Houston Run

Chapter Sixteen

Lynx slammed into Tom, propelling the floor supervisor backwards, and both of them crashed onto the cot as Melody ducked aside, upending the tray of food as the cot flipped over.

“Lynx!” Melody cried.

Lynx found himself flat on his back on the floor with Tom on top. His foe slashed at his eyes, and Lynx avoided the blow with a quick jerk of his head to the right. He drove his right hand up and in, sinking his tapered nails, his hard-as-iron claws into the floor supervisor’s chest just below the neck. Lynx raked his claws downward, digging deep furrows in Tom’s flesh, blood pouring from the wounds and covering Lynx’s fingers.

Tom threw himself backwards to evade those razor claws. He scurried to the left and stood, his feline features contorted with fury.

Lynx bounded to his feet, grinning, his green eyes ablaze with a feral blood lust.

For a moment the two adversaries glared at one another.

“You’re history, bub!” Lynx growled.

“You’ve got it backwards!” Tom retorted.

“You’re gonna pay for all the things you’ve done to Melody, you scumbag!” Lynx declared angrily.

Tom glanced at Melody, who was standing in the corner next to the north wall, then at Lynx. “Melody? What’s she to you?”

Lynx didn’t respond.

Tom laughed. “Don’t tell me! You and her? You’ve got to be kidding! The bitch is frigid!”

Lynx snarled as he sprang.

Melody watched the fight in dismay, concerned for Lynx’s safety, but knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it. She saw them grapple to the floor, swiping at each other with their deadly claws, both connecting, both drawing blood. They rolled into the south wall, Lynx bearing the brunt of the impact, and Tom whipped his left hand across Lynx’s face, his nails slicing open Lynx’s right cheek. Lynx shoved, pushing Tom from him, and leaped to his feet. Tom rolled once, then rose.

Lynx crouched and circled to the right, seeking an opening. His right cheek was stinging and felt damp, but he ignored the discomfort, concentrating on the job at hand. They were pretty evenly matched. Tom was his size and about his weight, and the son of a bitch possessed lightning reflexes the equal of his own. But Lynx detected a slight weakness he might exploit. Tom was a floor supervisor in a medical building. The bastard spent his days insulting and hassling Melody, handling files, and checking on patients, and whatever the hell else floor supervisors did. All of which meant Tom didn’t devote any time to honing his fighting skills, to unleashing the savage side of his nature in primal combat. But Lynx had engaged in combat countless times. He actually reveled in a life-or-death struggle, thrilling to the conflict, relishing the clash of his sinews and claws against a worthy enemy. His expertise afforded him an edge over the inexperienced Tom, and Lynx intended to take advantage of Tom’s deficiency.

“Any last words?” Tom asked, baiting his opponent.

Lynx merely grinned, tasting some of his own blood as it flowed over his lips.

Tom swung his right arm at Lynx’s head.

Lynx adroitly ducked under the swipe, retaliating by spearing both his hands straight out, imbedding his nails in Tom’s stomach. He wrenched his arms to the left, tearing Tom’s white skin and ripping awful gashes in Tom’s abdomen.

Tom hastily backpedaled, a crimson stain blossoming on his shirt. He doubled over, his face betraying his pain.

Lynx smiled and advanced.

Tom suddenly uncoiled, lunging at his antagonist.

Lynx was a blur as he dropped to the floor, onto his right side, and swept his legs in an arc, catching the unsuspecting Tom on the shins.

Tom went down, tripping over Lynx’s legs, sprawling onto his hands and knees. He went to rise.

Lynx was faster. Still on his side, he pounced, twisting and driving his claws up and in, into Tom’s face, into Tom’s eyes, and Tom screeched as Lynx perforated his eyeballs. Lynx gouged his nails at a slant across Tom’s face, turning Tom’s nostrils into bloody ribbons.

“No!” Tom wailed, flinging himself back, stumbling to his feet, tottering to retain his balance. Blood spurted from his ravaged eyes and sprayed from his ruined nose. “No!” he blubbered, frantically waving his arms.

Lynx slowly stood. He wanted to prolong the fight, to make Tom suffer, but his gaze rested on Melody for an instant and he observed her horrified expression.

There was only one thing to do.

Lynx closed in, finishing off Tom with two quick slashes, slitting Tom’s throat wide open.

Tom gurgled as he sagged to his knees, a crimson geyser spuming from the cavity in his throat. “No!” he wheezed, blood spattering from his mouth and dripping over his chin. “No!” he cried again, but his voice was much weaker.

