New Orleans Run Read online

  "Then I'll have to pay him a visit before I head back to the Home."

  "Forget it."

  "Why?"

  "You wouldn't get two feet past the outer walls. His estate is guarded by the tonton macoutes and other things. And there's always Damballah."

  "Who's that?"

  "Damballah isn't a person," Eleanore said, and glanced nervously at the weeds enclosing them. "Damballah is the Snake God."

  "Let me get this straight. The Baron worships a snake?"

  "Baron Laveau is the high priest of the Black Snake Society. The houmfor is located behind his estate. It's also guarded day and night."

  "What the devil is a houmfor?"

  "The temple where the rites are practiced, where Damballah is summoned."

  Lynx stared into her eyes. "And you're not makin' any of this nonsense up? There really are humans who go around worshiping some dinky snake?"

  "Damballah isn't dinky. Damballah is the mother and father of all snakes combined in one serpent. Damballah rules New Orleans."

  "A snake rules the city?" Lynx said, and laughed.

  "It's no laughing matter. Damballah rules through the Baron and Majesta."

  "What's Majesta? An earthworm?" Lynx queried, snickering at his joke.

  "No, dummy. Majesta is the mambo, the high priestess. She's just as depraved as the Baron, maybe more so," Eleanore disclosed bitterly.

  "You don't sound too fond of either of them."

  "I hate them!" Eleanore declared. "Why do you think I joined the Resistance? I want to see the Baron and Majesta destroyed. I want to help free the people of New Orleans from the Black Snake Society. The horror has to end!"

  Lynx was surprised and impressed by the intensity of her passion. She genuinely despised the Black Snake Society, which qualified her as one of the good guys. Blade had provided a briefing on the distress call received at the Home, and he'd related the pertinent fact that the caller had specifically mentioned the Black Snake Society as being the group that had control of New Orleans. "Tell me more about the Black Snake Society," he prompted.

  "I can tell you everything you need to know in one word," Eleanore said.

  Lynx stared skeptically at her. "One measly word?"

  "Yep."

  "What is this magical word?"

  "Voodoo."

  Chapter Seven

  In a twinkling Blade decided on his course of action. He couldn't stand idly by and let Ferret or Gremlin be killed, not even with a potentially toxic spider clinging to his forearm. So at the same instant the guy in black pivoted, Blade raised the Thompson and fired. But his sacrifice, as it turned out, was unnecessary.

  No sooner had the man started to rotate than Ferret executed a prodigious leap, and just as the man in black completed his revolution, before he could hope to react, Ferret alighted with all the force of a furry cannonball.

  The startled object of the hybrid's attack could do no more than utter an astounded gasp and try to bring his MAC 10 into play.

  Ferret wouldn't let him. Snarling deep in his throat, Ferret batted the Ingram aside with his left arm and sank the nails on his right hand into the man's shoulder.

  Gremlin was also in motion. Less than a second after Ferret hit their adversary high, causing the man to stumble rearward, Gremlin took the man low, hitting him below the knees, wrapping his arms around the man's legs and driving forward in a timely tackle.

  The guy in black went down with the hybrids on top.

  Blade saw all of this transpire even as he braced for the anticipated spider bite. He focused on the arachnid, feeling its hairy legs rubbing on his skin, elated to see it going down his arm instead of up. In another few seconds it would drop to the ground and he could go aid the hybrids.

  Not that they needed any help.

  Ferret and Gremlin made short work of their opponent. The mammalian hybrid tore the MAG 10 from the man's grasp, then clamped his right hand on the man's throat. The humanoid delivered a smashing blow to the midsection that made the man sputter and wheeze and effectively nipped all resistance in the bud. Working together, each taking an arm, Ferret and Gremlin yanked their vanquished enemy erect and headed toward the Warrior.

  Blade watched them approach, still loathe to move until the spider took its leave. The arachnid had halted an inch from his elbow and appeared in no particular hurry to vacate its newfound home.

  Of all the dumb luck!

  Ferret and Gremlin hastened over, supporting the man in black between them, the MAC 10 dangling from Ferret's left hand.

