Houston run, p.18
Houston Run, page 18
part #12 of Endworld Series
“You missed one.” Blade said.
“Oh. Yeah.” And Hickok suddenly grinned. “Northern Texas!”
“That’s right,” Blade affirmed. “And if Androxia was once called Houston, then we know we’re in southern Texas. So reaching freedom isn’t a matter of traveling over a thousand miles through enemy country. All we have to do is head north and find the Civilized Zone’s lines, and I’m positive they’ll help us reach the Home. At the most, we should only have several hundred miles to travel.”
“We can do it,” Hickok asserted. “But first we’ve got to find those three feebleminded mutants.”
Blade, his pockets laden with hand grenades, rose. “I hope we can.” He scooped up the Lasers.
Hickok picked up his Gaskells and stood. “I’m not leavin’ without those misfits, pard.”
“We may not have any option,” Blade said somberly. “Androxia is immense, and we don’t have the foggiest idea where to begin looking for them.”
Hickok shook his head. “I’m not leavin’ without ’em.”
Their budding argument was terminated by the sound of a voice in the corridor.
“Go from room to room! Check each one!”
The two Warriors sidled to the doorway. Blade peeked out, then drew his head back.
“What have we got?” Hickok asked.
“Superiors and troopers,” Blade stated. “To the left, coming this way, going door to door.”
“Then we skedaddle to the right,” Hickok suggested.
Blade nodded. “But first we need a distraction.” He eased the Gaskells under his belt, then extracted a grenade from his right front pocket. “This should do the trick.”
They waited, listening, gauging the approach of their pursuers. They could hear boots pounding, doors slamming closed, and muted conversations.
Hickok was grinning in anticipation.
Blade fingered the grenade, his thumb touching the pin.
“You four!” bellowed someone in the corridor. “Check the Weapons Room!”
Blade darted into the corridor, pulling the pin.
Ten yards distant were four troopers, two mutants and two humans, and looming to their rear was a Superior. Visible behind the Superior were additional troopers and several more androids.
Blade tossed the grenade overhand, lobbing it over the heads of the startled quartet of troopers, tossing the grenade at the Superior.
The Superior and the four troopers all saw the Warrior emerge from the Weapons Room, and the Superior was opening his mouth to shout a command when the hand grenade detonated a centimeter from his face.
Blade was already diving for the floor.
The entire hallway shook with the thunderous explosion. The overhead lights flickered, several blinking out.
Blade felt wet drops splatter his arms, and then debris and dust and body parts were raining down, pelting him. A severed thumb struck him on the left cheek and dropped to the floor. He heaved erect, drawing his Gaskell Lasers.
Hickok burst from the Weapons Room, Gaskells in hand, moving between Blade and their foes. “Go!” he cried. “I’ll cover you!”
Blade turned and ran toward the far end of the corridor.
Hickok backpedaled, probing the dust cloud for movement.
A bloody trooper, doubled over, coughing, stumbled into sight.
Hickok shot him through the head.
A Superior appeared. The android spotted the Warrior and raised the Laser in its right hand.
Hickok took the android out with two shots through the cranium. He glanced over his right shoulder.
Blade was still sprinting for the door at the end of the hall.
Hickok continued to retreat.
A grainy gray cloud filled the other half of the corridor. Orders were being shouted, and one of the maimed troopers was screaming in agony.
Hickok halted, detecting shadowy motion in the cloud.
Two troopers rushed into view, their steel batons upraised.
Hickok killed them both, then wheeled and raced after Blade, who was waiting for him next to the door. The gunman weaved as he jogged, repeatedly looking over his shoulder, wary of being blasted in the back.
“Come on!” Blade goaded him.
Hickok covered the final 15 yards in a mad dash.
“I don’t think I’m the only one who should go on a diet,” Blade cracked as the gunman reached his side.
“Very funny,” Hickok muttered, huffing.
Blade shoved the door open, and together they exited the corridor.
“Another stairwell!” Hickok exclaimed.
Blade bounded up the steps, keeping near the inner railing.
“Wait for me!” Hickok said, struggling to match his lanky stride to Blade’s giant gait.
Blade slowed so the gunman could catch up.
“Where are we headin’?” Hickok asked. “The lobby again?”
“No,” Blade said. “There has to be another way out of here, a side door nobody uses.”
A beam of light abruptly struck the railing next to Blade’s right hand, and an acute burning sensation lanced his whole arm as he was peppered with scorching metal. He twisted, looking upward.
A Superior and two troopers were on the landing above, the landing at lobby level, evidently posted as guards in the east stairwell. The android was sighting for another shot with his Gaskell Laser.
Blade threw himself to the left as another shaft of deadly light hissed over his head.
