Dallas Run

Chapter Ten

Hickok instinctively rotated toward the street as the gunfire boomed, raising the Henry, and he heard Blade yell for him to bring the girl. He watched his friend race off, then turned to hurry the girl along.

Only she wasn’t there.

He spotted her ducking behind a pile of cardboard boxes and smirked.

“Hidin’ back there won’t do you any good, Melanie. Come on out.”

A metallic grating noise issued from the other side of the cartons.

“What the blazes!” Hickok exclaimed, and dashed past the boxes to discover an open door and a dark hallway. He stepped inside and glanced both ways. To his left he detected movement, so he started in pursuit, moving at a brisk walk, wary of blundering into a trap. He realized that Melanie must know this section of Dallas like the back of her hand, and he would be at a disadvantage unless he could force her into the open. Faintly to his ears came the sound of her footfalls.

What kind of building were they in? he wondered. A business establishment of some kind. The dim lighting enabled him to perceive the vague outline of the corridor walls, and that was all. He came to a junction, and far down the branch to his right a scarecrow form fled. He debated whether to continue or go aid his buddies. Since Blade had maintained they needed the girl to lead them to the Chosen and left him in charge of her, he jogged after the scarecrow.

The light became brighter the farther he went. In 40 yards the hallway veered sharply to the left, and he spied a partially open door 20 feet distant. Enroute to the exit he passed a number of other doors, all closed.

His intuition told him Melanie wasn’t hiding inside, and he sprinted to the exit and shoved the door open.

A wide, deserted street stretched to the north and the south. Directly across the street reared a squat, long structure, outside of which, littering the sidewalk and the asphalt, were 25 or 30 peculiar rusted carts lying on their sides or overturned with their four small wheels jutting into the air.

Atop the building, its southern third missing, was a sign. Eight faded black letters were legible.

What the dickens was that?

Hickok moved to the middle of the street.

The front of the ERMARKET had once consisted of a series of glass panes, and busted pieces of glass dotted the ground. At the north corner a shattered glass door provided a means of entering. From within the structure there arose a loud crash, the clatter of objects falling, and then a muffled curse.

That girl must be the biggest klutz on the planet! Hickok thought, and went in pursuit of her. He walked into the rundown building warily. To his left was a row of counters, and on each one there rested a mechanical or electronic contrivance, a square affair bearing buttons imprinted with numbers and figures. Beyond the counters were 12 wide aisles.

Thanks to the sunlight streaming in the front of the store, Hickok could perceive details clearly. Trash covered the white tile floor in spots; torn cartons and packages and open tin cans were especially numerous. Flies swarmed above certain aisles. He crinkled his nose when he detected a subtle, putrid scent.

Despite the light, the place gave him the creeps.

Hickok stepped to the first aisle, noting the barren shelves and the litter. He decided the place had once been a thriving food store.

Something clicked way in the back.

Klutzy again? he wondered, and moved to the second aisle, then the third, going from one to the other. He paused at the head of the sixth aisle, intrigued by a pair of black doors located at the rear of the store.

Proceeding quickly, he checked each of the remaining aisles and returned to the central one.

Where did those doors lead?

The Warrior strode down the aisle and leaned against the wall to the right of the black doors. To his surprise, he found that the twin doors were constructed of a leather or plastic substance instead of wood or metal. He gingerly reached out with his right hand and pressed on the nearest door, which swung inward several inches. In contrast to the store proper, the room or chamber on the far side was plunged in inky darkness.

Would Melanie hide back there?

The odd clicking sounded again.

Hickok knew the girl had to be aware he was on her heels, eliminating the need for extreme stealth. He chuckled and shoved the door all the way open. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he declared playfully.

No one responded.

“Come on, Melanie. I know you’re in here,” Hickok bluffed, hoping she would give up so he could speed to his friends.

Still no answer.

Hickok took a step into the rather dank chamber, trying to gauge its dimensions, and came to conclusion he was in an enormous area that might have been used to stock the items sold in the store. He glimpsed cartons scattered here and there. Four narrow windows, approximately 50 feet from the doors and 20 feet above the floor, afforded scant illumination.

From off to the left came more clicking.

“I won’t hurt you, Melanie,” Hickok promised. “Do us both a favor and come out here.”

She didn’t reply.

“Please.”

Silence.

Exasperated, Hickok felt tempted to forget about her and head for the alley. But Blade had ordered him to bring her, and he’d bring her or die in the attempt. Knowing his companions were in danger, even though he possessed total confidence in their ability to take care of themselves, disturbed him immensely. Preoccupied with his worry, he released the door and advanced several yards into the cavernous chamber.

Feet scuttled across the floor to his right.

“Melanie?”

The loud clicking was repeated to the left.

And suddenly Hickok knew with an awful certainty that he wasn’t alone. There were—things—-all around him. He had made the cardinal mistake any Warrior could make: He’d been careless. If he wanted to live, and he sure as heck did, then he’d better move, and move fast. The thought brought instant action. He darted for the black doors.

But as swift as the gunman was, there were—things—that were much swifter.

Hickok heard the scuttling again, and what felt like an iron hand clamped on his right heel, tripping him, causing him to fall onto his hands and knees. He glanced over his left shoulder, his skin prickling as he distinguished the broad, inhuman shape of his attacker. Whatever it was, the creature stood four feet high and was equally as wide.

The grip on his heel tightened.

More scuttling noises arose from nearby.

