Blade nodded.
“Hmmph. I guess the rumors I heard were true, but I wasn’t about to try and find out by waltzing up to a guard post and having my head shot off.”
“You’d prefer to live like an animal, wandering from town to town, never having enough to eat, never having a place you can call home?”
“Hey, I do whatever it takes to survive,” Melanie said defensively.
Blade absently stroked his chin, regarding her critically. “Okay. Tell me about Dallas.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything. You mentioned the Chains and the Stompers. Who are they?” Blade probed.
“They were the top gangs until the Chosen came along. The Chains claimed the northern half of the city as their turf, and the Stompers had the southern half.”
“The Chains and the Stompers are street gangs?”
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
“Do they still control their… turf?” Blade asked.
“Nope. The Chosen have taken over the whole damn city. Oh, there are still Chains and Stompers left, but there are fewer and fewer every week.
In another year the Chosen will be the only ones in Dallas, which is how they want it,” Melanie explained.
“Who are the Chosen?”
Melanie shuddered and gazed around nervously. “The freakiest bunch you’d ever want to meet.”
“Freaky?”
“They have these green marks all over their bodies,” Melanie said.
Blade gripped her right shoulder. “Marks? Do you mean they have green splotches?”
“Marks. Splotches. What’s the difference? You’d best stay away from those suckers or your ass is grass.”
“They’re the ones we’re looking for,” Blade said, releasing her.
“Let me get this straight,” Melanie stated, sounding stunned. “You’re looking for the Chosen? You want to find them?”
“Yes.”
“You’re wacko.”
Blade glanced toward the mouth of the alley and spied Geronimo standing in the entrance, watching them. “I want you to take us to them.”
“Take you to the Chosen?” Melanie declared, her left hand rising to her throat.
“Right now.”
“No way.”
Blade shifted the M60 from his left hand to his right. “Why not?”
“Don’t you have ears? If the Chosen find you, you’re history. If you don’t have the Mark, then they’ll give it to you or waste your ass,” Melanie said.
“They can give the green marks to those who don’t have them?”
“So I’ve been told,” Melanie replied.
“The blasted disease must be contagious,” Hickok interjected.
“We knew the possibility existed before we came to Dallas,” Blade mentioned.
“Sherry will clobber me if I get green splotches all over my body,” Hickok groused. “She reckons I’m perfect the way I am.”
“Demented?”
“Now don’t you start, pard. I take enough insults from Geronimo.”
Blade motioned at the alley entrance. “You’re coming with us,” he informed Melanie.
“Where to?”
“To the Chosen.”
She retreated a step, shaking her head. “Not on your life. I’m not committing suicide for you or anyone else.”
“We’ll protect you,” Blade pledged.
“You racked Sammy so you must be hot stuff, but you don’t have any idea of what you’re up against here. There must be a hundred and fifty of the Chosen. The two of you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“There are others with us.”
“How many? Fifty? Sixty?”
“There are four more,” Blade said.
“Six against the Chosen?” Melanie stated, and snickered. “They’ll wipe you out, or worse.”
“What could be worse?” Blade questioned.
“They could convert you.”
“How do they con—” Blade checked his sentence when he heard a blast of gunfire erupt in the street. “We need her! Bring her!” he ordered the gunfighter, and raced for the alley entrance.
Chapter Nine
Blade burst from the alley to find a battle being waged.
Geronimo, Lieutenant Garber, Private Griffonetti, and Private McGonical were under assault from dozens of assailants. Grungy figures lined the roofs, were framed in windows, or had taken cover behind every available shelter.
Blade saw a tall black man on the roof across the street let fly with an arrow from a compound bow. The shaft sped true, slicing into Griffonetti’s throat and protruding out the back of his neck. Griffonetti clutched at the arrow, his M-16 clattering on the asphalt, and he dropped to his knees.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Blade angled the M60 upward and squeezed the trigger. The heavy slugs tore into the assailant and catapulted him from sight.
A man and a woman were charging from the right, each with a chain looped around their waist, each armed with a sword.
Blade pivoted, lowering the machine gun’s barrel, and sent several rounds into each foe. They were flung to the road on their backs, kicking and shaking in their death throes.
A chunk of brick struck Blade on the right temple, filling his head with excruciating pain, and he twisted and glanced up to discover a man with a beard in a second-floor window, about to hurl a bigger piece of brick.
Blade gritted his teeth and fired, and the man screeched as he staggered backwards and vanished.
Griffonetti had pitched onto his stomach.
A burly man in a leather jacket appeared at a ground-floor window in a building on the other side of the street, a rifle in his hands. He got off a shot.
Private McGonical took the bullet squarely in the chest. He looked down at the wound in astonishment, then sprawled forward.
Geronimo worked the Browning, three booming retorts one after the other, and the rifleman’s waist exploded outward and he crumpled.
The figures were aiming a torrent of bullets, spears, arrows, bricks, and other items at the exposed Warriors and Lieutenant Garber.
“Into the alley!” Blade yelled, sweeping the M60 in an arc, forcing their adversaries to duck or die.
Geronimo and Lieutenant Garber darted into the mouth of the alley, then fired to keep the enemy pinned down while Blade joined them.
The downpour of missiles and lead ceased.
“What happened?” Blade asked, scanning the buildings and roofs.
“Who were they?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Geronimo answered. “One second we were waiting for you, and the next they popped out of nowhere, trying to kill us.”
“All my men are dead,” Garber said sadly. “I never expected this!”
“Concentrate on staying alive yourself,” Blade advised, and risked a peek past the edge of the right-hand wall. There was no hint of movement.
“They seem to be gone.”
As if on cue, a gruff voice hailed them from atop the three-story structure directly across from the alley. “Hey, you! The big son of a bitch! Do you hear me?”
“I hear you!” Blade replied, vigilantly scrutinizing the rim of the roof.
“You ain’t getting out of there alive, you scumbag!”
Blade did not bother to respond.
“Who are you?” the man asked. “Are you hooked up with the Stompers?”
Still Blade said nothing. He leaned his back against the wall and waited.
“Look, man! I want to talk to you face to face. What do you say?”
“Come out into the middle of the street, unarmed,” Blade shouted.
“Unarmed? No frigging way!”
Blade glanced at Geronimo, who was reloading the Browning, and at Lieutenant Garber, who seemed to be extremely depressed.
“How about this idea?” the man on the roof yelled. “How about if my hands are empty but I pack my revolvers? You can bring that cannon of yours. What do you say?”