Grotto roared and surged forward.
A desperate plan, a blaze of inspiration, pervaded Blade’s consciousness, and with the idea came action. He ran toward Grotto, and when just three feet from the creature’s tail he leaped, his coiled leg muscles carrying him over Grotto’s tail onto its back, at the junction of the tail and the spinal column. His knees clamped on the tail, as he sank his Bowies to the hilt in the genetic deviates back.
Grotto stiffened, then whipped its tail in an arc, striving to dislodge the man-thing.
Blade was clipped by the broad tail. He felt something hard strike his left shoulder, and he was knocked forward, the Bowies wrenching clear of the mutant’s rancid flesh. He rolled twice and came up on his knees, perched on Grotto’s squat neck.
Grotto snapped its head up and down, shaking its whole body, attempting to toss the man off.
Rikki closed in and delivered a deep slash to Grotto’s throat.
Blade, clinging to the pliant skin on Grotto’s neck with all of his strength, racked his brain for a means of destroying the creature. There had to be a way! But how? It had sustained several severe injuries, it was pumping a sickly green fluid from its body by the gallon, and yet still it fought on, endowed with a fearless nature and a ravenous appetite. The Bowies and the katana seemed unable to deliver a death blow. Where would it be most vulnerable? In the heart? Where would the heart be located in a creature of this size? All these thoughts passed through his mind in the twinkling of an instant.
And then it hit him.
There was a way!
Blade lunged forward, wrapping his legs around the mutant’s neck. He extended the Bowies as far as his arms could reach, one on each side of the creature’s face, one next to each eye.
“Do it!” he heard Lex scream.
Blade plunged the Bowies into Grotto’s brown orbs, all the way in, and twisted.
Grotto reacted as if electrified by a bolt of lightning, its huge form convulsing and contorting, hissing all the while, its head shaking from right to left and up and down.
Blade could scarcely retain his grip. He felt the creature moving from side to side, and he could see Rikki yelling something to him, but he couldn’t hear the words over Grotto’s hissing.
Grotto’s violent throes intensified.
“—pit! The pit!” Rikki yelled in alarm.
The pit?
The pit!
Blade jerked the Bowies free and rolled to the right, off of Grotto’s neck.
Something collided with his back, and he was sent flying, arms and legs flailing in the air, to crash onto the ground in a daze. He shook his head to clear his fuzzy mind, and rose to his hands and knees.
“Are you all right?” asked a concerned male voice.
Blade looked up.
Rikki smiled at him. “The Family will tell this tale for generations.”
Blade glanced around, confused, disoriented. “Where…”
“The pit,” Rikki answered before Blade could complete his question.
Blade stumbled to his feet. He tottered to the edge of the pit, his whole body aching like hell, and peered over the edge.
Grotto was lying in the center of the pit, on its side, its mouth open and slack, its eyes pools of green fluid, its legs curled up, its tail quivering.
Grotto was dead.
“I never saw anything like that!” Lex said as she joined them. “I wanted to shoot,” she added, holding up the Commando, “but I was afraid I’d hit one of you.”
Blade nodded absently, not yet fully recovered, staring at the creature on the pit floor.
“Are you all right?” Rikki repeated.
“Just a little dazed,” Blade responded.
“Its head hit you as you were rolling off,” Rikki disclosed.
Blade glanced at the black hole in the side of the pit, the hole providing access to the sewers. “Terza told me there are more of those things down there,” he commented in a low voice.
“Yeah,” Lex confirmed. “So?”
“So sooner or later those things are going to start coming out of the sewers to feed,” Blade predicted.
“A few have already done it,” Lex stated. “What’s the big deal?”
Blade stared at her, sweat beading his brow. “Population growth is going to force more and more of them to take to the streets,” he said wearily. “From what we’ve seen in our travels, many cities are like St. Louis. Living in them may become untenable.”
Lex gazed at Grotto, frowning. “So what? I don’t like living here anyway.”
Rikki touched Blade on the left elbow. “We should be leaving.”
Blade nodded. He realized he was still holding the Bowies, and he held them up. They were covered with the sticky green fluid. “Yuck,” he said, and walked to a fallen sister.
Rikki scanned the room. “We are the only ones here,” he observed.
Blade wiped his knives clean on the sister’s black-leather vest. “You can bet reinforcements are on the way.”
“You can have this,” Lex offered, extending the Commando. “I’ll take one of the rifles.”
Blade sheathed his Bowies and took the Commando. “Thanks.” He paused. “I appreciate all of the assistance you’ve rendered. And I know how you feel about living in St. Louis. How would you like to come and live with us?”
Lex grinned. “Rikki already made me the same offer.”
“And?”
“And the sooner we get to this Home of yours,” Lex said, “the better.”
Blade smiled. “Lead the way.”
Lex took a rifle from a dead stud, and found a handful of ammunition in his right front pocket. “Rikki told me you guys are called Warriors,” she mentioned as she straightened.
“There are fifteen Warriors,” Blade affirmed.
Lex swept the room with her right hand. “And you Warriors do this kind of thing all the time?”
“It does seem to happen a lot,” Blade admitted. “Why?”
“Oh, nothing,” Lex said. “But after seeing what you guys do for a living, I can’t help but wonder what you do for kicks.”
Chapter Twenty
This was another blasted mess he’d gotten himself into!
The gunman was seated on a long bench on one side of the cargo bay.
Across from him, on another wooden bench, sat five Red soldiers, each with an AK-47, each pointing their weapon in his general direction.
Nearby, toward the rear of the aircraft, boxes and crates and miscellaneous equipment were stacked to the ceiling. In the opposite direction, a narrow alley between more crates and boxes led to a closed door. The sixth Red, the one he’d first seen in the cargo bay doorway and evidently a sergeant or of some equivalent rank, had disappeared through the door mere minutes before. After the sergeant and one other trooper had hoisted the gunfighter into the helicopter, they’d shoved him to the bench and ordered him to sit.
But the rascals had made a serious mistake.
Hickok wanted to laugh. The cowchips had neglected to search him for weapons. Consequently, the Pythons were safely tucked under his belt, hidden by the bulky uniform shirt over his buckskins.
“Any of you gents feel like shootin’ the breeze?” Hickok amiably inquired.
None of them responded.
“I have a pard by the name of Joshua,” Hickok genially told them. “He once told me a motto of his. You bozos could learn from it. If you ever want to make friends, old Josh once said, you’ve got to be friendly. You jokers sure ain’t the friendly type.”
One of the Reds wagged his AK-47. “Shut your mouth. We are not your friends.”
“Why do we have to be enemies?” Hickok countered. “The war was a hundred years ago.”
“The war is not over until Communism has conquered the globe,” the soldier said.
Hickok sighed. “You must be minus a few marbles. There ain’t no way you turkeys will conquer the world.”