Lynx looked at Melody. She had her right hand pressed over her mouth.

He hurried to her side, taking her left hand in his.

Tom pitched onto his face, smacking onto the floor.

Melody glanced at Lynx, her green eyes pools of remorse. She removed her right hand from her mouth. “Was it necessary to do… that?”

Lynx nodded grimly.

Tom’s body was shaking uncontrollably. “No!” he said, the word barely audible.

Lynx stepped between Melody and Tom, blocking her line of sight. “If it upsets you so much,” he stated tenderly, “don’t look at him.”

“I’ve never seen anyone killed before,” Melody blurted out.

“If you come with me, if you leave Androxia, you’ll see more of it,” Lynx warned her. “I can guarantee it.”

“Really?” Melody responded.

“Really. The outside world ain’t nothin’ like what you’ve got here in Androxia. It ain’t this cushy,” Lynx stated. “There are some cities left out there, and outposts of civilization here and there, but mainly only one rule prevails. It’s called the survival of the fittest.”

Melody stared into his eyes. “Tell me the truth. You’ve killed before, haven’t you?”

“I’ll always tell you the truth,” Lynx promised. “And yes, I have. I’ve done more than my share of killin’. It’s in my blood.”

“How can you say that?” Melody demanded. “I’m a mutant too, the same type you are, and I don’t have any compulsion to kill.”

“Count your blessings,” Lynx advised her.

Melody gazed over Lynx’s left shoulder at the window in the south wall.

“I wonder if I really know what I’ve gotten myself into,” she commented softly, then locked her eyes on Lynx. “Don’t get me wrong. I can take care of myself, if push comes to shove. But I’ve never been outside of Androxia.

I can’t predict how I’ll cope.” She paused. “I could be a burden to you. Do you still want me to go with you?”

“Only if you want to come,” Lynx told her. “But I can promise you this.

I’ll do my best to protect you, to watch over you. But if you’re the kind of woman I think you are, you won’t need protectin’ for long. I suspect you’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for.”

“I hope you’re right,” Melody said.

Lynx glanced over his right shoulder.

Tom was deathly still, a large pool of blood encircling his head and shoulders like a red halo.

“How soon before they miss him?” Lynx asked.

“I don’t know,” Melody replied. “It depends on if anyone heard us. The walls are soundproofed, but if someone was walking by in the hallway—”

“Go check,” Lynx said, cutting her off.

Melody moved to the door, deliberately refraining from looking at Tom.

She cautiously opened the door and peered into the corridor. “I don’t see anyone,” she stated.

“Good,” Lynx said. “Close the door.”

Melody complied, returning to his side. “Now what?”

Lynx reflected for several seconds. “You said the testin’ floor is seven floors up?”

“That’s right,” Melody confirmed.

“I’ve got to get up there and see if my buddies are there,” Lynx declared. “Can you find me a white uniform like Tom’s?”

“No problem,” Melody answered. “We all have lockers in the break room, the Employees’ Lounge, for our personal effects. I can take one of his uniforms from his locker, and no one will be the wiser.”

“How will you get into his locker?” Lynx inquired. “Do you have a key?”

“Why would I need a key?” Melody responded, puzzled. “It won’t be locked. No one locks their lockers.”

“Okay,” Lynx said, pondering. “The uniform should fit, no problem. Do you need a pass of some kind to go from one floor to another?”

“No,” Melody said, reaching up and tapping the Orwell Disk in the middle of her forehead. “They monitor our location with these.”

Lynx nodded. “I know. I forgot. If you were to leave this floor and head up to forty-five, would they notice right away?”

“I don’t know,” Melody said.

“We’ll have to risk it,” Lynx stated.

“And what about you?” Melody asked.

“What about me?”

“You don’t have an O.D.,” Melody observed. “If we bump into a Superior, he might ask questions.”

“Then find me some glue when you go for the uniform,” Lynx said.

“Will do. Anything else?”

“Just this,” Lynx stated, and impetuously pecked her on the lips.

For a moment, her face registered only stunned surprise.

Lynx abruptly wished he could become invisible. What the hell had he done that for? Now was not the time or the place, he mentally chastised himself. What a dork!

Melody, incredibly, smiled. “What did you call that?”

“A kiss,” Lynx responded shamefully. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me!”

“I know what got into you,” Melody said.

Lynx was astounded when she placed her hands on his shoulders and drew near to him.

