Seattle Run Page 17

  “I’m not lying!” Collins cried.

  “Then show your mettle! Take twenty others with you and stop this bastard!” Tiger instructed.

  “Can’t I take more than twenty?” Collins asked.

  “Certainly not,” Tiger stated. “It’s bad enough the twenty you take will miss this contest. I don’t want to deprive the rest of the spectacle of my victory.”

  Collins frowned. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned and hastened to the entrance, indicating Sharks with a jab of his finger. He departed with 20 armed men and women on his heels.

  “The fool!” Tiger hissed. “The miserable cur! First Oakes and now Collins! Cowardice must be contagious.”

  “You don’t believe him?” Blade asked.

  Tiger snorted. “How stupid do you think I am? He probably fled back here at the first sign of your friend in blue, and your friend simply followed him. I will tend to this man in blue after I deal with you.”

  “You’re lucky you’re dealing with me instead of him,” Blade said. “You wouldn’t last two seconds against him.”

  Tiger sneered and crouched. He inched forward, his daggers extended.

  Blade held his right Bowie next to his abdomen and his left out from his chest.

  “I’m going to enjoy this!” Tiger said wickedly.

  “You’re going to enjoy your own death?” Blade rejoined.

  Tiger was within two feet of the Warrior when he went into action. He suddenly spun, his right leg flicking up and out, his instep catching Blade’s left wrist and jarring the arm aside. As the Warrior’s arm was deflected, Tiger stabbed inward with his right dagger.

  Blade threw himself backwards to evade the stroke, his left foot slipping out from under him. He tottered on the beam, his arms waving, trying desperately to regain his footing.

  Tiger pressed his advantage, closing, slashing at the Warrior with his left dagger.

  Blade felt the dagger bite through his right thigh. He swayed to the right, about to go over.

  Tiger speared both daggers toward the Warrior’s chest.

  Blade did the unexpected. He deliberately dropped from the beam, releasing his Bowies, and twisted his body toward the beam as he fell. His hands closed on the narrow rail, clamping with all of his prodigious power, and he wrenched himself upward, tucking his body against the underside of the rail. His legs swept up and around, his left leg wrapping over the beam, his right driving into the Shark leader’s midriff.

  Tiger almost went over. He stumbled backwards and dropped to his left knee, clutching at the rail with his fingers.

  Blade scrambled on top of the beam, his arm muscles bulging. He managed to perch his body on the rail, but with one problem.

  He was facing away from Tiger!

  Blade glanced over his right shoulder. The Shark leader had recovered and was slowly rising.

  “You really are clever,” Tiger muttered.

  Blade crawled a few feet from the Shark, then gingerly stood. He turned on the rail, knowing he was dead if he kept his back to his foe.

  Tiger was advancing with his daggers at the ready.

  Blade tentatively retreated, wishing he hadn’t let go of his Bowies.

  “I must admit,” Tiger said, “you’ve put up a better fight than I expected.”

  Blade didn’t respond, focusing his energy on backing to his end of the beam.

  “In honor of your prowess, I’ll have your body buried instead of fed to the animals,” Tiger offered.

  Blade looked over his left shoulder. The end of the beam was six feet off.

  Time for his big move.

  Blade halted.

  Tiger also stopped, eyeing the Warrior suspiciously. “What are you up to now?”

  “Nothing,” Blade lied.

  “Why don’t you jump and make this easy on yourself?” Tiger asked.

  “Why don’t you shove those daggers up your ass?” Blade countered.

  Provoked by the affront, Tiger came on.

  Blade estimated the Shark leader was five feet from him. He stared at the beam between them, his arms and shoulders tensing. He would have one chance, and one chance only. Tiger would be unlikely to fall for the same strategy twice. His mind flashed back to his teen years, to the rigorous exercise regimen he had adopted to develop his physique. Part of his regimen had involved calisthenics and basic gynmastics; he had improvised a makeshift set of rings and parallel bars, using photographs in a sports book in the Family library as his guide. Additionally, one of his favorite exercises had been a modified handstand. He would push himself into a vertical position on his hands, then do push-ups while in the handstand posture. So perhaps he could utilize his skill at standing on his hands to his advantage.

