Although the lighting wasn’t sufficient to reveal every feature, he could see his captors better, and what he saw shocked him.
They were bugs.
Big, ugly bugs.
The insects were about the size of mule deer, but twice as wide. Their bodies were oval in shape, and each was supported by six thin legs. Every insect sported a pair of wings that rested flat on top of its streamlined bulk. From the head of each creature extended a pair of antennae over six feet in length, and the antennae were constantly in motion, swaying and waving or flicking out to touch other insects. Underneath each gruesome head, and used to produce the clicking noises, were a pair of mandibles.
Hickok could feel goose bumps all over his flesh. He glanced down at his legs, at the insect holding him in its steely mandibles, and he wished he could plug the vermin and skedaddle.
But not yet.
He estimated there were 15 of the bugs around him, and he knew he couldn’t down them all before they got him. So he waited, hoping for a break.
The insects moved across the floor until they came to a strange mound almost ten feet in height. They climbed effortlessly up the gradual incline.
Hickok turned his head, studying the composition of the mound. To his amazement, he determined the bugs were ascending an artificial hill composed of trash, perhaps the accumulation of decades. The stench was nauseating.
The creatures attained the rim and paused.
Gazing down, Hickok could see that the interior of the mound resembled a miniature volcano. There was a nine-foot drop to a circular flat area that had been packed down or scooped out. The light from the windows only partly illuminated the flat area, but there was enough to disclose the grisly white objects cluttering the bottom.
Hickok’s eyes widened.
For there, dotting the floor of the mound, lay a score of human skeletons.
Chapter Eleven
“The way I read it, the woman ran in here first and Hickok went in after her,” Geronimo said.
“Then we go after him,” Blade said, and motioned at the leader of the Chains. “Get over here.”
Marlon warily stepped closer. “What?”
“Where would she go from here?” Blade asked.
“How should I know?” Marlon retorted.
“She’s your fox, as you put it,” Blade reminded him. “Where would she go with someone chasing her?”
“Anywhere,” Marlon said. “We don’t have special hiding places, if that’s what you mean. Melanie knows this area really well. She’ll probably lose your friend in no time flat.”
Blade sighed. “Okay, Geronimo lead off,” he said, then reached out, grabbed Marlon by the right shoulder, and shoved the young tough between Geronimo and himself. “You’ll walk in front of me,” he instructed.
“Any funny moves and I’ll split your skull. Understood?”
“Understood,” Marlon acknowledged sullenly.
“Lieutenant Garber, bring up the rear. Stay alert,” Blade ordered.
“Will do, sir,” the officer replied.
Without another word they entered the building. On a hunch, Geronimo bore to the left and walked until he came to a junction. He paused, eyeing both branches. “Which way?”
“Pick one,” Blade said.
Geronimo studied the two branches for several seconds and noticed the light seemed slightly brighter at the end of the right fork. “We go right,” he declared, and suited his action to his words.
“Any chance of my getting my guns back?” Marlon asked as he followed the Indian.
“None,” Blade said.
“I don’t like being unarmed.”
“Who does?”
“Particularly in here,” Marlon went on. “There are all kinds of creepy-crawlies in these old buildings.”
“We know,” Blade said. “We ran into a bunch of lizards on our way in.”
“The lizards are the least of our worries,” Marlon commented without elaborating.
They hiked in silence to where the corridor turned abruptly to the left.
“There’s an open door!” Geronimo declared, and hurried to the exit.
Once outside, he stared at the sidewalk, the curb, and the asphalt covering the street, and frowned.
Marlon, Blade, and Garber came through the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” the officer inquired, noting Geronimo’s peeved expression.
“No tracks.”
“What?” Garber asked.
Geronimo pointed at the sidewalk. “Concrete doesn’t hold prints very well unless it’s wet.”
Lieutenant Garber gazed at the curb and the street. “Oh. Then we’re stymied temporarily, aren’t we? We can’t track them. What do we do now?”
“It’s up to Blade,” Geronimo said.
“Perhaps we should stay put,” Lieutenant Garber proposed. “Hickok might return to this spot.”
Blade ran his left hand through his hair, pondering their next move.
Garber had a point about the gunman returning. They shouldn’t stray very far from the alley. He decided to return and await Hickok. As he rotated toward the doorway he noticed a sign on the building across the street.
“Listen,” Geronimo suddenly stated.
“I don’t hear anything,” Lieutenant Garber remarked.
Blade cocked his head, and to his ears came the sounds of laughter and indistinct cries.
“It’s the Chosen!” Marlon exclaimed.
“How do you know?” Blade inquired.
“I know. Trust me,” Marlon said, facing to the south, his fingers twitching nervously. “We’ve got to hide or they’ll nail us.”
“They’re coming toward us,” Geronimo announced.
“Back inside,” Blade commanded, and hustled them into the hallway.
He stepped in last, then eased the door almost shut, leaving a three-inch space through which he could watch the street.
“I’ve got to warn the Chains!” Marlon declared.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Blade said.
“At least give me my damn guns.”
“Not yet.”
Marlon uttered an oath under his breath.
In less than a minute the pounding of running feet became audible, and Blade beheld a solitary figure racing down the center of the street, a man attired in torn jeans and brown shoes. He was shirtless, and the sweat glistened on every pore of his chest and shoulders. Looped around his slim waist was a chain. Blade glanced at Marlon. “Is this guy one of your gang?”
“Who?” Marlon responded. He moved to the doorway and peered out.
“Son of a bitch! That’s Gary! Yeah, he’s one of the Chains.”
“What’s he doing by himself?”
“I don’t know. He disappeared about four days ago,” Marlon divulged.
Other figures became visible, sprinting in pursuit of the man named Gary, 30 yards to his rear and narrowing the gap rapidly.
Blade’s eyes narrowed.
Gary appeared to be on his last legs. His chest heaved and his legs pumped sluggishly. He looked over his right shoulder and nearly stumbled.
“No!” he wailed.
There were 18 pursuers, and they were evidently making a game of the chase, laughing and shouting to one another. Ten of the 18 were men, and only they wore any clothing, loincloths covering their privates. All of the women were stark naked.
Blade felt a surge of excitement.
Green splotches dotted the skin of both the men and the women, irregular marks evincing no clear-cut pattern.
“The Chosen!” Marlon hissed.
Here was a golden opportunity to take a prisoner and complete the mission! Blade smiled and hefted the M60. A few of the Chosen were straggling well behind the rest. All he had to do was wait for the main pack to pass the door, then leap out and grab the last of the stragglers before the rest knew what happened. The simplicity of his plan delighted him.