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  New Orleans Run

  #24 in the Endworld series

  David L. Robbins

  Dedicated to… Judy, Joshua, and Shane.

  And to the memory of Robert E. Howard.

  PROLOGUE

  The young woman halted and spun, her long raven tresses swirling, and stared intently at the benighted landscape to her rear. "I think we're being followed," she asserted.

  "You're imagining things," her companion stated. A brown-haired man in his early twenties, he wore faded jeans, a green shirt, and a denim backpack.

  "Didn't you hear something just now?" the woman asked anxiously. She wore dark blue pants and a matching blouse. Her green eyes narrowed as she tried to pierce the gloom.

  "No."

  "I did."

  The man turned and surveyed the rolling expanse of open field they had just traversed. Scant illumination was provided by the quarter moon already several hours high, but he could see well enough to ascertain no one trailed them. "As usual, your nerves are getting the better of you.

  We're not being followed."

  "My nerves are fine, thank you."

  "Come on, Eleanore. You know you become jumpy as when we make these trips."

  Eleanore made no comment. Instead, she turned and resumed hiking to the west, her spine rigid, her fists clenched at her sides.

  "In one of your moods again, I see," the man remarked as he followed.

  "Don't start, Jerry."

  "I'm only mentioning the obvious."

  "Obvious to you maybe."

  Jerry sighed and adjusted the tight straps on the backpack. "I wish you'd quit looking down your nose at me, Ms. High and Mighty. We're both part of the Resistance, you know. Your family may have been wealthy and powerful decades ago, way back before World War Three, but you're no better than the rest of us poor white trash now."

  Again Eleanore stopped, and this time she fixed a flashing glare on her surprised companion. "Is that what you and the others think? That I have some kind of snobbish attitude?"

  A noncommittal shrug was Jerry's reply.

  "Answer me, damn you!"

  "Let's keep going," Jerry said, starting to walk past her. "This is hardly the proper time or place to air our gripes."

  Eleanore grabbed his left wrist and held fast. "What's wrong with right now? We're in the middle of nowhere, four miles from New Orleans. No one can hear us. The tonton macoutes have ho idea we're here. So let's get this off our chests."

  "Be serious," Jerry stated testily, trying to pull his arm loose. "The eyes and ears of Damballah are everywhere."

  "Don't give me that garbage," Eleanore snapped.

  "You never know," Jerry noted, and ceased tugging. "Look, will you quit behaving like a five-year-old and let go of me? Adrien is waiting for us."

  "We're ahead of schedule," Eleanor pointed out. "A few minutes won't hurt."

  "No."

  "Please," Eleanore pleaded. "Ever since I joined the Resistance four months ago, everyone except Violet and Rad has been giving me the cold shoulder. At first I thought it was all in my head, but lately I've come to realize that none of you like me. Why?"

  "You don't want to know," Jerry said.

  "Then it's true," Eleanore said softly. She released his wrist and gazed absently at the flickering lights in the city to the east. "I can hardly believe it. What did I ever do to any of you?"

  "Nothing," Jerry admitted, fidgeting uncomfortably.

  "Then why?"

  A strained silence persisted for all of ten seconds, until Jerry took a deep breath and blurted out, "Because no one trusts you, that's why."

  Eleanore looked at him in astonishment. "No one trusts me? I'm as dedicated to the cause as anyone else. And I have more to lose by joining the Resistance than most. So why doesn't anyone trust me?"

  "Some suspect you might be a plant, a spy."

  "A spy!" Eleanore exclaimed angrily.

  "Shhhhh!" Jerry cautioned. "Keep the noise down. We don't want anyone to hear us."

  "You're the one who claims no one is following us," Eleanore reminded him. "And the nearest house is two miles away. So who could hear us?"

  "You never know."

  "Is that your favorite phrase or something?" Eleanore inquired, and then continued before he could answer. "To tell you the truth, I don't much care who hears me. You've handed me the worst insult possible and I demand to know the reason."