  The gambit was worth a try.

  What did he have to lose?

  Other than his life?

  Tiger was smirking, savoring his impending triumph.

  Blade made his move. He bent over sideways, his left side toward Tiger, and gripped the rail with both sturdy hands. His forearms swelled as he applied his entire weight to his arms, and in the next instant he was doing a handstand on the balance beam.

  Tiger checked his advance, his features registering his consternation.

  “What the…!”

  Blade’s confidence was growing with each passing second. He found, as he had hoped, that it was much easier to balance on the beam on his hands than it had been on his feet. His hands took up less space and could grasp the rail tightly, whereas his feet were hampered by the limited gripping ability of his toes. On a flat surface he could walk on his hands for an indeterminate distance; he didn’t see any reason why he couldn’t do the same thing on the balance beam.

  “Have you flipped?” Tiger queried, snickering.

  Blade twisted his head so he could stare up at the Shark leader. “I haven’t got all day!” he said derisively.

  Tiger stepped toward the Warrior, his daggers outstretched to maximize his range. He was three feet from his adversary, eager to draw blood, when the tide of battle turned.

  Upright on his massive arms, watching Tiger’s every move, Blade abruptly whipped his right leg down.

  Tiger retreated a stride to avoid the leg. His forehead furrowed. He looked at the Warrior for a moment, then tried to get within striking distance.

  Blade swept his leg down a second time, forcing Tiger to stop in his tracks.

  Tiger was frustrated and stymied. Blade’s legs were longer than his arms. He wouldn’t be able to get close to the giant without risking a blow from one of the legs. And although he might score a hit with his daggers, just a glancing blow from those legs would be enough to topple him from the rail and onto the spikes. For the first time, a hint of self-doubt crept over his face.

  Blade detected the transformation. He began to slide his hands toward the Shark, one after the other, his body upright, prepared to swing his legs at any hint of an attack.

  Perplexed and thwarted, Tiger retreated toward the far end of the balance beam. He considered dropping the daggers and adopting a handstand himself, but he hadn’t practiced a handstand in years. None of his previous opponents had ever employed such a strategy.

  Inexorably, Blade herded the Shark leader toward the far end of the beam.

  “My compliments,” Tiger spoke up. “This is most unorthodox.”

  Blade continued to slide toward the Shark leader.

  “It seems I have underestimated you terribly,” Tiger said. “I won’t make this mistake again.”

  Hand after hand, Blade drove the Shark toward his doom.

  Tiger frowned as he backed up another step. This was getting him nowhere! He needed to do something, and to do it now! His own words rang in his mind: “You are permitted to do whatever is necessary to get past your opponent.”

  Whatever was necessary.

  Eight feet separated Tiger from the end of the beam.

  Blade’s face was red, his veins protruding, his arm muscles rippling like living steel.r />
  Tiger abruptly realized the chamber was hushed. Every eye was on him.

  His followers sensed his demise was imminent.

  He had to prove them wrong!

  He had to show them who was the master!

  Tiger grinned as he suddenly raised his daggers, reversing his grip on them, rotating them in his palms so he could grip the tips, so he could throw them.

  Blade saw Tiger’s hands come up, saw the daggers beginning to swivel in Tiger’s palms, and he knew what Tiger was doing. The Shark leader was planning to hurl the daggers into his body!

  No way!

  Blade arched his superbly conditioned frame downward, sweeping his feet onto the balance beam and releasing his hands in one smooth flow. He came erect, taking a stride toward Tiger, closing his left hand into a compact fist and sending his fist into Tiger’s startled face with a speed belying his huge size.

  Tiger was caught off guard. He saw Blade execute the flip, and he was crouching to defend himself when the Warrior’s calloused knuckles slammed into his nose, crushing the cartilage, flattening his nostrils. He reeled, dazed, striving to bring his daggers into play.

