Atlanta Run Read online

“Ringo,” Chastity said. “I know. Would you like a girl too?” She gazed at him earnestly, expectantly.

  The gunman tore his eyes from her and looked at the pit rim. “You should stay with kinfolk,” he said huskily.

  “Who are the Kinfolks? Relatives of yours?”

  “No,” Hickok responded. “I meant that you should stay with relatives of yours.”

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Yes, you do. Your father’s sister, remember? Your aunt. Blade is in Atlanta searching for her right now,” Hickok told her.

  Chastity frowned. “Oh.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “I don’t like her,” Chastity declared. “I don’t want to live with her.”

  “You should live with relatives,” Hickok reiterated.

  Chastity glumly stared at the floor. “I get it. You don’t want to be my daddy.”

  The corners of the gunman’s mouth curled downward. “It’s not that. I have a son—”

  “And you only want one child,” Chastity said.

  “It’s not that—”

  “Your wife would be upset,” Chastity stated.

  “Will you stop interruptin’ me!” Hickok snapped. “I never said we only wanted one kid. As for my missus, I’m the head honcho in our marriage.”

  “The what?”

  “I’m the boss,” Hickok explained.

  “You are?”

  “Well, sort of. We divide the responsibility and the decisions fifty-fifty,” Hickok elaborated.

  “Even-Steven?”

  “Well, not quite.” Hickok reflected a moment. “Actually, although I’d never admit it to anyone else, my missus is the brains in our marriage.”

  “Would she like to have a little girl?” Chastity asked eagerly.

  “She’s always gripin’ about being outnumbered,” Hickok mentioned. He looked into her eyes. “But takin’ on a new mouth to feed is a major decision. Sherry and I would have to talk it out, and Ringo should be prepared.”

  “Do you mean you’ll think about it?” Chastity inquired with a hopeful lilt.

  “I’ll cogitate on it,” Hickok said.

  “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Yippee!” Chastity exclaimed, jumping up and hugging him.

  The Warrior felt like he was being choked to death. “Whoa there, princess. Calm down. We’ve got to be quiet.”

  But it was too late.

  Hickok’s blood chilled as he heard a guttural snarl from overhead, and he craned his neck for a view of the rim. A savage visage glowered at him.

  The mutant was at the very edge next to the pole, holding the Uzi in its hairy left hand. As the gunman had contrived, curiosity had prompted the beast to emerge from cover and shuffle to the weapon lying near the pit.

  Hickok guessed that the mutant had picked up the automatic a second before Chastity yelled, and now it knew they were there. “Look out!” he shouted, shoving the girl aside and elevating the M-16.

  With a bellow of bloodlust, the creature leaped into the pit.

  Chapter Twelve

  The white plane’s twin-engines whined as the aircraft arced at the band of Freedom Fighters.

  “Cover!” Locklin called out.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi knew he would court certain death if he stood; the Storm Police in the stand of trees would mow him down before he covered a yard. On the other hand, lying in the weeds exposed him to the diving plane. He compromised. Clutching the Uzi in his left hand, he quickly scrambled on his hands and knees into the dense brush. Above him the sky was rent by the rattle of a large-caliber machine gun.

  Someone screamed in torment.

  The Warrior rolled to a squatting posture, finding Locklin and other men and women in green near him. Three of the band had not been as fortunate, and their prone forms were visible sprawled in the weeds.

  “Tuck!” Locklin cried.

  Rikki peered upward at the aircraft as the plane climbed for a second run.

  A squat, bearded man, hunched over at the waist, hastened to Locklin.

  He held a crossbow in his muscular right hand. “Yes?”

  “You know what to do,” Locklin said.

  Tuck nodded and knelt, reaching for a small, brown leather pouch attached to his belt on his left hip. He opened the flap and extracted an unusually large arrowhead.

  “That plane is history,” Locklin declared.

  A crossbow against an aircraft? Rikki watched as Tuck shifted and revealed a quiver of crossbow bolts suspended from his belt on his right side. “You must be an outstanding archer,” Rikki commented.

