He laughed even harder.
Chapter Nine
Hickok threw himself to the left, flattening against a wall and freezing.
The enormous crab tentatively moved forward two feet, then stopped.
Its eyes shifting back and forth, its antennae waving.
Hickok held his breath. Maybe, just maybe, if he didn’t so much as twitch, the thing wouldn’t attack. Maybe the crab was attracted by motion and sound. And if so…
Seconds later the three men and the woman rushed around the corner.
One of the men saw the gunman and blurted out, “There he is!” before realizing the crab was in close proximity.
“No!” the woman yelled.
The crab pounced, gripping one of the men in each mighty pincer. They shrieked as they were lifted into the air and horribly crushed to death.
The remaining man, a stocky fellow with torn brown pants and a yellow shirt marred by holes under the armpits, and the woman fled. Or tried to.
The crab scuttled after them, overtaking the woman immediately, slamming into her and knocking her to the ground. Her hatchet skidded from her grasp. Without slowing, and with a limp corpse in each bloody claw, the crab went after the last man. That worthy sped around the corner with the crustacean on his heels, and both were promptly lost to view.
Flat on her back, elated at her good fortune, the woman grinned and went to rise.
A pair of gleaming revolver barrels suddenly appeared before her hazel eyes.
“Don’t move!”
The woman suddenly remembered the joker in the buckskins.
He came around in front of her, his revolvers cocked, his blue eyes narrowed. “What’s your name?” he demanded.
“Hedy,” she replied.
“I’m Hickok,” said the gunman, introducing himself. “And I’ve got some questions that need answerin’. On your feet, lady!”
Hedy slowly rose.
Hickok studied his prisoner. She was in her twenties, about five feet six with fleshy arms but skinny legs. Her face was oval, her long, stringy hair black. She wore dirty jeans that had seen better days decades ago. Her top was a faded blue, marked by mud and grime. Even her exposed skin was dirty, dotted with smudges. “We need a place to palaver. Let’s mosey.”
“What?” the woman said, plainly confused.
“Let’s find a place to hide out for a spell,” Hickok stated. “I don’t want to be interrupted by another mutated critter.”
“Where?” the woman asked.
“Anywhere,” Hickok responded. He stepped aside and nodded to the east. “That way. Vamoose.”
“What?” Hedy queried.
“Move it!” Hickok barked.
Hedy hastened eastward, her eyes betraying her fright, the set of her chin denoting her determination not to show her fear.
Hickok surveyed the buildings ahead. He observed a one-story affair across the street. There was a spacious paved area between the structure and the street, which would afford him ample warning if an enemy materialized. There were six odd metal and plastic rectangular doohickeys aligned at intervals in the paved area. What the blazes were they? He saw a cracked, reddish hose hanging from one of the rectangular boxes, and his mind flashed back to one of the books he’d read in the Family library, a book about the prewar cars and trucks. The book had contained a photograph of a car refueling at… what were they called? Service stations!
That was it! Or simply gas stations! “Head over there!” he ordered. “To that gas station.”
“Is that what it is?” Hedy inquired nervously.
“You don’t know what a gas station is?” Hickok asked doubtfully.
“I’ve seen the place dozens of times,” Hedy said. “But no one ever told me what it was.”
“Now you know,” Hickok said, alertly scanning their vicinity as they walked across the street.
“How’d you get so smart?” Hedy asked facetiously.
“Just natural intellect, I reckon,” Hickok stated.
They neared the service station, which consisted of three sections. The two at the west end of the building were open bays with tools and old tires scattered everywhere. The eastern third was a small office with the windows and the door surprisingly undamaged. The glass door was open.
“Inside,” Hickok directed.
Hedy tentatively entered the office, walking to the far wall and turning toward the gunman. Her body was tense, her fingers twitching in a jittery fashion.
Hickok stepped just inside the door, where he could keep an unobstructed eye on the paved area and the street. “Don’t fret none, ma’am,” he told her. “I won’t hurt you unless you give me cause.”
Hedy mustered a weak grin. “That’s nice to know.” She did not sound like she believed him.
“How long have you lived hereabouts?” Hickok inquired.
“I’ve lived in Seattle all my life,” Hedy said.
“Then you must know the city real well,” Hickok deduced.
Hedy shrugged. “Some parts I do. Some parts I don’t. I’ve never been west of I-5.”
“I-5?” Hickok repeated quizzically.
“Interstate 5 it’s called,” Hedy elaborated.
“What’s west of there?” Hickok probed.
“Manta and the Brethren,” Hedy said with a visible shudder.
“Manta! He’s the vermin I’m lookin’ for!” Hickok declared.
Hedy stared at the gunman like he was crazy. “You’re looking for Manta?”
“Yep. My pards and me.” Hickok’s voice lowered. “Where are they?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play games with me,” Hickok cautioned. “I need to know what happened to my pards.”
“And what if I don’t tell you?” Hedy rejoined defiantly.
“I’ll shoot you in the knees,” Hickok coldly informed her.
Hedy stared at his handguns. “I believe you would.”
“So what happened to them?”
“I know we caught one of your friends,” Hedy said. “I saw them taking him out the back.”
“Yeah,” Hickok commented. “Your trap was real slick.”
“We knew you were coming,” Hedy detailed. “We saw this thing up in the sky earlier—”
“The jet,” Hickok interrupted.
“Is that what it’s called? No one had ever seen one before, not even Tiger. A short while later we heard all this shooting, and Tiger sent some Sharks to check it out. They came back and said there were four strangers coming into the city from the north. So Tiger arranged a trap. We were to take you alive, unless you resisted,” Hedy said.
“Back up a bit,” Hickok stated. “Who is Tiger? And what are the Sharks?”
Hedy’s eyes widened. “You’ve never heard of the Sharks?”
“Nope.”
“Where are you from? The moon?” Hedy queried sarcastically.
“I’m askin’ the questions,” Hickok reminded her. “Now who is this Tiger you keep talkin’ about?”
“Tiger is the head of the Sharks,” Hedy explained.
“And what are the Sharks?”
“I’m a Shark,” Hedy said.
“It’s the name of a gang?” Hickok inquired.
“There’s only one gang in Seattle,” Hedy said. “That’s us. The Sharks.
We control all the turf east of I-5.”
“The Sharks are the only gang? What about Manta and the Brethren?”
Hickok noted.
Hedy snorted. “The Brethren? They’re not a gang! They’re just mutants!”
“The Brethren are all mutants?”
“Right. And Manta is their leader,” Hedy said. “The Sharks and the Brethren have been at war since before I was born. The Brethren run things west of I-5.”
“How do either of you control anything with all those crabs runnin’ around?” Hickok commented.
“The crabs are Manta’s,” Hedy stated.