New Orleans Run

Chapter Three

Louisiana. The 18th state to enter the Union, the 33rd largest in the United States. One of the few to have more than one nickname. Known as the Creole State because of the many Creoles who lived there, descendants of the early Spanish and French settlers. Also known as the Pelican State, due to the thousands of brown pelicans inhabiting the marshes along the coast, and the Sugar Cane State, based on the huge quantities of sugar cane Louisiana produced each year prior to the war.

More importantly, when the missiles were launched, Louisiana had a population of approximately five million and about 300 incorporated cities, towns, and villages. Seventy percent of the population had lived in the rural areas. In addition to the Creoles, a large number of Cajuns had also lived in the state. They were descendants of Acadians from Canada.

Three land regions dominated the former state: the West Gulf Coastal Plain, the Mississippi Alluvial Plain, and the East Gulf Coastal Plain in which New Orleans was located. Flooding had been a constant problem for those living in the lower areas. Tons of silt carried by the rivers had raised the level of the riverbeds above the surrounding countryside, and several major floods had reportedly covered a third of the state.

The climate was hot, humid, and subtropical. Louisiana had been rated as one of the wettest states with an annual rainfall of 56 inches, although the southern section had recorded receiving over a hundred inches of rain periodically.

All of these facts Blade reviewed as he hiked along a game trail and wiped his right forearms across his perspiring brow. He’d spent an hour in the Family library researching the state the night before. In his back left pocket was a map. He squinted up at the bright afternoon sun, marveling at the drastic change in weather between extreme northwestern Minnesota, where the Home was located, and extreme southern Louisiana.

A mild cold front had lowered temperatures at the Home overnight, but here, thanks to the subtropical climate, the temperature hovered in the eighties and the humid air seemed to drip moisture.

From the air, as the Hurricane swept in from the northwest, Blade had noted an interesting fact. Apparently another major flood had occurred, and the city of New Orleans was almost completely ringed by swampy bayous, cut off from the inland regions by a formidable expanse of inhospitable marsh infested by alligators, snakes, and swarms of insects.

He hoped they could avoid going into the swamps.

“Damn, it’s hot!”

Blade glanced over his right shoulder at the three hybrids following him, each attired in the usual loincloth, and grinned. Over their strenuous objections, he had compelled them to bring a weapon along. All three had opted for an AR-15. They also carried spare magazines in pouches strapped around their waists. “Quit your griping, Lynx,” he said.

“You didn’t tell me this place would fry my fur,” the cat-man groused.

“No one twisted your arm to make you come along.”

Blade noted, adjusting the backpack he wore. “You’re here of your own free will.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Ferret muttered.

Blade glanced at the second mutation. “What do you mean? Lynx told me all three of you were eager to go on a mission. He said you’d appointed him as your spokesman to present your appeal.”

“He did, did he?” Ferret said glaring at his feline companion.

A snicker came from Gremlin, who brought up the rear. “Where would we be without kind, considerate Lynx to look out for us, yes?”

“Did he lie to me?” Blade asked bluntly, halting.

The hybrids stopped. Lynx cast an apprehensive gaze at his friends.

“I won’t tolerate a Warrior who lies,” Blade declared. “He assured me that both of you wanted to come along. Is that true?”

For a second no one spoke.

Ferret sighed and stared off into the distance, “Yeah, it’s true. We couldn’t wait to go on a run with you.”

Blade looked at Gremlin. “Is that right?”

The humanoid simply nodded.

“Okay, then. I don’t want any griping from any of you. Whatever happens, you asked to be here,” Blade reminded them, and continued tramping eastward. He suspected Ferret and Gremlin were covering for their buddy, but he wouldn’t press the issue. Actually, he was pleased at the loyalty they exhibited to one another. Triad members were supposed to be supremely committed companions.

Lynx, eager to change the topic, voiced a question. “Why are we out here in the middle of nowhere, miles from the city?”