  Blade delivered a devastating right uppercut on Tiger’s jaw.

  Tiger felt his feet leave the balance beam. The entire world appeared to be moving in slow motion. He glimpsed the shocked faces of the Sharks, then the ceiling overhead, and then he was crashing to the floor and he felt like his body was being torn apart. The last sight he beheld was the giant on the balance beam, gazing down at him with an oddly sad countenance.

  Why was the giant sad?

  Blade’s mouth curled downward as he saw the spikes tearing into Tiger and spearing out his body. Blood gushed everywhere. One of the spikes tore through Tiger’s heart.

  Tiger’s eyes glazed over and he died with a puzzled expression on his face.

  The chamber was deathly still.

  Blade forced himself to look away, to see how the Sharks were reacting to the death of their leader.

  They were paralyzed. Some were gaping at Tiger’s body in manifest horror, while others were gawking at the giant on the balance beam in awe, astounded speechless.

  Blade perceived he was still in danger, still on the balance beam with the spikes all around, unarmed in a chamber full of enemies. He decided to get off the beam and retrieve his Bowies.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was standing calmly, his bound wrists in front of him.

  The twins exchanged nervous glances.

  “He killed Tiger!” a woman abruptly wailed.

  “The son of a bitch killed Tiger!” chimed in a male Shark.

  There was a rustling among the crowd and audible mumbling. Several of the men moved toward the balance beam.

  “Hold it!” Gar shouted, raising his right hand for silence. “Listen to me!”

  The Sharks shifted their attention to the man with the white hair.

  “Listen to me!” Gar reiterated. “We must think before we act!”

  “What’s there to think about?” a man asked. “We should waste the scumbag!”

  “No!” Gar yelled. “Think about this! Tiger took him on in a fair fight!

  You all saw it! The giant should be allowed to live!”

  “Live? Are you crazy?” someone rejoined.

  “He won fair and square!” Gar declared. “He has earned his life!”

  “The son of a bitch has earned a bullet in the brain!” a Shark responded angrily.

  Arguments broke out. Some of the Sharks wanted to spare the giant; others wanted him dead.

  Blade reached the far end of the balance beam. He stared at the spikes, pondering how best to dismount without being impaled.

  Over a dozen Sharks, led by the burly man who had been in charge of the escort for Blade and Rikki, started to converge on the middle of the chamber, fingering their weapons.

  “Wait!” Gar called out. “We must talk about this!”

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Gar!” the burly man retorted. “We want his hide!”

  “He should live!” Gar insisted. “He came here in peace!”

  “Then he can leave here in pieces!” the burly Shark countered.

  Blade glanced at the Sharks. Violence was on the verge of erupting and he was stranded on the end of the beam! He was about to try and drop between two of the spikes when tempers flared and bloodshed ensued.

  Perched on the beam, he was compelled to witness everything from his vantage point.

  The burly Shark and his companions suddenly roared and surged forward.

  Gar blasted the burly Shark in the chest, the shotgun blowing the man’s torso apart.

  Blade’s eyes narrowed. Rikki had told him a little about the twins, but nothing which would explain why they should side with him against their own kind.

  Half a dozen Sharks closed on the twins and Rikki. One of them snapped off a shot from a revolver.

  “Rikki!” Blade yelled in alarm, knowing his friend would be unable to fully use his martial arts skills because of the rope binding his wrists.

  Or so Blade thought.

  Rikki’s hands came up to his chest, the rope sliding to the floor, even as the woman, Fabiana, drew his katana.

  Fab tossed the sword, hilt first.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi caught the katana with his right hand and spun, a black streak as he slashed into the charging Sharks, his sword a gleaming blur. Two men and a woman fell in the blink of an eye.

  Fabiana opened up with her shotgun, her shot striking a Shark in the forehead and exploding his cranium in a spray of brains and crimson.

  Gar moved to his sister’s side, his shotgun booming.