  "Good job," Blade commented, looking up.

  "If you don't mind my saying so, this is a hell of a time to be taking a nap," Ferret cracked.

  "Nice of you to help us, yes?" Gremlin added.

  "Do either of you know anything about spiders?" Blade casually inquired, staying perfectly still.

  "They're uglier than Lynx. That's all I know," Ferret replied.

  "And they have a better disposition, no?" Gremlin said.

  "Why do you ask?" Ferret questioned the Warrior.

  Blade nodded at his left arm. "I was hoping one of you could tell me whether my new pet is poisonous."

  The hybrids glanced down.

  "Damn!" Ferret blurted out.

  "Don't move, yes?" Gremlin advised.

  "Wouldn't think of it," Blade assured them.

  The man in black was struggling to break free, but his strength amounted to virtually nothing when compared to the combined might of the hyhrids, beings who had been genetically bred to possess the power of any three ordinary men. He spied the arachnid and ceased struggling to voice an exclamation. " Mon Dieu!"

  "What did he say?" Ferret queried.

  "I don't know, no," Gremlin answered. He leaned down a few inches, studying the spider. "Do you want me to flick it off, yes?"

  "I don't want to touch it," Blade said. "If we wait a minute or two, it's bound to go somewhere else."

  "You hope," Ferret remarked.

  Abruptly, from the north, came a harsh shout. "Corporal Pétion?"

  The prisoner promptly responded, "Je—!"

  Gremlin whipped his left fist down and in, planting another punch in their prisoner's stomach, doubling the man in half and rendering him temporarily incapable of yelling again.

  But the harm had already been done.

  "What was that? Where are you?" a man called out.

  "This way!" cried another. " Je pense."

  Blade listened intently to the language being used. He recognized the last two as French words from lessons taken during his schooling years at the Home, brief lessons encompassing only four months and merely intended as an introduction to the language. Why were the men in black speaking both English and a little French? English, as far as he knew, had been the official language in New Orleans before the war. Did it have something to do with the Cajuns and the Creoles?

  "We've got to get out of here," Ferret declared.

  "I couldn't agree more," Blade concurred, and stared at the spider.

  Enough was enough. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. Still holding the Thompson with his left hand, he released the trigger and brought his right hand over to his immobile forearm. He drew back his middle finger and let fly, his nail connecting with the spider's side and flicking the arachnid over a foot.

  Straight at Ferret, who adroitly dodged the kicking projectile, "Hey!

  Watch where you're flicking your spiders!"

  Blade grinned and shoved to his feet, "Let's go."

  "What about this guy, yes?" Gremlin asked, "He'll slow us down, no?"

  "No," Blade answered, and stepped forward to deliver a right uppercut to the tip of the man's chin. The prisoner sagged, and would have fallen if not supported by the hybrids. "Give him to me," Blade directed, and crouched so they could drape the now-unconscious man over his right shoulder.

  "You're going to carry this guy all by yourself?" Ferret inquired doubtfully as he let go.

  "Yep," the giant repli
ed, and straightened.

  "He's at least one hundred and seventy pounds, no?" Gremlin noted.

  "I can use the exercise," Blade told them. He faced to the south and ran.

  "If you get tired we'll take over," Ferret offered.

  "Thanks, but I can manage," Blade said.

  They covered the terrain rapidly, vaulting logs and skirting thickets with deceptive ease, heading deeper into the forest, bearing to the south.

  Several minutes elapsed. To their rear, growing fainter and fainter, were the yells of the ambushers.

  Blade jogged for almost ten minutes, until he was convinced they had put enough distance between them to preclude the possibility of being overtaken. He came to a small clearing and halted. "I think we've lost them, "he said.

  "Gremlin agree," the humanoid mentioned.

  "Then we'll take a break and question our captive." Blade stated, Ferret started sniffing the air. "I smell water. Close. Real close."

  "We'll check it out," Blade proposed. "Lead the way."

  Demonstrating the unerring instincts of his bestial inheritance, Ferret led them 15 yards farther and stopped at the top of a sloping bank.

