Atlanta Run

Chapter Eighteen

“Where did they come from?” one of the Freedom Fighters cried.

“We’re trapped!” yelled another.

“Into the storm drain!” Locklin ordered, motioning at the opening in the grate.

Dozens of bright beams of light caught the Freedom Fighters in a stark glare as the Storm Police produced flashlights.

“Drop your weapons!” the man with the megaphone repeated. “Now!”

Locklin gripped Hickok’s right arm and pushed the Warrior toward the drain. “Go!”

“We’re not leavin’ you,” Hickok said.

“Some of us can escape through the drain, but we must move quickly. Now go!” Locklin snapped.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi surveyed the scene, noting the Storm Police steadily advancing with their automatic rifles at the ready and the compact mass of rebels with their backs, literally, to the wall. He moved to the grate and crouched in front of the hole in the bars. “Come on,” he said to the gunman, then slid inside.

Hickok hesitated. “My irons can come in handy.”

“This is not your fight,” Locklin responded, keeping his gaze on the Storm Police. “It’s ours. And you have your friend to think of. Go! Please! We’ll be right behind you.”

“Hurry,” Rikki prompted from within the drain.

Frowning in annoyance, the gunfighter entered the storm drain and moved a few feet inward to join Rikki. He found he could stand, although the height of the culvert did not permit him to straighten entirely.

Locklin poked his head inside. “Take off! We’ll hold them as long as we can.”

“May the Spirit preserve you,” Rikki said, and headed deeper into the drain.

Hickok reluctantly followed his friend. The interior was obscured in inky blackness and the tunnel ahead was indistinguishable. “Why are we desertin’ them?” he demanded.

“Blade must come first,” Rikki replied.

“I know, but—” Hickok began.

“If we had stayed, we would die with them,” Rikki stated.

Gunfire erupted from their rear, commingled with screams and curses.

“We can’t abandon them,” Hickok objected, and unexpectedly bumped into his companion in the dark. “Why’d you stop?”

“Locklin gave me this,” Rikki said, and a small flame sparked to life, illuminating the drain for a yard or so in both directions.

“What is it?”

“A lighter. We must hurry,” Rikki reiterated, and hastened on.

The sounds of the conflict had reached a crescendo.

“I still say we shouldn’t abandon them,” Hickok groused.

“Would you rather abandon Blade?”

“Of course not,” Hickok replied.

“Then we have no choice,” Rikki stressed. “They were hopelessly outnumbered. Our guns would not have made a difference.”

“It rankles me to walk out on folks I like,” Hickok remarked. “We’d better not make a habit of this.”

“We won’t,” Rikki assured him.

The Warriors lost all track of time and distance as they penetrated farther and farther into the storm drain. The sounds of battle grew fainter, and eventually faded.

“Do you know which way to go?” Hickok asked.

“Locklin gave me directions.”

“Why didn’t he tell me?”

“You were busy relating a bedtime story to Chastity,” Rikki said.

“If anything happens to her…” Hickok stated, leaving the sentence unfinished.

They continued in silence for a long time.

“Wait,” Hickok directed.

Rikki stopped. “What is it?”

“I thought I heard something,” Hickok mentioned, turning to view the drain to their rear.

“What?”

“I’m not sure, pard.”

The pad of rushing feet filled the conduit.

“Could be the Storm Police,” Hickok whispered, leveling the Uzi.

“We should keep going,” Rikki advised.

“You can skedaddle if you want,” Hickok declared. “But I’m not runnin’ twice in one night. It’d give me a complexion.”

“Don’t you mean a complex?”

“Whatever.”

“It could be a mutant,” Rikki mentioned.

“I hope so.”

“You do?”

“I’m in the mood to blow something away, and it might as well be a blasted mutant,” Hickok stated. “Flick off the lighter.”

Rikki complied, and they stood in total darkness and waited as the footsteps became progressively louder.

Unexpectedly, the noise ceased.

An interval of quiet engulfed the drain.

“Psst! Hickok? Rikki? Are you there?”