  Tuck looked at the man in black. “Have you ever seen this done before?”

  He placed the black crossbow on the grass.

  “I’ve never seen anyone shoot down a plane with an arrow.”

  “Watch,” Tuck said. He extracted a bolt from the quiver, a short, green arrow lacking a tip. The end of the shaft was hollow. “These were all the rage before the war,” Tuck commented. “It’s easy to use different arrowheads this way.” He quickly inserted the threaded base of the oversized arrowhead into the hollow end of the bolt and screwed the arrowhead tight.

  “We possess such arrows where I come from,” Rikki mentioned. “And I have a friend who is an excellent bowman. His name is Teucer. But I doubt even he could down a plane with a simple shaft.”

  “Not so simple,” Tuck said, holding the bolt out for Rikki to examine.

  “This is an explosive arrowhead, and it’s designed to detonate on impact.”

  “Where did you obtain it?”

  “We found an abandoned house in Redan. In the basement was a cache of weapons,” Tuck divulged. “The place must have belonged to a survivalist.”

  “The plane is coming in for another run,” Locklin interjected.

  Tuck scooped up his crossbow and stood. “Hold this,” he said, handing the bolt to Rikki. He extended a metal stirrup from under the front of the bow, then rested the stirrup on the turf and slid his right boot into it to act as a brace and keep the bow in position while he pulled on the string.

  Using both hands, he gripped the string and pulled until there was a loud click. “The arrow,” Tuck said, and Rikki returned the bolt.

  “Hurry,” Locklin ordered.

  Tuck slid the bolt into a groove, aligning the shaft snugly. “I’m ready,” he announced.

  Rikki peered skyward through the brush and spotted the aircraft banking in from the west. He glanced at the stand of trees, expecting to see a Storm Policeman or two, but instead he spied several men and women in green. The other half of Locklin’s band had circled and silently slain the remaining Storm Police.

  Tuck was heading from cover, holding the crossbow with the stock pressed against his right shoulder.

  Rikki followed for a better view.

  “Stay hidden,” Locklin warned him.

  Tuck crouched behind a bush, his gaze fixed on the plane.

  The white aircraft was swooping low over the landscape, over the section of ground the Freedom Fighters had vacated.

  Rikki could imagine the pilot and gunners scanning the terrain for the band. The green attire worn by the Freedom Fighters would be extremely difficult to see from the air.

  Tuck was tracking the plane’s path with the crossbow.

  “He’s the best man we have with a crossbow,” Locklin remarked from the Warrior’s right elbow.

  The aircraft wasn’t more than 50 feet above tree level and 30 yards to the west when Tuck suddenly rose and sighted. He squeezed the trigger almost immediately, and the shaft was a blur as it sped to meet the plane.

  “Hit the dirt!” Locklin yelled.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi flattened as the forest rocked to a tremendous explosion. The aircraft was enveloped in a fiery ball, and the concussion snapped limbs from the tops of those trees nearest the blast. Debris flew in every direction, and a moment later the bulk of the plane, now a tangled, twisted, flaming mass of wreckage, plummeted
to the field below with a resounding crash.

  The Freedom Fighters voiced a collective cheer.

  “We did it!” Locklin exclaimed happily, rising.

  Rikki stood and regarded the black smoke billowing on the wind.

  “That’s the third plane we’ve shot down this year,” Locklin boasted.

  Big John and Dale were leading the other half of the band to rejoin Locklin.

  “How did it go?” the rebel leader asked as they approached.

  “No problem,” Big John said. “We didn’t lose anyone. They weren’t expecting us to jump them from behind.”

  “How many did you bag?” Locklin inquired.

  “Eight,” Big John replied. “Four more were already dead.”

  “Should we collect their weapons?” Dale queried.

  “Of course,” Locklin directed.

  Dale selected a half-dozen band members and they hurried off.

  “Did you hear that?” Locklin asked the Warrior. “We took down another Storm Police patrol. Twelve more bastards bite the dust.”

