“I know nothing of conditions inside Atlanta,” Rikki said.
“Then allow me to fill you in,” Locklin proposed. “Atlanta is ruled by seven people, five men and two women, known as Peers. They form a body called the Civil Council, and everyone in Atlanta is under their thumb. The city has become a police state. Liberty has died and been replaced by legalistic fascism.”
“Why do the residents tolerate such a situation?” Rikki inquired. “Why don’t they revolt en masse?”
“You don’t understand the first thing about revolutions,” Locklin said.
“It’s not as simplistic as that.”
“Enlighten me,” Rikki prompted.
Locklin stared at a fluffy white cloud overhead. “Study history. There have been countless oppressed societies. Dictators have come and gone.
Fascists, Communists, and despots of every stripe have left their legacy of hatred and death. Millions, no, billions of men and women have lived under autocratic regimes. Most of them never revolted. Why? Because they accepted the status quo. They were indoctrinated into complacency.
They valued having food on the table more than they valued their freedom.”
“Aren’t you being a bit hard on them?” Rikki inquired. “Dictatorships invariably have powerful military machines to enforce governmental edicts.”
Locklin looked at the man in black. “You know your history. Then you know about the American Revolution. The colonies threw off the British yoke because the majority of the colonists considered their freedom worth any price.” He paused. “When I was twelve, I found a shelf of ancient books in a library. The paper was yellow and threatened to crumple at the touch. One of the books was a history of the American Revolution, and I still feel a tingle every time I remember the words of Patrick Henry.”
Rikki’s mind drifted back to his schooling days at the Home. “What about Henry?”
“His words fired my soul,” Locklin declared, and his eyes lit up as he quoted his favorite passage: “I know not what course others may take; but for me, give me liberty, or give me death!”
Rikki recognized Locklin’s sincerity; the rebel leader was ardently devoted to his cause.
“I’d like to have those words engraved on my tombstone,” Locklin was saying. “A man couldn’t have a finer epitaph.”
A flock of starlings abruptly winged from a stand of trees 75 yards ahead of the column.
Rikki casually unslung the Uzi and cradled the automatic next to his waist. He scrutinized the trees, then glanced at the pair on point. Scarlet and Jane were 30 yards off, advancing cautiously, and they did not appear to be unduly concerned about the starlings.
“People become conditioned to a way of life,” Locklin stated. “When you get down to the nitty-gritty, most people don’t want to rock the boat.
They’d rather roll with the flow.”
A bush near the stand of trees quivered for a few seconds. Scarlet and Jane did not notice.
Sliding his finger over the Uzi trigger, Rikki glanced at Locklin. “We’re walking into a ambush,” he calmly announced.
“I know,” Locklin said, unruffled.
“You know?”
“Of course. Scarlet signaled me over a minute ago.”
“I didn’t see him signal you,” Rikki said.
“When he scratched his nose with his left hand,” Locklin detailed. “I told you, hand signals are essential to our operation.”
“If you know the ambush is there,” Rikki mentioned, “why are we walking into it?”
Locklin smiled and slowly unslung his long bow. “You’ll see. When I give the word, flatten.”
“Any idea who is in those trees?”
“It’s probably a Storm Police patrol,” Locklin replied. “A dozen troopers with automatic rifles, M-16s and AR-15s.”
“And you’re going to take them on with just bows?” Rikki asked skeptically.
“Pay close attention,” Locklin said. “You may learn something.”
The two on point tramped eastward without betraying their knowledge of the ambushers, hardly paying any attention to the stand of trees.
Scarlet, a lean man with brown hair, and Jane, a woman with sandy tresses, came abreast of the stand, then passed it.
Rikki evaluated the ambushers as professionals. Whoever was concealed in the brush was letting the point pair pass, waiting for the main column to get closer. A routine tactical ploy. He felt uncomfortable as he drew nearer, knowing a rifle sight might be trained on his body.
“Get ready,” Locklin whispered.
The column reached a point approximately 20 yards from the stand.
They were crossing a strip of high weeds.
Rikki detected a faint click.
“Now!” Locklin bellowed, and every Freedom Fighter dove for the dirt.
And not a split second too soon.
The metallic chatter of automatic gunfire erupted from the trees, creating an instant din as the ambushers all fired simultaneously. Four men in dark blue uniforms materialized, spraying the weeds ineffectually.
On their sides below the hail of gunfire, the Freedom Fighters were quickly notching arrows. They stayed down until the ambushers momentarily ceased firing for a lack of targets, and then half of the band sprang erect and loosened a volley of glimmering shafts while the remainder slid into the undergrowth and vanished.
Rikki popped up in time to see a pair of the men in blue fall, one screeching with an arrow through his throat, the second with a shaft jutting from his chest. The Warrior cut loose with an indiscriminate burst at the stand and was rewarded by the sight of a trooper pitching from the branch of a tree. He ducked low again as the ambushers resumed their withering fire. Around him the Freedom Fighters were doing likewise.
Locklin was smiling, actually enjoying himself. He looked at Rikki and winked.
The man in black could guess Locklin’s strategy. The rest of the band was circling around the ambushers, coming at the troops from the rear. If the Freedom Fighters were adept at stealth, the battle would be over within a minute unless the ambushers had a surprise of their own.
They did.
Rikki saw Locklin’s eyes widen as the rebel leader stared skyward, and the Warrior swiveled his gaze in the same direction. His abdominal muscles inadvertently tightened.
A plane was making a strafing run toward them!
Chapter Ten
Blade’s plan, formulated on the spur of the moment, was elementary and direct: overpower the patrol, grab Glisson, and head for the hills or some semblance thereof. By taking the initiative when they were 35 yards from the Euthanasia Directorate, out in the open and not hemmed in, he maximized the advantage of his superior size and reach. His attack was totally unexpected. Captain Yost and two of the troopers were flattened by roundhouse haymakers before the trio still standing awoke to the fact they were under assault. The shortest of the three grabbed for the blackjack in its holster on his right hip, only to find himself toppling over after the giant delivered an excruciating kick to his testicles.
“Get him!” hissed the heaviest of the two patrolmen left. He whipped his blackjack from its holster and swung at the giant’s chin, but failed to connect. The standard police blackjack was seven inches in length, consisting of a circular metal knob attached to a flexible handle, encased in brown leather. In the hands of an expert, the weapon could incapacitate or kill, and the trooper was adept at its use. He closed in, aiming another blow at the Warrior, foolishly expecting to end the fray quickly.
The second trooper drew his blackjack and waited for an opening.
With pantherish speed and grace, Blade side stepped the policeman and used the edge of his right hand to crush his foe’s throat. The man gagged and stumbled, his knees buckling, his arms waving wildly. Blade wrenched the blackjack free and turned to confront the final trooper.