“Because these are the coordinates where the distress call originated,” Blade said.

“You must have the wrong coordinates. There’s nothin’ here but bugs and birds.”

Blade surveyed the land around them. Cypress, oak, and pine trees grew in abundance. Varieties of birds he had never seen before winged overhead or roosted in the trees. The soil underfoot felt soft, almost spongy. Before the Hurricane had landed in a large clearing to the west, as it flew in at treetop level to avoid being spotted from afar, he’d observed bayous to the north, south, and west. There might be more swampland to the east, which meant they were on an elevated tract of dry land. He’d also observed a wide field or meadow on the east side, and had selected it as their immediate goal.

“I smell something,” Lynx declared, tilting his head to sniff the air loudly.

“Human scent?” Blade asked, looking back.

“Nope. Just a rabbit.”

“I smell it too,” Ferret mentioned.

“Yeah, but I detected the scent first,” Lynx bragged.

Blade faced forward and pushed a limb aside that blocked the trail.

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a big different to Lynx,” Ferret explained. “He’s always trying to prove his senses are sharper than ours.”

“They are,” Lynx declared.

“Your hearing is keener than that of most humans, isn’t it?” Blade asked, although he already knew the answer.

“You know it,” Lynx stated proudly. “So is my eyesight, my sense of smell, and my reflexes. Compared to me most humans are pathetic.”

“I’m lucky I brought you along then,” Blade said, his tone only marginally sarcastic. “And since your ears function so well, you should have no difficulty understanding me when I tell you that we should consider ourselves in enemy territory and only talk when absolutely essential. Understood?”

“Why are you pickin’ on me? The others were yakkin’ too.”

“You broke silence first.”

“Excuse me for living.”

Blade grinned, moving to the right as the trail curved, skirting a dense thicket. In 20 yards the path led due east again and he increased speed, anxious to reach the field, to find the party responsible for sending the distress call. He reasoned there must be a habitation of some sort nearby, a place where the radio could be sheltered from the elements. Unless, of course, someone had traveled all the way out to this spot at night just to make the broadcasts, which wouldn’t be very practical.

The cardinal flew over the path from right to left.

The Warrior’s eyes narrowed at the sight of an open tract ahead.

Rather abruptly the trees thinned and in front of them stretched the field.

Not 40 yards from the treeline stood a neglected wooden cabin. The walls were in desperate need of a paint job and the roof sagged in the center, threatening to collapse with the next heavy rain. A sole window in the middle of the wall resembled a blank, lifeless eye.

No activity could be perceived inside.

Blade stepped behind an oak tree and watched the cabin for several minutes, waiting to learn if anyone was home. But nothing happened. He looked at the hybrids, who were likewise concealed in the shelter of nearby tree trunks, and issued instructions. “We’ll go in fast. Single file. Stay low and keep close to me.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if we fanned out?” Lynx responded.

“When I want you to fan out, I’ll let you know,” Blade said brusquely.

“Let’s go.” He clutched the submachine gun he’d elected to bring along on the mission, a Thompson M1A1, hunched over, and ran toward the cabin.

His favorite SMG, a Commando Arms Carbine, was being overhauled by the Family Gunsmiths, and he’d opted for the Thompson because the two were very similar and he was accustomed to the feel and performance of the Commando.

No one challenged them as they raced forward.

Blade reached the side of the building first and crouched down, listening. Once the others were to his left he eased to the corner and peeked around the edge.

Not a soul was in sight.

“Stay close,” the Warrior reiterated in a whisper, and darted from cover to sprint to the front of the cabin. He paused again at the corner to scan the field and the front of the structure, bothered to finding the door wide open. Surely whoever sent the message wouldn’t go off and leave the cabin unattended? He inched along the wall to within a foot of the doorway, then stopped.

The waist-high weeds in the field were stirred slightly by a sluggish breeze from the northwest. Bees, a few butterflies, and other insects were in evidence, but nothing else.