  "You're no dummy. Surely you can figure it all out by yourself."

  "Tell me, damn you!" Eleanore insisted, a shrill tinge to her tone.

  Jerry placed his hands on his hips and regarded her critically. "All right. But remember you asked for it." He paused. "We all know you're Violet's friend, but how can you blame us for suspecting you? You were one of Laveau's women, for crying out loud. You lived in the lap of luxury.

  Fine food, fine clothes—anything you wanted, you got. And there were always dozens of slaves waiting to serve you at any time of the day or night. How can you expect any sane person to believe you'd give all of that up to join the Resistance?"

  "You're right. I was one of Laveau's women. Was. Past tense. As in past history. But the son of a bitch dumped me, just like he does every woman once she turns nineteen. Surely you know he only beds sweet young things," Eleanore stated, saying the last three words bitterly.

  "There's a rumor to that effect," Jerry acknowledged.

  "It's no lousy rumor," Eleanore snapped. "Laveau is the most superstitious bastard on the planet. He won't eat food that has been touched by anything metal. All of the cooking utensils at his estate, all of the pots and pans, the forks, spoons, and knives are made of wood. All of his clothes, all of the washcloths and towels are red because only red fabric can touch his body. And five times a day he has to drink fresh goat's blood."

  "Goat's blood?" Jerry said distastefully.

  "That's right. He firmly believes that if he breaks any of those rules, plus dozens of others, his magic will grow weak and his enemies will be able to defeat him."

  "And that's why he dumped you?"

  "Yep. He'll only have sex with women between fifteen and nineteen."

  "A fifteen-year-old is hardly a woman," Jerry mentioned with evident scorn.

  "They are by the time Laveau gets through with them," Eleanore remarked, her voice suddenly raspy. "I should know. I went through the whole routine. The tonton macoutes showed up at my parents' house when I was one month shy of my fifteenth birthday and informed them Laveau wanted me as one of his harem. They went on and on about the honor I was receiving, and they paid my parents twenty pieces of gold in compensation."

  "Did your folks accept?"

  "Of course."

  Jerry recoiled in shock. "How could they sell their own daughter to that fiend?"

  "Be realistic. What choice did they have? If they'd refused, the tonton macoutes would have taken me anyway and about a week later my mom and dad would have mysteriously disappeared," Eleanore said, and bowed her head. "So they did what they had to do. On my fifteenth birthday, which most girls celebrate with their family, and maybe with a boyfriend on hand, I was carried kicking and screaming from our house and taken into the bayou to Laveau's estate. That very night he took me for the first time." She paused and inhaled deeply.

  "There's no need to go on," Jerry advised her.

  "I want you to know the truth," Eleanore declared, glancing at him. "I want you to tell the others in the Resistance so they'll understand the reason I joined. I'm not a damned spy. I want to make the Baron pay for what he
did to me."

  "Revenge is your motive," Jerry said.

  "Can you think of a better one?"

  "Yes."

  "You can?" Eleanore queried in surprise.

  "Freedom."

  "I believe in freedom."

  "Perhaps you do," Jerry responded. "But you're more interested in getting revenge for the indignities you suffered."

  "Indignities, hell! I went through sheer torture!"

  "Okay. Granted. But freedom is a secondary consideration for you. For me, and for most of us in the Resistance, freedom is our motivation for opposing the rule of Damballah, freedom for the thousands of people who live in daily fear of the Baron, of Majesta, of the tonton macoutes and all the rest. New Orleans has been under the sway of evil for far too long. I want my children to be able to walk down the street in safety."

  "Do you have kids? I didn't know that."

  "Not yet. But one day I'll meet the right woman, and then—who knows?"

  "I hope you do," Eleanore offered sincerely.

  "Thanks." Jerry turned to the west. "Look, we'd really best get our butts in gear. I know there's plenty of time until daylight, but I don't like cutting the margin too close. Let's deliver the goods to Adrien and get back."

