Dallas Run

Chapter Thirteen

“We’re cut off.” Marlon cried.

Blade halted and glanced to their rear. Thirty-five Chosen were coming on at a run, now less than 50 yards away. In front of them, at the intersection, were another 21. To their left loomed a ten-story structure, while to their right was an abandoned department store.

Both groups of the Chosen were shouting and waving their weapons in the air as they closed in.

“This way!” Blade declared, and ran to the double glass doors on the larger building. He wrenched the right-hand door open and darted in to a broad lobby. Broken furniture littered the dusty blue carpet. Straight across from the glass doors was a long counter. To the left of the counter were two open, useless elevators, and to the left of the elevators a closed wooden door on which the word STAIRWELL had been stenciled in black letters over a century ago.

The others entered on his heels.

“To the stairs,” Blade ordered, and loped toward the wooden door.

Outside, the increasing volume of pounding feet and aroused exclamations attested to the proximity of the Chosen.

“You go up first,” Blade directed as he came to the door, gesturing for them to proceed.

Marlon and Lieutenant Garber entered the stairwell.

“What about you?” Geronimo asked, pausing in the doorway.

“I’ll buy you time to find a back exit,” Blade said. “Go with them.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Geronimo stated.

“I’ll be okay,” Blade said, patting the M60. “I want you to circle to the alley and wait for Hickok. I’ll rejoin you as soon as I can.”

“We’ll hold them off together,” Geronimo suggested.

“There isn’t time to argue,” Blade responded. “One of us has a better chance of eluding them than if we stick together. Now go! If Hickok reaches the alley before we do, he may tangle with the Chains.”

The thought of the gunman made Geronimo’s lips compress. “All right,” he said reluctantly. “I don’t like the idea, but I’ll go. Take care.”

“You’ve got it.”

Geronimo hastened up the stairs.

None too soon.

Blade saw a cluster of people appear beyond the glass entrance, and he ducked into the stairwell and closed the door. Had they seen him? He pressed his right ear to the panel and listened, hearing the drumming of many naked feet in the lobby and upraised voices.

“Where’d they go?”

“Are you sure they came in here?”

“I saw them, I tell you.”

“Somebody check that stairwell!”

Blade smiled, faced forward, and tensed. A rush of air hit him as the door was abruptly pulled wide, and there stood a gawking member of the Chosen with a baseball bat in his right hand. “Hi,” Blade said. “You must be a whiz at hide-and-seek.”

The man started to shout a warning to his companions.

Blade pounced, smashing the stock of his M60 against the man’s left temple and crumpling him on the spot. He pivoted, finding dozens of the Chosen in the lobby, and cut loose with the machine gun, catching most of them unawares. The M60 roared and bucked, slamming the Chosen to the floor in bloody heaps of convulsing forms. Eighteen died before the rest began firing back at the Warrior. An arrow flew past Blade’s head, and he backpedaled into the stairwell and closed the door.

But he didn’t run.

Blade waited, his right hand on the doorknob.

“Son of a bitch!” shouted a man in the lobby.

“After him! After him!” shouted another.

“The Lawgiver will want to see him!”

“Hurry!”

Blade felt the knob shake as someone took hold of it on the opposite side. He clenched the knob securely, his muscles bulging.

“I can’t open the door!” cried the man.

“Is it locked?” queried a woman.

“I don’t know! Help me!”

A grin creased Blade’s mouth as he pointed the M60 at the door, released the knob, and fired into the panel at point-blank range, the rounds punching through the wood, stitching the door with holes, as the Chosen packed near the stairwell screamed and screeched in torment.

Blade let up on the trigger, whirled, and sprinted up the stairs three at a stride until he reached the first landing. He crouched behind the railing, resolving to delay the Chosen as long as humanly possible. Geronimo and the others would need a few more minutes to get clear of the area.

Enraged declarations came from the lobby. Men and women were cursing. The dying and injured wailed and moaned.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs.

Blade angled the barrel downward, his eyes narrowing. A quartet of Chosen appeared, bounding toward him, and he let them have a withering burst that hurled them from the steps and sent them cartwheeling below.

