Twin Cities Run

Chapter Twenty-One

The second blow from the tail knocked Geronimo into the putrid pond, the water filling his mouth. He rose to the surface as the creature spun on him, coughing, shaking his head to clear his vision. He grabbed his tomahawks and braced his legs, waiting, his mind racing, trying to identify his attacker.

The beast was at least six feet long, half of it tail. It had four clawed feet, but its main arsenal was the mouth, filled with those razor teeth, some of which protruded from the sides of its jaw.

Geronimo thoroughly enjoyed nature books. He’d, read all of the Family books on wildlife, and as the reptile bore down on him, he called to mind two possibilities. An alligator or a crocodile. He didn’t know which this was, and the name didn’t matter. What counted was the method of dispatching the thing. If his memory served, alligators and crocodiles were tough to kill, tenacious and savage when aroused. And this one was definitely aroused!

The creature was within biting range, the mouth open and targeted on Geronimo.

Geronimo sidestepped, his movements sluggish and slow because of the water. He slashed with his right tomahawk, the edge biting into the side of the reptile’s mouth, drawing blood, but causing only a minor wound. He swung his left tomahawk, the blade connecting on top of the creature, above the eyes. The blow stunned the reptile, but the tough skin deflected the blade.

The reptile submerged.

Geronimo twisted and turned, the back of his neck tingling. He couldn’t see into the water! The thing could grab him by the leg, pull him under, and drown him! He glanced at the ladder, thirty yards distant, his one hope!

Something brushed against his right leg.

He swam, still grasping his prized tomahawks, his arms and sturdy legs churning the water.

Great Spirit, preserve him!

Geronimo narrowed the distance to the ladder. Maybe the reptile would let him go. Maybe it had attacked him because he had pushed against it.

Did alligators or crocodiles eat humans?

The reptilian monstrosity swept out of the water, the head breaking the surface, the jaws clamping onto Geronimo’s left leg below the knee.

No!

Geronimo bent and imbedded his left tomahawk in the creature’s left eye, the blade buried deep, blood flowing from the gash and spreading, turning the murky water a rust-colored hue.

The reptile went under again, releasing its grip on Geronimo’s leg and wrenching the tomahawk from his hand.

Without hesitation, disregarding his hurt leg, Geronimo resumed swimming, his eyes fastened on the ladder.

He was getting close!

Geronimo mentally ticked off the feet remaining, expecting the beast to latch onto him again at any moment. He plowed through the piles of litter in his path, the filth clinging to his clothes and face.

Something nipped at his right foot, but was unable to get a hold on the pumping extremity.

Left arm, right arm. Left arm, right arm. Keep the legs thrashing. Left arm, right arm. He kept his rhythm steady and measured, knowing to panic now was to die.

Another reptile, a smaller version of the first, appeared to his right, lying in the water with its eyes and snout exposed. This one vanished as he drew near.

How many of the things were there? Did they ever attack in groups?

The rungs of the ladder were ten yards from his hands. Eight. Six.

Almost there!

Geronimo reached the metal rungs and gripped the lowest one with his left hand, slipping as he pulled himself up. He grabbed the ladder again and heaved, at the same instant the reptile was on him again, the jaws closing on his right foot.

Great Spirit!

Geronimo brutally brought the right tomahawk down, cutting into the reptile’s other eye.

The thing refused to release his right foot.

He swung again, the tomahawk digging a furrow between the eyes. His left hand, still wet, began to loose its hold, and he slipped in the water up to his waist.

Furious, blinded, the reptile freed his foot and sank, agitating the water with its death throes, the blood pouring from its injuries.

Geronimo hastily climbed the ladder, holding fast to the metal rungs, the sunlight hurting his eyes.

Squinting, he managed to reach the circular opening. He squeezed through and rolled to his left, gasping for air, exhausted.

He’d made it!

How long had he been underground? His eyes were stinging and watering like mad. He rested, happy, relishing the fresh air and the warmth from the sun. Never, in all his life, had the sun looked so good as it did now. It was surprising how many blessings you could take for granted.

The pounding of feet alerted him to the fact he wasn’t out of danger yet.

Geronimo sat up, finding himself in the middle of a street. Shabby, crumbling buildings lined both sides of the road. Two gutted automobiles were at the curb twenty feet away. An alley intersected the street about ten feet to his right.

The sound of someone running came from the alley.

Geronimo rose to his feet, a bit unsteady. He still had the Arminius in the shoulder holster under his right arm.

Whoever was coming down the alley was making a lot of racket, knocking cans aside and breathing heavily.

Geronimo slipped his solitary tomahawk under his belt and drew the Arminius, the revolver soaking wet. His left leg and right foot were torn and bleeding. They would require attention as soon as he tended to his new business. He was sick and tired of being the victim, of being set upon again and again and again. This time, it would be different. He’d do the attacking for a change of pace!

Another trash can toppled to the pavement.

Geronimo ran to the alley entrance and hid to one side, the Arminius in his left hand. He tensed, ready, estimating the distance, and when a blurred form hurtled from the mouth of the alley, he flicked his left leg out and tripped the newcomer.

“Damn!”

The runner crashed to the pavement, pinwheeling, the sunlight gleaming from bladed weapons.

Geronimo pointed the Arminius at the target, his finger tightening on the trigger.

They weren’t getting him this time!