Hickok and Rikki stayed abreast of Locklin. They waited as his men used long knives to slash an opening in the weeds, exposing a set of man-sized storm drains.
“They’re barred,” Rikki observed.
“No problem,” Locklin stated confidently, and nodded at three of his men. Each one carried a large, brown leather pouch, and from the pouch each pulled out a hacksaw. “Get to it,” he directed.
The trio applied themselves to the bars of the left-hand drain, their sawing sounding like the buzzing of a swarm of bees.
Hickok surveyed the rampart, his fingers on the Uzi trigger.
“The Storm Police assign their guards to a specific sector on the wall,” Locklin explained. “The ones we killed aren’t due to be relieved until midnight, and my men are keeping an eye on the guards north and south of here.”
“These bars are tough,” one of the men sawing commented.
“Don’t stop,” Locklin said. “We’re on a tight schedule.”
Hickok gazed into the gloomy drain. “Where does this oversized gopher hole lead?”
“These were installed after the war, when the climate changed,” Locklin answered. “Atlanta began receiving twice as much annual rainfall. The experts claimed a shift in the jet stream was to blame. Anyway, right now we’re between Rock Springs Road and La Vista. The drains lead to the Atlanta Water Works Reservoirs, to channel the overflow during the rainy season. One of the branches will lead us to within a block of the Civil Directorate. We won’t have to worry about the Storm Police.”
“Good,” Hickok said.
“We’ll just need to watch out for the rats, the spiders, and the tunnel mutants.”
“The what?” Hickok asked.
“Thousands of rats and spiders live in the drains,” Locklin detailed. “A lot are drowned during the runoff, but somehow they always multiply like rabbits afterwards.”
“And the tunnel mutants?”
“Mutants are everywhere. You know that. The storm drains are no exception,” Locklin said.
“You have used the drains before,” Rikki deduced.
“Yes,” Locklin confirmed. “We used them regularly to sneak into the city until about a year ago. Then the Storm Police caught on and installed bars on every drain.”
“Has anyone ever seen mutant apes in the drains?” Hickok inquired.
“Not to my knowledge,” Locklin replied. “Why?”
“Oh, nothin’.”
The three men were sawing at a frantic pace.
Locklin checked his watch again. “We’re falling behind schedule.” He nodded at three of his band. “Take over for them.”
A woman in green raced up to them. “More guards are coming!” she declared.
“Where?” Locklin asked.
“From the north,” the woman disclosed. “Two of them.”
“How far off?”
“Five hundred yards or better.”
“Have everyone take cover,” Locklin commanded. “Take three with you.
I want these guards stopped before they get too close. Use two archers for each guard.”
“I understand,” the woman acknowledged. She pointed at three rebels, and together they sprinted northward. The rest crouched low.
“Keep sawing,” Locklin told the men at the drain. “The guards are too far off to hear us.”
“Do you think they know we’re here?” Big John inquired.
“They have no way of knowing,” Locklin said.
Hickok stared to the north, pleased to notice the increasingly murky light.
Working strenuously, the men at the drain grunted and huffed.
The gunman gazed at the Freedom Fighters, regarding their determined, courageous expressions. Face after face conveyed a grim sense of purpose.
All except for one.
Hickok studied the singular exception, a young man with blue eyes and blond hair. What was his name again? Rikki had introduced them the night before. Dale. That was it. The youth was gnawing nervously on his lower lip and gazing apprehensively at the woods to their rear.
Why?
The gunman focused on the vegetation, searching in the shadows for signs of life.
Nothing.
Footsteps pounded on the turf and the woman returned. “More Storm Police!” she declared, out of breath.
“How many?” Locklin demanded.
“I lost count,” she responded. “I left the others to keep watch. There are dozens of police coming from the north.”
Another runner suddenly arrived from the south. “Locklin! Storm Police!”
“How many?”
“Over three dozen,” the second runner disclosed.
“What the hell is going on?” Locklin commented. “They can’t know we’re here.”
Hickok saw the youth swallow hard. “I wouldn’t bank on that, bucko.”
“Why?” Locklin asked in consternation.
Before Hickok could reply, the men at the drain removed a quarter of the barred grate.
“Locklin!” someone shouted. “The trees!”
As one, all the Freedom Fighters turned to discover the forest abruptly infested with a horde of Storm Police.
“Rebel scum!” a gruff voice bellowed, the speaker using a megaphone. “Drop your weapons and surrender, or you will die where you stand?”
Chapter Seventeen
“I trust that you enjoyed your rest?” Sol Diekrick said.
“I didn’t expect such plush accommodations,” Blade admitted, thinking of the holding cell in which he’d spent the day, a cell furnished with a comfortable bed, a table and chair, and even a portable radio. Three meals had been served, all piping hot. He had stubbornly resisted eating the first two, but his gnawing hunger had persuaded him to eat a portion of the evening repast. The cell, to the best of his estimation, was located in an underground level of the Civil Directorate. Less than five minutes ago 20 Storm Police had arrived to escort him to the Peers.
“We’re not barbarians, after all,” Sol declared archly.
Blade took stock of his surroundings. He was ten feet from a long metal table, the door to the room at his back. Seated and eyeing him intently were all the Peers, with Sol Diekrich at the head of the table to the right.
Beyond the table was an unusual glass pane, allowing those in the room to gaze over a huge chamber below. Peculiar roofless walls filled the enormous expanse.
“I was told you ate sparingly,” Sol mentioned. “Wasn’t our cuisine adequate?” The Bowies were on the table in front of him.
“I’m on a diet,” Blade quipped.
“You look fine to me,” Lilith Friekan remarked from her chair at the left end of the table.
“Behave, my dear,” Sol advised.
“Why have you spared me?” Blade asked.
“You’re complaining?” Sol rejoined.
“I was under the impression you wanted information, and fast,” Blade said.
“I did, initially,” Sol confessed. “But before we could arrange our special entertainment, we received news affecting you directly. I decided to delay the entertainment until the appropriate time.”
“I don’t understand,” Blade stated.
“You will,” Sol declared with a smirk. He glanced at the Storm Police captain in charge of the 20-man detail. “Have your men file into this room along the walls. I want our guest to refrain from interfering with our entertainment, and your presence should deter him.”
The captain nodded and obeyed.
“Now where was I?” Sol commented.
“What news?” Blade inquired, flexing his wrist muscles to test the handcuffs restraining his arms.
“In due time,” Sol said. “First, our entertainment for the evening. You are receiving quite an honor. We have disrupted our normal schedule for this event.”
“Lucky me,” Blade cracked.