More screams and curses added to the din.

The Warrior surveyed his immediate vicinity, discovering that three corridors branched from the landing. One hall led to the rear of the building. The second diverged to the north, and the third forked toward the front street. He opted for the first, racing down the corridor, hoping to locate an exit. In 35 yards he came to another stairwell and rushed down the steps.

Bingo.

Blade chuckled when he spied an exit door hanging open several inches.

Geronimo had undoubtedly used this same exit, he reasoned, and dashed into the sunlight.

A parking lot stretched for half a city block.

He blinked in the sunlight, scanning the lot, noting two rusted automobiles. A shout drew his attention to the west end and he did a double take.

Damn!

It couldn’t be!

But it was. Eleven armed Chosen were rushing at him.

Glowering in anger, Blade spun to the right, heading due north, knowing Geronimo, Marlon, and Garber had slipped away to the south.

He ran to the sidewalk and paused, looking both ways, relieved to see the coast was clear. If he went to the left, the Chosen coming across the parking lot would be able to overtake him easily. If he went to the right, he would pass through the intersection located near the glass doors at the front of the ten-story structure.

There was really no choice.

Blade sped to the right, his boots smacking on the asphalt, the M60 in his left hand, the ammo belts slapping against his chest. He bounded into the intersection and glanced at the front of the building, hoping the rest of the Chosen were inside.

No such luck.

Approximately a dozen of them were gathered just outside the glass doors. A woman spotted the fleeing giant and shrieked an alarm.

“There he goes!”

Blade ran faster. What a big mouth she had! He scrutinized the street ahead for a likely hiding place, believing all of the Chosen who were after him were behind him and all he had to do was outdistance them to escape. An erroneous assumption, as it turned out.

Into the next intersection galloped ten horses, and astride each mount was one of the Chosen. Four of the men held rifles which they aimed at the Warrior.

“Surrender!” the tallest of the men commanded.

Blade halted so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet. He spun and saw over 20 Chosen strung out across the street.

“I won’t say it again!” declared the tall man on the horse. “Surrender! If you’re thinking of putting up a fight, forget it. You wouldn’t stand a prayer.”

The man had a point. Blade wanted to kick himself. He might be able to down half of them before they got him, but at such close range they would nail him, and throwing his life away senselessly was singularly unappealing.

“What will it be?” demanded the tall man.

Blade sighed and deposited the M60 on the ground.

“Bright move,” the tall man remarked, studying the giant’s face. “Don’t feel so bad. No one has ever given us a battle like you just did.”

“I’m just getting warmed up,” Blade quipped.

The tall man chuckled and rode slowly forward, the other Chosen on horseback flanking him. “My name, by the way, is Aaron. How are you known?”

“Blade.”

“That’s it? No last name?”

The Warrior shook his head.

“Interesting,” Aaron said, and reined in four yards off. “Where are your friends?”

“What friends?”

“Don’t play games with us. There were three others with you,” Aaron said.

Blade shrugged. “You must be hallucinating.”

A woman on a white horse to the right of Aaron threw back her head, her dark tresses streaming over her shoulders, and laughed. “I like this one, Brother Aaron. He’s witty.”

Aaron lowered his rifle. “He’s also dangerous, Sister Marta. Extremely dangerous.”

“The Elixir of Life will tame him,” Marta predicted.

“If the Lawgiver decides his soul is worthy,” Aaron noted. Then he addressed the Warrior. “Kindly place your knives on the ground.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let me keep them if I promise to be a good boy?”

Blade asked.

“Sorry,” Aaron said, smiling. “The Lawgiver does not allow the impure to approach him armed.”

“The impure?” Blade repeated.

“That’s right,” Marta chimed in. “Unless you are born pure or you’re converted, you’re not to be trusted. Sorry, lover.”

Blade looked at the woman, who promptly winked at him and grinned.

Perfect. Just what he needed.

“The knives, please,” Aaron mentioned.

With the utmost reluctance, Blade placed the Bowies beside the M60.

“Take good care of them,” he said as he straightened. “I’ll be taking them back soon.”

Aaron chuckled. “Not unless the Lawgiver gives his permission.”