  "Are you sure you're not just scared of the dark?" Eleanore joked, breaking into a brisk stride. "Are you afraid Damballah will get you?" She laughed at the notion.

  Jerry walked on her right. "Don't mock Damballah."

  "What's with you? You act as if you believe in the nonsense they spout about the thing."

  "I do."

  Eleanore broke stride for an instant, then caught up with him. "And here I had you pegged as a sensible guy."

  "Make fun of me all you want, but I know what I saw."

  "You saw it?" Eleanore questioned in amazement.

  "Yep."

  "You're putting me on. I mean, in all the years I was at Laveau's estate I never saw it. Granted, they wouldn't let me or any of the other women in his stable anywhere near the houmfor, but if the thing was real you'd think I'd have caught a glimpse of it."

  Jerry looked at her and found himself admiring the fine lines of her lovely features. "My brother and I saw it about twelve years ago."

  "Tell me," she urged.

  "Well, we'd gone into the bayou in my dad's canoe to do some fishing.

  We weren't supposed to go by ourselves, but you know how kids can be.

  Anyway, we stayed out later than we intended, and by the time we started back the sun was setting. Our arms grew tired and we pulled in next to this small island to rest." He quit speaking and scoured the ground ahead, searching the waist-high weeds for the faint trace of the trail.

  "Go on. What happened next?"

  "We heard this strange noise, like a loud hissing, and we were stunned to see this enormous creature moving through the water to the south of us. We froze, which is probably just as well. If that thing had spotted us we would have been its supper."

  Eleanore could detect a vestige of terror in his voice even after so many years, and she inadvertently shuddered as she imagined the harrowing experience he'd undergone. "What did it look like?"

  "Exactly as the legend states."

  "Dear God."

  "The Lord has no connection to that monster. Damballah is straight from hell."

  A horrifying thought occurred to Eleanore and she glanced around them in consternation. "What if we bump into it?"

  Jerry patted the survival knife attached to his belt above his right hip.

  "I'd do my best to protect you. Your best bet, though, would be to run. I couldn't hold something that size off for very long."

  Suddenly the night seemed to be shrouded by a sinister veil, and lurking in every shadow was a bloodthirsty creature or a demon from the inferno. Eleanore moved closer to Jerry. "How soon will we be at the cabin?"

  "About five minutes."

  "Good," Eleanore said, and that single word was pregnant with expectation and relief. She listened to the myriad of sounds characteristic of a typical muggy Louisiana night in early October; the chirping and buzzing of insects, the croaking of bullfrogs, the peculiar bellowing of gators from the swamp to the south, the hooting of owls, the occasional fluttering of bats from overhead, and, of course, the distinct roars and eerie cries of the mutations. "I never realized how isolated we are out here," she commented.

  "Where else could the Resistance operate the radio?" Jerry replied.

  "Ever since the great flood, the bayou has pretty much taken over all of the land encircling New Orleans. This thirty-acre tract is one of the largest dry sections for miles."

  "I've been meaning to ask. Where did the Resistance obtain the shortwave radio anyway?"

  "About five months ago Rad was poking through those abandoned buildings on Canal Street. He stumbled across, of all things, a sub-basement in one of the old department stores. In it, sitting on a dusty table, was the shortwave and other gear."

  "Rad took a big risk," Eleanore noted. "The tonton macoutes have declared those buildings off-limits."

  "They can't be everywhere at once."

  Eleanore pondered for a moment. "I was told those scum have gone all through those buildings, from top to bottom, many times. How could they have missed the radio?"

  "Easy. Rad found it quite by accident. He saw a fat rat and tried to bag it with his slingshot, but the rodent ran behind a pile of debris. When Rad looked, he found a narrow opening in the wall at floor level, a concealed maintenance shaft to the ventilation system. He crawled in, wiggled along the passages, and came to the room containing the shortwave. It must have belonged to an ancient maintenance worker. Maybe he put it there to listen to while he was on his breaks, or maybe he had a friend he liked to contact on a regular basis. For all we know, he could have stolen it from the department store."