  Below them stretched a marshy tract, part of the bayou visible from the air. Intermittent small islands, consisting of wet, spongy mounds overgrown with trees and dense undergrowth, dotted the lily-choked surface of the water. Cranes, ducks, and other waterfowl could be seen going about their daily routines. Here and there the tall reeds moved, stirred by creatures lurking in the swamp.

  "Nice place for a vacation," Ferret said.

  Blade deposited his burden on the bank. He leaned down to remove the man's sunglasses, and discovered the temple pieces were attached to an elastic black band, which explained why the glasses hadn't fallen off when the man had been slugged. Blade slipped the band off the left temple piece, pulled off the sunglasses, and straightened.

  "What are you going to do with those, yes?" Gremlin queried.

  "Toss them."

  "Gremlin would like them, please."

  "Be my guest," Blade said, and handed them over.

  "What do you want them for?" Ferret asked his friend.

  "What else, no?" Gremlin rejoined, and donned the mirrored lenses, carefully reattaching the elastic band to ensure the glasses would stay in place. He lowered his arms and grinned. "What do you think?"

  "I think you look like a space alien," Blade commented.

  "Gremlin never heard of them, no."

  "I saw pictures of them in an old magazine in our library," the giant related. "Actually, they were an artist's rendering of space aliens people claimed to have seen. With the shape of your head and those dark glasses, you look just like an alien."

  "What was the name of the magazine, yes?"

  "I believe it was called UFO. "

  "Gremlin would like to read it when we get back. Gremlin has always believed there is intelligent life on other planets."

  Ferret snickered. "There sure isn't any on this planet."

  The prisoner groaned and rolled over onto his back.

  "Time to play Forty Questions," Blade said. He knelt and drew his right Bowie, then held the gleaming blade directly over the black man's right eye.

  A few moments later the captive awakened and automatically tried to rise. His dark eyes widened to the size of walnuts when he beheld the sharpened steel tip of the Bowie, and he froze.

  "Hi there," Blade said amiably. "We need some answers."

  The prisoner swallowed, licked his lips, and replied in a strange tongue.

  Blade waited patiently until the man finished. "I don't understand your language. Speak English."

  Again the prisoner spoke in the peculiar language.

  "Listen closely," Blade told him coldly. "I won't repeat this." He paused.

  "I suspect that you're playing us for fools. You know English, probably almost as well as I do. So if you don't tell me what I want to know, right this second, I will bury this knife in your socket." He paused once more for effect. "Now tell us your name."

  The answer was immediately forthcoming. "Henri Pétion. And yes, I speak English perfectly. I should. It's the most common language."

  "Henri," Blade repeated. "It sounds French."

  "My ancestors were Haitian," Pétion revealed in a tone that implied the revelation explained everything.

  The Warrior mentally envisioned a globe kept in the Family library, its representation of the world somewhat faded after decades of steady use.

  "If memory serves, isn't Haiti an island in the West Indies?"

  Pétion nodded.

  "And your ancestors moved to New Orleans?"

  " Oui. Many years before the big war."

  Blade snatched at the black shirt with his left hand. "What's with the uniform!"

  "I am one of the tonton macoute," Pétion declared proudly, almost arrogantly…

  "The what?"

  "The magicians."

  Perplexed, Blade looked at the hybrids, who were viewing the interrogation with interest, then back down at their prisoner. "I don't get it. Are you saying you practice some form of magic?"

  " Oui. One day I will move up in rank from a tonton macoute to a boko, a sorcerer. Perhaps, many years from now, I may even become the houngan of our houmfor. "

  "Whoa. Slow down," Blade stated. "You're getting ahead of me. What's a houngan?"

  "A high priest."

  "In what?"

  "The Black Snake Society."

  The Warrior recalled the information given by the party who had placed the distress call, and his gray eyes narrowed. "I've heard that the Black Snake Society controls New Orleans."

  " Oui, and for many miles around," Pétion said with his haughty air.

  "The invincible magic of the Black Snake Society has made us the masters."