“I don’t like this Boss,” Lynx whispered, sliding up beside the giant.

“Don’t talk,” Blade hissed, and swung into the doorway, his knees bent, sweeping the Thompson from side to side.

The cabin was unoccupied. A rickety wooden table sat off to the right, and a chair had been positioned on either side. Those three items were the only furniture.

Blade stepped inside, checked behind the door even though it hung almost flush with the wall, and walked over to the table. He thoughtfully gnawed on his lower lip, pondering the implications. His first assumption was that no one had used the cabin in ages, that perhaps he did have the wrong coordinates. Then he glanced at the windowsills and the floor and realized someone had been there, and quite recently. Dust caked all the sills and the floor space nearest the walls, but the table, the chairs, and most of the floor were all dust free. So perhaps the cabin had been the site from which the broadcasts had originated.

But where was the broadcaster?

The Warrior returned to the doorway and stood gazing at the countryside to the east. A very faint trail was visible leading in that direction.

“Can I speak, oh, mighty one?” Lynx inquired.

“What is it?”

“If you ask me, this is turnin’ into a waste of our time.”

“No one asked you.”

“What do we do now? Sit around and twiddle our thumbs until someone shows up?”

“We might,” Blade said. He stepped outside and moved a dozen yards from the structure, debating their course of action. Perhaps whoever had made the calls only did so at night. In that case, the person with the radio might not put in an appearance until nightfall. They could scour every nook and cranny, or they could stay there and hope someone came.

Ferret walked a few paces to the north, his nostrils quivering. “Do you smell that?” he asked, glancing at Lynx.

“What?”

“I’m not exactly sure. A reptilian sort of scent, one I’ve never encountered before.”

“Yeah. I smelted it a while back. Beats me what it could be,” the cat-man stated.

“Snakes, maybe?” Blade suggested.

“I know snake scent,” Lynx said. “It’s faint and very distinct. This is a stronger odor, and different.”

“Alligators, then,” Blade remarked.

“Or an unknown kind of mutation, yes?” Gremlin interjected.

“Whatever it is, it gives me the willies,” Ferret mentioned.

Blade raised his right hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. Far off on the eastern horizon towering buildings were barely visible. Skyscrapers, most likely. Downtown New Orleans. He estimated the distance at four or five miles.

“What’s the plan, Fearless Leader?” Lynx queried. “Your wish is our command.”

“Tell you what,” Blade said. “Since you’re so antsy to do something, why don’t you take that trail over there and see where it leads?” He pointed eastward..

“My pleasure,” the cat-man replied promptly, and took off. “Don’t wait up for me, Mother!” He jogged into the field.

“Be back here in thirty minutes!” Blade ordered.

Lynx looked over his left shoulder and smirked. “I don’t own a watch.”

With that he cackled and broke into a trot, only his chest, slim shoulders, and head in view above the tops of the swaying vegetation.

“Lynx is a card, no?” Gremlin commented.

“No,” Ferret responded.

“I can think of other words that would fit him better,” Blade said. He walked back to the cabin and sat down in the doorway, leaning his back against the right-hand jamb.

“Lynx means well, yes.”

“Is that why he persuaded you to come along on this assignment against your better judgment?” Blade asked.

Ferret and Gremlin exchanged startled looks.

“You knew all the time, no?” the humanoid said.

“I do now,” Blade said.

“Don’t be hard on Lynx,” Ferret stated. “He can’t help himself. The damn Doktor bred all of us to be exactly as we are. I’m a moody cuss, Gremlin is always Mr. Cheerful, and Lynx just naturally believes he’s right all of the time. Unfortunately for his ego and the rest of us, he’s correct about eighty-five percent of the time. And if you ever tell him I said so, I’ll deny every word.”

Blade smiled and rested the Thompson in his lap. He debated whether to open the backpack and remove a few strips of jerked venison, but before he could reach a decision a series of sharp retorts from the direction Lynx had taken brought him to his feet.

Gunshots!