The gunman recognized the voice and smiled. “Yeah, we’re here, Locklin.”

Rikki ignited the lighter.

“There you are!” Locklin called, and a second later the dim figure of the rebel leader and others hastened toward the Warriors.

“Glad you made it,” Hickok said.

“Not half as glad as I am,” Locklin responded. Fourteen of his band were with him, and five of them sported gunshot wounds. One was limping.

“Where are the rest?” Rikki inquired.

Locklin slowed when he was a few yards off, his expression sad, and slowly shook his head.

“And the Storm Police?” Hickok questioned, spying Big John and the youth named Dale behind Locklin.

“They closed in on us from the forest and the rampart,” the rebel leader said. “We took down twenty or so, but they were getting our range and my people were dropping right and left. I decided to live to fight another day.”

“A wise decision,” Rikki remarked.

“Are the Storm Police on your tail?” Hickok queried.

“No,” Locklin replied. “They didn’t follow us into the storm drain.”

“That’s strange,” Hickok commented.

“We must leave the drain,” Rikki declared.

Locklin stared to the rear. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That this must be a trap?”

“Why else wouldn’t the Storm Police enter the drain?” Rikki rejoined.

“How can we get out of here?” Hickok interjected.

“There are manholes in the top every fifty yards,” Locklin said. “We can climb out at the first one we find. I planned to use a manhole near the Civil Directorate, but the Storm Police might be waiting for us there.”

“The troopers could be covering all the manholes,” Rikki noted.

“I just can’t understand how they knew,” Lock!in commented. “How did they know where to ambush us?”

Hickok noticed Dale abruptly stare downward.

“Stay close to me,” Rikki recommended, and jogged along the conduit.

They traveled speedily, their footfalls and breathing unnaturally sonorous in the confines of the drain.

“There’s a manhole!” Locklin exclaimed.

The flickering flame illuminated a brown metal cover overhead.

“Allow me,” Locklin said, and stepped under the manhole. He reached up and pushed, but the manhole cover wouldn’t budge.

“Let me give it a try, boss,” Big John proposed.

“Go for it,” Locklin responded, moving aside.

Big John applied his brawny left shoulder to the cover. For a minute he puffed and strained, to no avail.

“This is odd,” Locklin commented. “It should open.”

“Let’s find another,” Rikki suggested, leading off with the lighter held aloft.

Hickok fell in beside Dale. “How are you holdin’ up, buckaroo?”

The youth looked warily at the Warrior. “Just fine, thanks.”

“Were you nicked in the fracas?”

“No.” He hefted the long bow in his right hand.

“Lucky you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dale asked.

“Nothin’ much. I was just makin’ conversation.”

Dale studied the gunman, striving to see Hickok’s face in the gloom.

“How long have you been with Locklin?” Hickok inquired.

“Three years.”

“Have you seen a lot of action?”

“Enough.”

“Ever seen anyone die before?” Hickok questioned.

“All the time,” Dale replied. “I’ve done my share of killing, you know. I helped ambush several Storm Police patrols.”

“Seein’ an enemy die is one thing,” Hickok observed. “Seein’ friends die is another. Ever seen your friends die before?”

“Once or twice,” Dale admitted.

“But not like tonight?” Hickok queried.

“No,” Dale said angrily. “Now why don’t we drop the subject?”

“If you want,” Hickok said.

“I want to drop it,” Dale reiterated.

“And well you should,” Hickok stated. “All things considered.”

Dale looked at the man in buckskins, perplexed. “Like what?”

“Like the fact you turned traitor,” Hickok responded, his tone hardening. “Like the fact you were responsible for the ambush.”

Dale halted and raised his left fist. “What the hell are you babbling about?”

Everyone halted.

“You betrayed your pards,” Hickok told the youth.

Dale reached for a knife on his left hip. “I’ll make you eat those words!”

The gunman’s Uzi suddenly pointed at the youth’s stomach. “I don’t cotton to folks callin’ me a liar.”

