Slowly, gingerly, he pulled the Razorback from its sheath.
Now came the hard part.
Could he do it, injured as he was?
There was only one way to find out.
Yama brought his right arm up and around, lunging to the left, ignoring the torment as he buried the Razorback in the rodent’s neck. The blade went clear through the neck and imbedded in the hardwood floor with a thunk.
The rat squealed and thrashed for several seconds, then went limp.
Yama jerked the Razorback from the rodent, wiped the blood off on his left pants leg, and slid the survival knife in the sheath.
What could have happened to Rikki-Tikki-Tavi?
Yama stared at the front doors, noting the sunlight pouring into the building through the spaces between the frames. Rikki would never have deserted him, which meant Rikki was in trouble. Or dead.
The word triggered a reaction.
Yama suddenly recalled his strange dream in vivid detail, his forehead creasing in bewilderment. Alicia! He’d seen Alicia! And she had seemed so real!
But that was impossible.
Alicia had died, killed by a Technic assault team, a special demolition squad sent to destroy the Home while Blade was in New York City.
Yes, Alicia had died.
But if the Elders were right, if their teachings were accurate, then there was life after death.
Somewhere.
Yama frowned. He’d listened to the Elders over the years, and he had read volumes on religion and philosophy. But he’d never really given the next phase of life much thought. Oh, he’d believed, but he’d never confronted the reality. Until now.
Rikki had been right, after all. What was it Rikki had said? “You have supreme fascination with the subject of death.”
True.
How true.
Death was an inevitable counterpoint to mortal life. Thousands, even millions, feared death, dreaded the act of dying. If his experience had been real, and not a dream, then all that fear, all that dread, all the anxiety humankind ever displayed toward death was unnecessary. Totally, stupidly, unnecessary.
Death was a portal to the other side.
Death was the technique of passage to the higher spheres.
A technique, and nothing more.
Death was not to be feared. Not to be dreaded. Death was to be accepted, and once accepted to be placed in its proper perspective.
Yama made a silent vow to himself. Never again would he become worried at the prospect of dying. Never again would the likelihood of his demise upset him.
Never again!
Never more!
Yama glanced at the arrow protruding from his abdomen. The Spirit had smiled on him! The point of the shaft was not a broadhead, which would have torn his insides to shreds. The point was an ordinary target tip, small and tapered to a neat point. The arrow could be extracted without breaking the shaft! He reached behind him with his left hand and gripped the arrow near the fletching.
It had to be done.
Girding himself, tightening his stomach and arm muscles, he slowly pulled on the arrow. The shaft resisted his effort for a second, then began to slid outward with a slurping sound.
The sensation was sickening.
Yama grinned when the shaft was completely out. He brought the arrow around in front of him and studied the bloody shaft and feathers.
Close.
So close.
He tossed the arrow aside and tried to rise, but vertigo overwhelmed him. Dizzy, he sighed and propped his back against the wall. He’d lost a lot of blood. If he pushed himself, he could well succumb because of the blood loss alone. He could… die?
Oh, really?
His dream, if such it was, had indicated otherwise. “Your time has not yet come,” Alicia had said. So was he going to believe the woman he loved, or go by the large pools of blood on the floor?
Yama laughed.
Mere minutes ago he had made a vow never to worry about the prospect of dying again. And what was he doing?
He put both palms on the slippery floor and shoved, rising to a squatting posture.
No problem.
Yama lifted the Wilkinson in his right hand, then used the stock on the floor as a brace while he straightened to his full height. The dizziness disappeared. He bent over, examining the exit wound in his abdomen. The target tip had perforated the skin in an even circle, and the blood flow had ceased.
But what about infection?
Yama shook his head, bemused by his second lapse. He chuckled and headed for the front doors while inserting a fresh clip into the Carbine’s magazine. Blinking in the bright light, he went outside.
Rikki was nowhere in sight.
Nor were Blade and Hickok.
Yama looked to his right. Far down the street there were six or seven bodies. Swarming over the corpses were scores of hungry rats.
Which way should he go?
Yama walked down the steps to the street. Seattle was a huge city, or had been. He could search for weeks, wandering at random, and never find his fellow Warriors. If Rikki, Blade, and Hickok had been captured, he didn’t have the slightest idea where their captors might be based.
The solution was simple.
Yama proceeded to the south, bypassing the feeding rats, until, four blocks later, he found exactly what he needed.
An ancient store, the faded lettering on its sign still legible. OFFICE SUPPLIES. The front window was busted and the door was off its hinges.
Yama entered the store, searching for the materials he required. Dust covered everything. Debris dotted the floor. Grimy computers and typewriters lined shelves on the walls. He crossed to one of the computers and ran his left index finger over its display screen. The dust was half an inch thick.
Where was what he needed?
Yama moved to the rear of the store. There, in a corner of the store, he found the items he wanted. Boxes of paper. Reams and reams and reams.
Time to set the bait.
Now where were his matches?
Chapter Seventeen
“What the heck!” Hickok blurted out.
“Oh, God!” Hedy exclaimed.
Manta hissed maliciously.
Hickok was staggered by the setup. They were in a vast chamber, and the exterior walls, which were composed of glass or plastic, affored a view of the sea! Fish could be seen swimming past, singly and in schools.
“Do you know what this was?” Manta asked.
Hickok shook his head, surveying the chamber’s interior. Square and oval tanks, some small, some huge, were everywhere. He guessed the tanks had once been utilized to house sea life, but now they housed… humans!
“This was once an aquarium, the Seattle Aquarium to be exact,” Manta stated. “I understand they underwent a major expansion project shortly before the war. How convenient for me!”
Hickok released Hedy’s hand and took a few steps into the gigantic chamber, stunned. There were scores upon scores of humans in the tanks.
Incredibly, they were engaged in typical human activities. In a large tank to his right, a group was tending to a garden growing inside the 40-foot-wide tank. And in a smaller tank to his left was a woman seated in a rocking chair and sewing.
“What do you think of my collection?” Manta taunted the Warrior. “A variety of human activities are represented for the enjoyment and edification of the Brethren.”
Hickok spun toward the mutant. “It’s… it’s like a blamed zoo!”
“This is better than a zoo,” Manta gloated. “This is my Humarium.”
At last Hickok understood. He gazed at the dozens of tanks, at the humans inside, and comprehension dawned. “The humans have taken the place of the fish! Everything is reversed! Instead of the humans watchin’ the sea life—” he looked at Manta—“the sea life is watchin’ the humans!”