  “You sound glad,” Rikki noted.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?” Locklin retorted. “The Storm Police are our enemies.”

  “The Storm Police are pawns,” Rikki stated. “If all that you have told me is true, your real enemies are the Peers.”

  “Yeah. But the Storm Police are the enforcement arm of the Civil Council,” Locklin said.

  “The Peers direct the Storm Police,” Rikki mentioned. “The Peers are the ones manipulating the people of Atlanta. The Peers, in a literal sense, are the brains behind the operation.”

  “So?” Locklin responded. “What’s your point?”

  Rikki stared at the blazing aircraft. “So for fourteen years you have been resisting the Peers by harassing the patrols they send outside the wall. For fourteen years you have killed pawn after pawn, downed a plane now and then, and prided yourselves on your great victories. But you’ve been deluding yourselves.”

  The Freedom Fighters were listening to his every word.

  “You think so, eh?” Locklin said.

  “I know so,” Rikki declared emphatically. He looked at the rebel leader.

  “Do you play chess?”

  “I can play chess,” Locklin answered.

  “Then you must be able to see the inconsistency in your strategy,” Rikki expounded. “A person does not win a chess match by concentrating exclusively on an opponent’s pawns. Taking pawns is not the point of the game, nor is taking pawns the point of your revolution. If you want to win a chess match, you must checkmate the king. If you want to win your revolution, if you want to free the people of Atlanta, you must checkmate the Peers.”

  “He makes sense,” one of the band commented.

  “Have you ever tried to assassinate the Peers?” Rikki asked Locklin.

  The rebel leader sheepishly averted his eyes. “No,” he said softly.

  “How else do you expect to win your revolution?” Rikki inquired. “You can wipe out Storm Trooper patrols for years to come, and I doubt the Peers will consider your band as much more than a petty annoyance. You may actually help them consolidate their power by giving them a threat they can arouse the populace against.”

  Locklin studied the martial artist for a second. “I’ve never thought of our rebellion in quite that light. How is it you know so much about revolutions?”

  “I’m a Warrior,” Rikki revealed. “I am one of the select few who were chosen to protect my people from any and all threats. Warriors are required to take many classes in the art and psychology of warfare. We’re trained to develop the capacity for creative thinking. My logic is elementary.”

  “I agree with everything you’ve said,” Locklin stated. “But it’s easier said than done. Killing the Peers would be next to impossible.”

  “But not impossible?”

  Locklin’s forehead creased and the shadow of a smile touched his lips.

  “No,” he replied slowly. “Not utterly impossible.”

  Rikki gazed at the three dead Freedom Fighters. “Would you mind some advice from an outsider?”

  “Not at all.”

  “If you want to resolve this conflict once and for all, if you want to end the persecution and restore freedom, if you want to insure future generations will not live under the yoke of tyranny, then you must eliminate the Peers and establish a new government. Unless those responsible for formulating and spreading totalitarianism are eradicated, no one can ever be truly free.”

  “Will you help us?” Locklin asked bluntly.

  “I did not come here to fight a revolution.”

  “I don’t care why you came here,” Locklin said. “The fact is, you’re here, and now you have a decision to make. Will you aid us in overthrowing the Peers, or will you stand idly by and do nothing?” He paused. “Somehow, I can’t see you as the type to stand by and allow hundreds of thousands of innocent people to suffer.”

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi gazed to the west.

  “There is one chance in a million we can pull it off,” Locklin went on, striving to convince this sagacious stranger. “Once a week the Peers meet in the Civil Directorate for an executive session of the Civil Council. It’s the only time we can get them all under one roof with any certainty. They meet every week without fail.” He grinned. “And guess what? They meet tomorrow night.”

  Rikki placed his left hand on the hilt of his katana.

  “If you led us, we might be able to do it.”

  The Warrior glanced at the rebel leader. “You are the head of this band. I cannot lead your Freedom Fighters.”

  “Why not?”

  “There could be repercussions,” Rikki said.

  “What kind of repercussions?” Locklin queried.