“And you can’t call that nip a kiss,” Melody admonished him.

Lynx was too amazed to react when she touched her soft lips to his, disregarding the blood on his face and mouth. He felt her warm tongue flick his lips once, and then she stepped back.

“Ummmmmm,” Melody commented. “You taste good.”

Lynx didn’t know what to say.

“Not bad,” Melody added. “But you’ll have to do better next time.” She hastened to the door, opened it, winked and grinned, and departed, closing the door behind her.

Lynx slowly reached up and traced his left index finger along his lips.

She’d kissed him! Actually kissed him! He couldn’t believe it! She certainly wasn’t as shy as he’d supposed. He walked over to Tom’s corpse and nudged the body with his right toe. “You asshole! If she’s frigid, I’m Peter Rabbit!” he said, and laughed.

The minutes dragged by.

Lynx spent the time wisely. He took a washcloth from the sink and used it to soak up the blood from the floor. After cleaning up the food spilled during the fight, he lifted the cot to its proper position, then rolled the corpse underneath the cot. A careful adjustment of the blanket, and Tom was effectively hidden from view. He was dabbing up the last of the blood when the door opened.

“I’ve got everything you wanted,” Melody said, closing the door. She surveyed the room. “Where…?”

Lynx nodded at the cot.

“Oh,” Melody declared.

Lynx rinsed the washcloth, then draped it over the edge of the sink. He faced Melody. “Let’s have it.”

Melody walked over and handed him the white shirt and pants. She held up her left hand, a tube of glue in her palm. “Why did you want this?”

“You’ll see in a sec,” Lynx said. He quickly donned the clothing, pleased at the perfect fit.

“My! Don’t you look handsome!” Melody said appreciatively. “But we need to do something about your face.”

“Thanks a heap,” Lynx retorted.

“I mean those cuts and all that blood,” Melody remarked. She went to the sink and ran cold water over the washcloth, then came back. “Hold still,” she directed, and hastily wiped the blood from his fur. “Do you want me to bandage these cuts? They look deep.”

“No time,” Lynx replied. He knelt and stuck his head and arms under the cot.

“What in the world are you doing?”

“You’ll see,” Lynx said.

Melody nervously glanced at the door.

There was a muted rustling from under the cot, followed by a peculiar sucking noise.

“Got it!” Lynx said, elated, and emerged. He stood, holding Tom’s Orwell Disk in his bloody right hand. “There ain’t no wires on this gizmo. How do they implant it, anyway?”

Melody couldn’t take her eyes off the disk. “They shave off your fur, if you have any, and use a scapel to cut a circle in your forehead the same size as the disk. Then they attach it.”

“What do they use to keep it in place?”

“I’m not sure,” Melody hefted the glue. “We’re not permitted to view the implantation procedure.”

Lynx gazed at the O.D. on Melody’s forehead. “I hate to say it, but that thing is comin’ off as soon as we’re out of Androxia.”

“I know.”

“It’ll hurt when I take it off,” Lynx predicted.

“I know,” Melody said. “But it can’t be helped.”

“See? You’re one tough momma,” Lynx stated. He moved to the sink and washed off the disk. “Let me have the glue.”

Melody gave it to him.

Lynx coated the reverse side of the disk with the glue and handed the O.D. to her. “You’ll have to do the honors. Just press it against my fur. Try and get it as flush as you can.”

Melody quickly applied the Orwell Disk to his forehead. She pressed on the disk as hard as she could, then blew on it to hasten the hardening of the glue.

“I wish you were doing that to my ear,” Lynx commented.

“Behave,” Melody rejoined. She tentatively withdrew her hand. “There. I don’t know if it will hold. But if no one looks at it real closely, they won’t know it’s a fake.”

“Then we’re out of here.” Lynx took her hand and crossed to the door.

“What’s the best way up to forty-five?”

“We could take the stairwell,” Melody advised. “Hardly anybody ever uses the stairwell.”

“Which way is it?”

“Take a right,” Melody instructed him.

Lynx nodded, opened the door, released her hand, and nonchalantly strolled from the room, bearing to the right.

Melody stayed on his heels, closing the door after them.

Lynx took four strides, then froze as a deep voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Tom! Hold up!”

Lynx mustered a feeble smile and slowly turned, keeping his injured right cheek on his off side.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” stated the newcomer.

Lynx, his nerves tingling, stared up into the piercing blue eyes of a giant Superior.