“What is this?” Locklin demanded, glancing from Hickok to Dale in confusion. “Are you serious?” he asked the Warrior.

Hickok nodded. “Dale set you up.”

“I did not!” Dale protested, flushing with fury.

“Do you have proof?” Locklin inquired.

“He’ll tell you himself,” Hickok said.

“You’re crazy!” Dale declared.

“So everybody says,” Hickok agreed. “And this crazy hombre is pointin’ a machine gun at your innards. I’ll count to three. If you haven’t spilled the beans by then, you’re dead.”

The band of Freedom Fighters was watching in fascination, and none displayed the slightest inclination to interfere.

“Did you betray us?” Locklin asked the youth.

“How can you take his word over mine?” Dale snapped.

“One,” Hickok said.

“I resent the accusation,” Dale said. “We’ve lived and fought side by side. And this is the thanks I get?”

“Two.”

Dale scanned the dim features of his companions for support, then looked at Locklin. “You’re not going to let him shoot me in cold blood, are you? I’m one of your men.” A hint of desperation made his voice quaver.

“Thr—” Hickok began.

“Don’t shoot!” Dale cried, releasing his bow and elevating his arms.

“Don’t shoot!”

“Tell them the truth,” Hickok ordered.

Dale’s chin slumped to his chest. “I did it,” he mumbled.

“What?” Locklin asked in disbelief.

“I gave our plans away,” Dale said. “I told the Storm Police which drain we intended to use. I helped them set the trap.”

There was a murmuring among the band.

Locklin stepped up to the youth and grabbed the front of Dale’s shirt.

“You did what?”

“I didn’t have any choice!” Dale wailed, his lips trembling, his voice breaking. “They forced me!”

“Who?” Locklin asked the young rebel.

“The Storm Police,” Dale said.

Locklin placed his hands on the youth’s shoulder. “How could they coerce you into becoming a traitor? What could they possibly do?”

Dale stared into Locklin’s accusing eyes, his own filling with tears.

“They have my mother!” he said, and sobbed.

An awkward silence descended on the drain.

“Your mother?” Locklin repeated after a moment.

Dale hung his head, embarrassed by his tears. “Yes,” he confirmed weakly.

“Tell us,” Locklin urged softly.

The youth took a deep breath. “Do you remember last night, when my younger brother showed up at our camp?”

“Of course,” Locklin said.

“My brother claimed our mother wanted to see me right away,” Dale disclosed. “He told me that she was sick, real sick.” He paused. “I went with him to our house.”

“How did you get into the city?” Locklin interrupted.

“Through the usual route,” Dale answered. “The sewer outlet under the southeast wall. My brother used the same way to leave. I followed your procedure to the letter.”

Locklin gazed at the Warriors. “We’ve utilized certain sewer outlets frequently since the Storm Police barred the drains. Our families use them when they need to contact us,” he explained. “The Storm Police didn’t bar all the sewer outlets, probably because the outlets are so small only one person can slip through at a time and the sewers reek. They must figure only an absolute lunatic would use them.”

“What happened when you got home?” Big John asked Dale.

“The Storm Police were waiting for me,” Dale revealed. “They had discovered I was one of the Freedom Fighters, and they offered me a deal.”

“Let me guess,” Locklin said. “They promised to let your family live if you betrayed us?”

Dale sobbed. “God help me. Yes.”

“You knew we intended to enter Atlanta tonight through this drain,” Locklin mentioned.

“I sold you out,” Dale declared forlornly.

“You had a tough choice to make,” Hickok said, sympathizing.

“We all have one to make right now,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi mentioned.

“Listen.” He let the lighter go out.

Boot heels were pounding in the storm drain, approaching from the direction of the outer wall.

“The Storm Police!” Locklin exclaimed.

“And look!” Big John said, pointing directly ahead.

Far off, their flashlight beams fingers of lights in the gloomy darkness, advancing at the double, were more troopers.

“We’re cornered!” one of the Freedom Fighters cried.

Hickok looked both ways. “This is gettin’ serious.”