“Who’s the Lawgiver?”

“You’ll meet him in due course,” Aaron replied, and glanced at a woman on a black horse on his left. “Sister Ellice, I want him to ride behind you.”

“No!” Marta interjected. “He can ride behind me.”

Aaron shifted to stare at her. “How do I know you’ll behave yourself?”

Marta made an X on her left breast. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I’m serious. You know you have a tendency to act up now and then,” Aaron commented.

“Who doesn’t, Brother Aaron?” Marta responded.

“All right,” Aaron declared, focusing on Blade. “Climb on board behind Marta. Don’t try to grab the reins and take off or we’ll have to shoot you in the back.”

“Can’t I walk?”

“It’s too far,” Aaron said. “You’ll have to ride.”

“Don’t you want to ride with me, handsome?” Marta asked in a miffed tone.

“I’d rather not ride with any of you,” Blade said.

“Why not?” Aaron questioned.

Blade nodded at the tall man. “I like my skin the way it is.” He braced himself, expecting an outburst of resentment at the reference to their affliction. To his surprise, Aaron and company laughed heartily.

“Your skin is safe for the moment,” Aaron stated after a bit. “Climb on behind Marta.”

The Warrior walked to the white stallion.

“Say hello to Victor,” Marta said, stroking the animal. “He’s the fastest horse in the city.”

“How nice,” Blade said politely. “Hello, Victor.”

“Get on,” Marta said, sliding forward several inches and extending her left hand.

Blade hesitated, his eyes roving over the green splotches dotting her hand and arm.

“I don’t bite,” Marta joked.

“It’s not your teeth I’m worried about,” Blade informed her.

She understood immediately and leaned down until her face was almost touching his. “I’ll let you in on a secret, lover. Unless you drink the Elixir of Life, you won’t get the Mark.”

“Your condition isn’t contagious?”

Marta laughed. “Don’t I wish. Don’t we all wish.”

“Why?”

“It’d make everything a lot easier,” Marta replied.

“We haven’t got all day,” Aaron remarked.

“Hop on,” Marta directed the Warrior.

Relieved by her revelation, but wondering if she’d told the truth, Blade took hold of her hand and vaulted onto the stallion. The horse tossed its head and reacted skittishly to the additional weight.

“Whoa there, Victor,” Marta said, tugging on the reins. “It’s okay, big boy. Calm down.”

The stallion obeyed, standing still and shaking its head from side to side.

Blade glanced down at Malta’s naked back and buttocks, thankful Jenny couldn’t see him now. He rested his hands on his hips.

“Hold on tight, handsome,” Marta said over her right shoulder. “You can put your arms around my waist.”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you the bashful type?”

“The married type.”

Marta giggled. “I won’t molest you if you don’t molest me.”

“Fair enough.”

“Unless you want to be molested.”

“No thanks.”

“Spoilsport.”

Aaron motioned with his right arm, and the mounted Chosen moved straight ahead until they reached the line across the street.

“Brother Aaron,” said a stocky man carrying a compound bow. A quiver full of arrows was attached to the leather cord used to support his loincloth and slanted across his left hip.

“Brother Ezekiel,” Aaron said, acknowledging the greeting. “I’m taking the prisoner to the Lawgiver. Tend to the wounded. A detail will be sent to bring them back. Make a thorough sweep of this sector. If you don’t find anyone else by an hour before nightfall, return to the Temple. We don’t want you out when the mutants are abroad.”

Ezekiel glared at the Warrior. “He took a terrible toll on our brothers and sisters.”

“Gather his arms,” Aaron directed, pointing at the M60 and Bowies.

“I hope he’s judged unworthy and put to the test,” Ezekiel declared bitterly.

“That decision rests with the Lawgiver,” Aaron noted.

“I know. But I want to see him gored and trampled.”

“Do you hate him, brother?”

“Don’t you?” Ezekiel rejoined.

“I admit I resent what he did to our brothers and sisters, but think of the benefits if such a mighty fighter is converted,” Aaron said.

Ezekiel considered the benefits for a moment, then turned his glowering gaze on Blade. “I’d still rather seem him gored.”