Hickok twisted, snapped the Henry to his shoulder, and fired twice, the shots thundering and reverberating in the chamber. The first shot rocked the thing, the second drove it backwards, clicking furiously.

His ankle was free!

Rising awkwardly, his right heel lanced with pain, Hickok managed to take two strides and get within three feet of the doors before a heavy body plowed into him from the left, bowling him over. He tumbled and rolled, concentrating on keeping hold of the Carbine at all costs, and wound up flat on his back. Before he could push to his feet, another of the creatures materialized above his head. A snakelike arm or appendage slithered across his neck.

The thing clicked.

Hickok angled the Henry upward, levered in a fresh round, and squeezed the trigger, bracing the stock against his hip to absorb the recoil.

The shot flipped the creature into the gloom. He scrambled up, spotted the doors, and took four steps.

A scuttling express train swept out of the darkness and rammed the gunman in the legs.

This time Hickok went down extremely hard, his jaw taking the brunt of the impact, his mouth snapping shut and his upper and lower teeth mashing together. A universe of stars burst into being in front of his eyes, his body went slack, and he couldn’t seem to organize any coherent thoughts.

The same or a similar iron hand seized the gunman’s right leg, and the next moment whatever held him was dragging him deeper into the chamber.

A chorus of clicking sounded.

Slowly, through the haze, his muddled mind became aware that the creature dragging him wasn’t alone. Many others were serving as escorts.

He was completely surrounded by a clicking pack of the things. With a start, he felt the Henry begin to slip from his grasp. His right hand closed on the shoulder strap, and he clutched the strap with all the strength he could muster, pulling the rifle after him.

Where were they taking him?

Hickok kept himself as limp as he could, certain the whole bunch would pounce on him if he were to put up a fight at this point. He allowed his mind to clear, gathering his wits, biding his time until a better opportunity to escape should arise. Although the pressure on his right leg where the thing held him was intense, making the leg throb in torment, he doubted the skin or any bones were broken. As long as he didn’t panic, he might be able to get out of the fix he was in in one piece.

The clicking continued unabated.

Were they communicating? Hickok wondered. Were the creatures talking to one another, using those clicks instead of speech? He reasoned that his attackers must be some form of mutation.

But what?

A cool, damp breeze suddenly touched his face.

Thanks to the light from one of the narrow windows, Hickok was able to distinguish the outline of a huge hole in the back wall. He gulped when he realized the things were taking him into it, and he resisted an urge to try and flee. Seconds later the cement floor over which he had been drug was replaced by loose, moist earth. He could smell the dank soil, and he worried about dirt clogging the Henry. Surreptitiously, pulling the Carbine toward him inch by snail-paced inch, he succeeded in grasping the barrel and hugging the rifle to his chest.

The tunnel slanted downward for a half-dozen yards, then leveled.

Hickok lost track of the distance they traveled. Total blackness engulfed him. He began to doubt the wisdom of not trying to break loose sooner. If the creature let go of him now, he’d have no way of knowing which way led to safety. He’d blunder about in the darkness until starvation or a mutation claimed him.

Blast!

Here was another fine mess he’d gotten himself into.

He thought of Sherry, Ringo, and Chastity, and smiled. Even if he bought the farm, he’d try and go out thinking of them, the three people who loved him more than any others, the three who meant more to him than life itself. Funny, wasn’t it, how life worked out sometimes? When he’d been much younger, he’d believed that no woman in her right mind would ever tie the knot with him. There had been a woman he cared for before he met Sherry, another Warrior named Joan, but after she was killed by the lousy Trolls he’d resigned himself to the prospect of possibly being a bachelor for life. And then along came the most wonderful female on the planet, someone who viewed him as special, someone who must have hit her head on a rock when she was a child.

Hickok almost laughed aloud.

Unexpectedly the passageway brightened, and moments later the clicking creatures and their captive emerged from the tunnel into another immense chamber. Regularly spaced windows set high on the four walls allowed the sunlight to reach the floor.

Hickok looked to his right, and his blood seemed to chill in his veins.

Although the lighting wasn’t sufficient to reveal every feature, he could see his captors better, and what he saw shocked him.

They were bugs.

Big, ugly bugs.

The insects were about the size of mule deer, but twice as wide. Their bodies were oval in shape, and each was supported by six thin legs. Every insect sported a pair of wings that rested flat on top of its streamlined bulk. From the head of each creature extended a pair of antennae over six feet in length, and the antennae were constantly in motion, swaying and waving or flicking out to touch other insects. Underneath each gruesome head, and used to produce the clicking noises, were a pair of mandibles.

Hickok could feel goose bumps all over his flesh. He glanced down at his legs, at the insect holding him in its steely mandibles, and he wished he could plug the vermin and skedaddle.

But not yet.

He estimated there were 15 of the bugs around him, and he knew he couldn’t down them all before they got him. So he waited, hoping for a break.

The insects moved across the floor until they came to a strange mound almost ten feet in height. They climbed effortlessly up the gradual incline.

Hickok turned his head, studying the composition of the mound. To his amazement, he determined the bugs were ascending an artificial hill composed of trash, perhaps the accumulation of decades. The stench was nauseating.

The creatures attained the rim and paused.

Gazing down, Hickok could see that the interior of the mound resembled a miniature volcano. There was a nine-foot drop to a circular flat area that had been packed down or scooped out. The light from the windows only partly illuminated the flat area, but there was enough to disclose the grisly white objects cluttering the bottom.

Hickok’s eyes widened.

For there, dotting the floor of the mound, lay a score of human skeletons.