  "Wait a minute," Ferret interjected. "What's all this bull about magic?

  This guy must be an idiot if he believes in such mumbo jumbo."

  Pétion glared at the hybrid. "Voodoo is not mumbo jumbo," he snapped, emphasizing the last two words distastefully. "Voodoo is the way."

  Ferret laughed.

  "Mock me all you want animal. But I will have the last laugh. I will use voodoo to call on the spirit world, and you will die a horrible death for scoffing at the true way."

  "I'm trembling in fear," Ferret said.

  Pétion's voice rose shrilly. "I will call on Damballah, and our god will come to slay you in the night. You will be consumed alive and suffer the torments of Hell."

  "Don't get your hopes up, turkey."

  Blade noticed unchecked fury contorting Pétion's features, and he concluded the man firmly believed in whatever magic was practiced. He'd heard about voodoo many years ago, but his knowledge of the religion was scant. He opened his mouth to probe further into the matter.

  From behind them, from the bayou, issued a sibilant hissing.

  Chapter Eight

  "What in the world is voo-boo?" Lynx asked.

  "It's voodoo, dummy. A religion to many people, a religion laced with sorcery, a religion where powerful spirit forces control the lives of everyday people," Eleanore detailed. "There's good voodoo and there's bad voodoo, and by bad voodoo I mean the dark side where black magic is practiced."

  Lynx considered her words for a few seconds. "So this Black Snake Society is a voodoo cult?"

  Eleanore nodded. "From what I've learned, the Black Snake Society got its start many years ago, way before the war. It was just one of several secret voodoo societies in the United States, based right here in New Orleans. After the world almost came to an end, after the government fell apart, the Black Snake Society grew stronger and stronger. Then, when Damballah appeared, they were able to take control of this whole region."

  "Hold it. Are you tellin' me their snake god actually appeared to them?

  Showed up as flesh and blood?"

  "Yep. Damballah disposed of all their enemies for them, one by one, and before too long the Bl
ack Snake Society ruled the entire city."

  "And people have actually seen this snake god?" Lynx inquired in disbelief.

  "Quite a few. Just the other night I was talking to a man who saw it."

  "Amazing," was all Lynx could think to say. He headed for the trees again, pulling her along. "Wait until Blade hears this."

  "Who's this Blade?"

  "A pal of mine. We're here to close the Black Snake Society down."

  "Then we're on the same side!"

  "We are if you're tellin' the truth."

  Eleanore tried to stop but he yanked her forward. "Are you calling me a liar?"

  "There's always that possibility."

  "But I've been perfectly honest with you."

  The hybrid glanced at her. "How do I know that? Until I have more proof, I'm treatin' you like I would any bimbo who might haul off and stab me in the back."

  "Will you please stop calling me that?"

  Lynx smirked. "Why not? I'm gettin' tired of you nagging me." He stared thoughtfully at her. "If you want to earn my trust, you can start by tellin' me why you were traipsing around in the middle of a friggin'

  swamp."

  "I've been sneaking around for almost two days trying to evade being captured by the tonton macoute. The night before last I came out here with another member of the Resistance, a guy named Jerry Price. We were bringing supplies to Adrien Dessalines, our radio operator."

  "The Resistance has a radio?" Lynx asked innocently to elicit more information.

  "Yep. A shortwave radio." Eleanore frowned. "At least we did have one.

  Somehow the Baron found out about our operation. He was waiting for us with a bunch of his goons. Jerry drew his knife and tried to stab Laveau, but the tonton macoutes were all over him like barracuda on a minnow, they pinned him down and disarmed him, then held him down while the Baron kicked him a few times just for the hell of it."

  A strange scent reached Lynx and he sniffed the air in an attempt to identify the source. Distracted, he covered ten yards before the significance of her statements occurred to him. He regarded her suspiciously, then faced front to avoid alerting her. "How is it that you managed to get away?" he casually asked.

  "I was just lucky, I guess. Two of the tonton macoutes grabbed me, but when Jerry pulled his survival knife they let me go and pounced on him.