  “Repercussions against my Family,” Rikki replied. “Ordinarily, we do not meddle in the affairs of others unless they pose a threat to our existence. If I led your mission, I would be violating the cardinal rule of noninterference established by the Elders.”

  “Can’t you make an exception in our case?”

  Rikki contemplated a moment. “On the other hand, my Family is now a member of the Freedom Federation, and the Federation is devoted to restoring liberty to the land.”

  “What’s the Freedom Federation? I’ve never heard of it,” Locklin said.

  “There are seven factions banded together in a mutual self-defense pact,” Rikki explained.

  “Would they help us fight the Peers?”

  “They might,” Rikki answered. “But I honestly can’t guarantee they would.”

  Locklin ran his left hand through his hair. “In any event, we’re not waiting to find out. Tomorrow night the Civil Council meets. Tomorrow night we will put an end to their evil, or we will perish in the attempt. Are you with us or not?”

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was a long time in responding. When he did, his mouth was curled wryly. “I’ll tell you what. I must go into Atlanta to find a friend of mine—”

  “One of those you mentioned earlier?” Locklin said, interrupting.

  “Precisely,” Rikki said.

  “Why is he in Atlanta?”

  “He’s looking for a relative of a young girl we found,” Rikki elaborated.

  “Her parents were killed. She blamed her father’s death on the Peers, and she told us her mother was slain by the Bubbleheads.”

  “Does this girl have a name?”

  “Chastity Snow.”

  Locklin exchanged glances with several of his band.

  “Do you know her?” Rikki asked.

  “I know of her,” Locklin replied. “Rather, I know of her father. His name was Richard Snow, and he was the publisher of The Atlanta Tribune.”

  “Why would the Peers have killed him?”

  Locklin shook his head. “Beats me. All a person has to do is cross them once, and the Peers make sure they are never crossed again.”

  “Would the Peers eliminate a whole family because one member aroused their wrath?”
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  “If the Peers were angry enough, they’d eliminate the entire Snow family tree,” Locklin stated. “Sons, daughters, cousins, in-laws, you name it. The Peers are ruthless.”

  Rikki’s expression became thoughtful. “So if my friend starts asking questions about Chastity’s relative, he could wind up in trouble?”

  “He could wind up dead.”

  The Warrior faced in the direction of the metropolis. “Then I must enter Atlanta as quickly as possible. Every moment of delay increases the danger to my friend.”

  “You mentioned two friends,” Locklin reminded the man in black.

  “My second friend is with Chastity Snow,” Rikki disclosed. “We must inform him of our plans.”

  Locklin smiled. “Then you’re going in with us?”

  “Technically, I won’t lead you,” Rikki said. “But I must go into the city anyway. And if your band wants to tag along, I would have no objection.”

  Locklin chuckled. “I like the way your mind works. Let’s find your friend with Chastity and go kick ass. Where are they anyway?”

  From perhaps a mile away, maybe less, came the blast of gunshots.

  “I think I know,” Rikki stated.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Blade’s grip on the blackjack tightened as the Storm Policeman stepped up to them. The trooper was staring intently at the hobo.

  “Hey! Glisson! It is you, isn’t it?” the policeman asked.

  Blade nudged the old-timer with his elbow.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” Glisson answered in a fearful tone.

  “Don’t you remember me?” the trooper inquired. “Corporal Schwartz? I conducted you to the Civil Directorate about seven or eight years ago. Remember?”

  Glisson studied the trooper’s features, then beamed. “Sure. I remember you. You were the young private who was asking me a lot of questions about life on the road.”

  Corporal Schwartz grinned. “I always was the curious sort.” He glanced at the light. “I’d better cross before the light changes.”

  “Nice seeing you,” Glisson said.

  Corporal Schwartz took a stride, then stopped. “Where’s your Escort?”

  Blade quickly nodded at the far curb. “Already crossed.”

  “Oh.” Schwartz began to turn, to look at the opposite curb, when the light changed. He hesitated for a second, smiled, and hastened on his way.