  "You certainly know a lot about the prewar life-style," Eleanore observed.

  "I've ready every book I can find on the subject."

  "Didn't the tonton macoutes burn all the libraries to the ground?"

  "Yeah, but they weren't able to collect every book in New Orleans. The Resistance has collected a couple of hundred over the years, and they're all stored in a safe place."

  "I didn't know the Resistance has its own library."

  "It's one of our best-kept secrets. Only the inner circle knows the exact location. You have to be with the Resistance for a year or so before you'll be allowed to go there," Jerry related.

  "There you go again. It certainly is nice to know that everyone has such confidence in me."

  Jerry looked at her. "Don't take it personally. I wasn't permitted to visit the library until I'd been with the Resistance eleven months."

  "Really."

  Jerry nodded. "Some of the books are priceless. There are several on the prewar society. One tells all about how to live off the land. And another one describes how to build a boat from scratch. If we could locate the materials, if we could build the boat without the tonton macoutes finding out, then if worse came to worst we could head for the Gulf."

  "That's a lot of ifs," Eleanore remarked.

  "It's just one of the ideas we're working on in case we can't raise anyone on the shortwave radio."

  "Has Adrien had any luck yet?"

  "No," Jerry replied. "He's been broadcasting every night for two weeks, and so far he hasn't received an answer." He gazed thoughtfully at the star-filled night. "There must be someone out there who can hear us, who can help."

  "I hope you're right. But for all we know the rest of the country could be in the same shape as New Orleans," Eleanore mentioned.

  "Then we're all as good as dead."

  They tramped through the weeds for another two minutes without speaking.

  "Hey," Eleanore said, breaking the silence. "Something just occurred to me. If the Resistance has had the shortwave for five months, why has Adrien only been broadcasting for two weeks?"

  "First we had to discover a safe place to b
roadcast from," Jerry answered. "We also had to dig up some batteries to power the unit. That alone took us three months, until we came across a stash, in a demolished hardware store. And we had to figure out how to use the thing.

  Unfortunately, the radio didn't come with a set of instructions. You've seen all the dials and switches it has."

  "Yes," Eleanore said. "This is my third trip out here, remember?"

  "And we'll keep bringing him supplies and checking on his progress every four or five days until he makes contact," Jerry stated.

  "Why doesn't he just come into the city for his provisions?"

  "Because we don't want the shortwave left alone."

  "Then send someone out here to stay with him," Eleanore proposed.

  "What difference does it make? Violet set up the arrangements, and they're fine as far as I'm concerned."

  "Oh. Well, she knows best."

  "How long have you known her anyway?" Jerry inquired.

  "Violet and I go way back," Eleanore divulged. "We've been friends since we were six years old. Her folks lived next door to my parents for years until they moved to the French Quarter."

  "I was raised in Algiers."

  Eleanore studied his profile for a moment. "Algiers is one of the roughest sections of New Orleans."

  "I got by okay. We lived on the south end, and it was easy for my brother and me to slip away to Bayou Segnette whenever we wanted."

  "You talk so fondly of your brother. Where is he now?"

  "Dead."

  "Oh. I'm sorry."

  "He died three and a half years ago."

  "What happened?"

  "The tonton macoutes caught him returning from a hunting trip with a rifle. The gun had been in our family since before I was born, We'd kept it hidden under the floorboards and only used it on special occasions to conserve the ammunition. Howie took it out to go bag a deer. He wanted to treat my father and mother to venison steak for their anniversary,"

  Jerry detailed.

  "You don't need to tell me the rest. I know possessing a firearm is strictly forbidden, and I can imagine what they did to him."

  "No, you can't. They pulled his toenails out with a pair of pliers, peeled the skin from his body, and then boiled him alive in salt water," Jerry disclosed, his, voice wavering.