didn’t much like being so exposed, and he regretted his decision to force Hedy to row across the bay.

Yet a third blow was delivered to the underside of the rowboat.

Hickok leaned over the bow. What the blazes was happening? What was down there? Why…

A dark shape materialized from the depths below, swimming toward the boat, toward the bow.

Hickok glimpsed a greenish, scaly figure with arms and legs and a hideous face with big, circular, pitch-black eyes.

The thing lunged from the water, grasping at the Warrior.

Hickok received a fleeting impression of scales and teeth and a pungent fishy smell. The Python barrels were resting on the top edge of the rowboat, slanting downwards, and he scarcely had to move them because the thing came up directly into his line of fire. He saw webbed hands reaching for him and a mouth stretched wide, exhibiting long white fangs, and he squeezed the triggers.

The Pythons thundered.

Taken unawares, the thing was hit in the forehead. It tumbled into the water and started to sink from sight, its arms and legs outstretched.

“I think you got it!” Hedy yelled happily.

“There might be more,” Hickok said.

The rowboat lurched to a sudden stop, as if something had grabbed it from underneath.

“No!” Hedy wailed.

Hickok glanced from one side of the boat to the other, waiting for the mutants to make their move.

They did.

But not as expected.

The rowboat unexpectedly tilted, the right side lifting a foot above the water and dropping down again.

Hedy screamed.

Hickok was jostled by the impact, but he retained his seating.

“We’re going to be killed!” Hedy wailed.

“Not if I can help it,” Hickok said. “Keep rowing!”

“What good would it do?” Hedy retorted, terrified.

“Row!” Hickok ordered.

Hedy was reaching for the oars when the rowboat rose from the water again, the left side this time, elevating two feet above the surface. She started to slip, to fall toward the right side of the boat. “Help me!”

Hickok began to rise, to go to her aid.

The left side of the rowboat shot up almost vertically.

Hickok saw Hedy upended, her legs flying out from under her, and she toppled into the water, shrieking as she fell. He lunged, trying to grab her left ankle, but she went under before he could reach her.

Blast!

The gunman was holding onto his seat with the fingertips of his left hand, his right arm outstretched, a Colt in each hand, when the rowboat was flipped completely over. He instinctively inhaled a second before his head broke the surface. The water was cold on his skin as he sank a few feet below the overturned boat.

Green figures converged on the Warrior and the woman.

Hickok’s arms were taken in grips of steel. He struggled to break free, to regain the surface before he ran out of air, but the green forms were intent on keeping him under the water.

Hedy was being overpowered by three of the mutants.

Hickok kicked at the pair holding his arms, but the water hampered his movements, impairing his blows.

The mutants took him lower.

Hickok was feeling an intense pain in his chest. He needed fresh air, and quickly! His shoulders were in excruciating torment, further hindering his efforts.

A leering visage appeared before him.

Hickok tried to butt the mutant with his forehead, but the creature retreated out of range. He felt like his lungs were going to burst! He thrashed and heaved, all to no avail. Bitter water began to seep into his mouth. He tried to fire his Colts, but his hands were strangely limp and wouldn’t cooperate. A searing spasm lanced his side and he involuntarily opened his mouth.

And blacked out.