There was no rush now.
Hickok was certain the assassin believed his escape had gone flawlessly.
And if the hit man didn’t think anyone was on his trail, he’d grow careless, less watchful. Which was exactly what Hickok wanted. If he could catch the assassin unawares, he stood a better chance of taking the bastard alive.
A patch of blue became visible ahead.
Hickok realized the trail was approaching a body of water and he became alarmed. What if the assassin had stashed a boat on the bank? He broke into a run, covering 50 more yards before he emerged from the forest on the shore of a small lake.
There was no sign of the assassin.
Hickok began circling, searching the shore for bootprints or drops of blood. He found a few tiny crimson drops and guessed his quarry was moving to the north around the lake. The Warrior followed suit, staying close to the water where he could make better time, loping along at a dogtrot.
An object appeared in the lake, a few hundred feet ahead and about 20 feet from shore.
The gunman slowed in case the object was a boat. After traversing a hundred feet or so, he discerned the thing in the water was indeed a boat, but a gutted, rusted wreck, an ancient craft that apparently sank decades before, perhaps even during the Big Blast. He jogged 30 more feet.
Somewhere a bird was chirping.
Hickok caught a glimpse of something tremendously huge skulking in the vegetation to his left. He drew and whirled, hoping he could get off a shot before whatever it was pounced. A grayish form was standing in the midst of a stand of the strange trees. He dove to cover behind a clump of weeds.
Nothing happened.
Hickok pursed his lips in perplexity and raised his head for a better view.
The thing was just standing there in the deep shadows.
What the blazes?
Hickok rose to his knees, striving to identify the alien creature, confused by its inactivity. Maybe the critter wasn’t hostile. He stood, the short hairs on the nape of his neck tingling. The animal was gargantuan, and he assumed the thing was a mutant. What else grew so enormous?
The blasted brute was still just standing there.
Hickok edged toward the creature, his Colts cocked, his fingers on the trigger. If the beast charged, he figured he could always jump into the lake. Some animals weren’t too partial to water except for drinking.
The wind stirred the peculiar trees, revealing a pair of whitish protuberances on the head of the critter.
His curiosity aroused, Hickok advanced to within eight feet of the bulky form. Details became clearer. He could see two colossal ears and a snake-like nose. The whitish projections were horns of some sort. No! Not horns! Tusks! Suddenly he perceived the creature’s identity, and astonishment washed over him.
What the dickens was an elephant doing in southern California?
Hickok tentatively walked closer, attempting to remember what little he knew about pachyderms. If he showed he was friendly, maybe the elephant wouldn’t attack. “Howdy, there, big fella,” he greeted the jumbo animal. “Don’t fret none. I ain’t here to harm you.”
The elephant was staring at the gunfighter with glassy brown eyes.
Was the critter sick? “Any more of your kind around here, big guy?”
Hickok asked, hoping his talk would calm the beast. “Where’d you come from, anyway? I know they used to have critter prisons called zoos. Did your great, great grandpappy belong to a zoo hereabouts?”
The elephant wasn’t budging, wasn’t reacting in any way.
Hickok was only four feet from the pachyderm, and his brow furrowed in bewilderment. The elephant was filthy, caked with grime and dust, and its tusks displayed discolored patches of pale yellow. And the animal’s eyes hadn’t blinked once since he first saw it.
Was it dying?
Hickok peered upward at the trunk and head, trying to penetrate the shadows enshrouding its face. He bolstered his left Python and gingerly reached overhead, tapping the trunk.
Hard as a rock.
“What the heck!” the gunfighter blurted. He gripped the trunk, astounded to discover the elephant was a fake. The creature was artificial, constructed of a plastic-like substance.
A bogus pachyderm?
Hickok bolstered his right Colt and ran his fingers over one of the tusks.
Why had someone built this mysterious marvel? Was the elephant part of the amusement park? He’d read about zoos and amusement parks and carnivals and such in the Family Library, the extensive collection of hundreds of thousands of volumes personally selected by the Family’s Founder. During his early schooling years, the Elders had taught several courses dealing with the prewar society, one of which had briefly delved into the fanatical devotion to diversion exhibited by the so-called civilized nations. But who would have thought they’d go so far as to make a phony elephant? Why didn’t they just exhibit the real thing? Maybe they were trying to save money on their feeding bill. Or more likely, they couldn’t find anyone willing to spend all day following the elephant around with a shovel.
Hickok shrugged and headed to the north along the shore. Those prewar types sure were loco. He wondered if he would encounter any more artificial animals, and his question was answered 40 yards further on.
This one was an alligator, a whopper of a reptile at least ten feet in length, lying on the shore with the tip of its tail in the water.
Hickok admired the superb craftsmanship as he neared the fake gator.
The detail work was magnificent. There was a broad, rounded snout, a thick, powerful body, and a wide tail. The body and the tail were capped with ridges of triangular spikes. Its well-armored skin was a light shade of black. The ancient artisans had even managed to duplicate the musculature. How splendid! The gator’s protruding eyes were closed as if the reptile was at rest.
The gunman was ten feet from the alligator when he startled a big bullfrog squatting on the bank. The bullfrog leaped away from the human, inadvertently bounding toward the gator. One of its leaps carried the amphibian to within a foot of the reptile, and the bullfrog abruptly whirled and executed a tremendous vaulting arc into the water.
Hickok chuckled. Stupid frog! Scared of a dumb fake alligator! The gunman was four feet from the reptile when he noticed how clean it was.
Being exposed, the construct was probably kept free of dirt by periodical rainfall.
Hickok elected to step over the reptile instead of going around, and he was in midstride, his right foot elevated in the air above the gator’s back, when the fake performed a most remarkable feat.
The alligator opened its eyes.
Chapter Six
“So how’s it goin’ to be, bro?” Bear asked.
Blade glanced at the muscular black. They, along with the other Federation delegates, were standing in the hallway outside the conference room. The five faction leaders were in conference behind the closed door.
A pair of Free State soldiers, both armed with M-16’s, stood at attention outside the room. “I’m going to request M-16’s for each of us,” he said. “At least four of us will be in the conference room with our leaders at all times. We’ll work in shifts.”
“They might prefer to conduct their meeting in privacy,” Brother Timothy mentioned.
“Tough. We’re going to protect them with or without their cooperation,” Blade stated. “I don’t see where they’d object. At the Home all meetings of the Elders are open to everyone in the Family.”
“This isn’t the Home,” Wolfe’s flunky commented.
“The same principle applies,” Blade rejoined. “When leaders start holding secret meetings, they breed distrust and a sense of inferiority in those they serve.”