  For a moment the outcome was in doubt. Many of the Sharks were frantically endeavoring to remove themselves from the line of fire. Others wavered, uncertain which side to take.

  Rikki decapitated a skinny man wielding an axe.

  Fabiana fired into the face of a woman with a revolver at point-blank range.

  Gar took down two Sharks with a single shattering shot.

  More Sharks, though, were joining the fray against the trio. Close to two dozen were pouring toward the center of the chamber.

  Rikki, Fabiana, and Gar were on the verge of being overwhelmed.

  Blade prepared to jump, to go to their assistance.

  But aid came from another quarter.

  A woman near the entrance abruptly screamed, an ear-piercing shriek of deafening intensity. Her screech carried over the general din and was punctuated by an explosion from the corridor outside the chamber, bringing all conflict to an unceremonious halt as all eyes focused on the entrance. The Sharks nearest the doorway scurried to put as much space as they could between themselves and the source of the explosion.

  The double doors were wide open, and whitish-gray smoke swirled into the chamber.

  A man materialized out of the smoke, standing in the entrance, a big man in a dark-blue uniform, a man with silver hair and a silver mustache and blazing blue eyes. His uniform was covered with soot and splotched with blood. For a moment he was framed in the doorway as the smoke billowed about him, rearing grand and terrible in the flickering light of flames in the hallway to his left.

  Somewhere, another woman screamed.

  He raked the chamber with his gaze and spied his companions.

  A second detonation rocked the building as he stalked into the chamber.

  Stupidly, four of the Sharks endeavored to stop him.

  He shot them with his Wilkinson, with a speed and accuracy uncanny in its lethal efficiency.

  The rest of the Sharks wanted nothing to do with this dispenser of death and destruction. They hugged the walls, afraid to intimidate the man with the silhouette of a skull on his broad back.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was wiping his katana clean on the shirt of a dead Shark when Yama reached him. Rikki looked up, grinning. “About time you got here. What have you been doing, goofing off again?”

  “Sorry. I had a hard time getting directions to this p
lace,” Yama quipped.

  Rikki smiled and placed his right hand on Yama’s left shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  “Never been better,” Yama stated. He nodded his head toward Blade, who was still poised on top of the balance beam. “What’s he doing?”

  Blade mustered a sheepish grin.

  Rikki smiled. “Blade is teaching us a new fighting art.”

  Yama appeared perplexed. “A new fighting art? Is it related to karate or kung fu or jujitsu?”

  “No,” Rikki answered.

  “What is this art called?” Yama asked.

  Rikki’s eyes twinkled as he solemnly responded. “It’s called the how-to-survive-a-battle-while-standing-on-a-beam-with-a-stupid-expressi on-on-your-face art.”

  “Ahh. I see.” Yama nodded. “I hope he’ll teach it to me someday.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You wanted to see me, Fish Breath?” Hickok asked.

  Manta stared at the Warrior with obvious disdain. “Yes.” He looked at the overseer who had brought the human from the kelp factory. “That will be all. Return to your station.”

  The mutant turned on his heels and walked off.

  Hickok hooked his thumbs in his belt. “This is a surprise. I didn’t think I’d have the displeasure of seein’ your ugly puss twice in the same day.”

  “We did not cover everything we should have discussed in our initial conversation,” Manta remarked.

  Hickok chuckled. “I was wonderin’ when you’d realize the boo-boo you made.” He casually surveyed their immediate vicinity. They were standing in the Humarium near one of the large tanks. Inside were a dozen humans engaged in carpentry work. The bottom of the tank had been converted into a hardwood floor; the top was open to allow fresh air to circulate.

  “Yes, I was remiss,” Manta admitted.

  Hickok idly gazed to his right. The blamed hallway had to be around there somewhere! They were near the first tanks he’d seen when they’d arrived in the central section of the Humarium earlier. So the corridor had to be close at hand.

  But where?

  “What are you looking for?” Manta inquired.

  Hickok faced the mutant. “Who? Me? I’m not lookin’ for anything.”