Hickok crouched, firing his Lasers three times, each shot on target. The first bored through the Superior’s forehead. The second caught one of the troopers in the mouth. And the third seared into the last trooper’s right eye and out his left car. All three dropped from sight.
Blade was up and running as the gunfighter fired his third shot, taking the stairs three at a time. He reached the next landing, finding all three of their adversaries twitching and thrashing in the throes of death. He also discovered two doors, one to each side of the landing.
“That was close, pard,” Hickok commented as he reached the landing.
Blade stepped over one of the expiring troopers and crossed to the door to the right. He carefully eased it open a fraction. As expected, there was the large lobby, packed with milling Superiors and troopers. The Superiors appeared to be engaged in organizing the troopers for a complete sweep of the Intelligence Building. He also saw the familiar glass doors on the north side of the lobby, the long corridor over by the west wall, and, after craning his neck and pressing his eyes to the opening, he could see the row of elevators not more than 12 feet away.
“Psssst!” Hickok whispered.
Blade closed the door to the lobby and turned.
Hickok was crouched alongside the dead android, waving a key chain in his right hand.
Blade slid his left Gaskell under his belt and took the keys. He moved to the other stairwell door and tried the knob. It was locked.
“Hurry it up!” Hickok advised. “I hear somebody comin’ down the stairwell.”
Blade inserted the first key on the chain, the first of seven.
No luck.
“I heard footsteps down below too,” the gunman stated.
Blade attempted to unlock the door with the second key.
No go.
“I wonder if this is how David Crockett felt at the Alamo?” Hickok queried.
Blade inserted the third key and turned the knob.
The door swung wide open, allowing sunlight to shine inside.
The Warriors quickly exited the Intelligence Building. The door provided access to a narrow alley, bordered on the opposite side by a five-story structure. Blade removed the key before closing the door, then locked the exit from the outside.
“Which way?” Hickok asked.
Blade placed the key in his left rear pocket, debating. If they went to the left, the alley would take them to the front of the Intelligence Building.
“We go right,” he said.
The two Warriors ran toward the rear of Intelligence.
“They’ll find those three on the landing any second now,” Hickok remarked.
“I know,” Blade said. “But the locked door may throw them off. They may think we went up or down. And even if they suspect we used the exit, I have the key. They may need to find another one before they can come after us.”
“And the tooth fairy may show up and save our hides,” Hickok joked, “but I wouldn’t count on it.”
They slowed as they neared the end of the alley. Blade took the lead, flattening against the wall and advancing until he could peer around the corner.
A parking lot filled with dozens upon dozens of vehicles was located behind the Intelligence Building. Perhaps ten people, four of them troopers in black uniforms, were either walking from the parking lot to Intelligence or moving from the building toward one of the parked vehicles. To the south of the parking lot was a circular concrete landing pad, and resting on the concrete was a sleek white helicopter with the words ANDROXIA AIR EXPRESS painted on its tail section.
“What do you see?” Hickok inquired.
“Have a look,” Blade recommended.
The gunman edged to the corner and surveyed the parking lot. “I don’t see any Superiors,” he observed.
“Do you see that copter?” Blade asked.
“Yep. And I see two guys in blue uniforms right beside it,” Hickok said.
“Stay close,” Blade directed, and boldly strolled around the corner.
Hickok alertly scanned the parking lot as he hastened after his companion. “Mind tellin’ me what we’re up to?”
“Head for the copter,” Blade stated.
“Are you thinkin’ of takin’ flying lessons?” Hickok responded.
“I’m thinking of paying Primator a visit,” Blade disclosed.
“Are you loco?” Hickok questioned in surprise.
“This may be the smartest move we’ve made so far,” Blade said.
“How do you figure?”
“Think about it,” Blade said. “Ever since we arrived in Androxia, we’ve been running around like chickens with our heads chopped off. Half the time, we’ve had no idea where we were or what was happening. Initially, we didn’t even know the identities of our enemies. We didn’t know why we were brought here. We didn’t know if we were coming or going.”
“I’m used to that,” Hickok remarked. “I’m married. You should be used to it too.”
“Now we know who our enemies are,” Blade continued. “One of them, Clarissa, is history. The androids are little more than puppets. They’re just doing what Primator tells them to do.”
“Primator is the head honcho,” Hickok noted.
“Exactly,” Blade concurred. “And if we can destroy Primator, maybe we can escape from Androxia in one piece.”
“Destroy that know-it-all contraption? How?”
Blade patted the front pockets on his fatigue pants.
“And how are we goin’…” Hickok began, then stopped, staring at the helicopter.
“Still think I’m loco?” Blade asked.
Hickok grinned. “I’m with you all the way, pard.”
They skirted the parking lot, staying to the left of the parked vehicles as they moved toward the copter. The two men in blue uniforms were busy unloading boxes from the helicopter and depositing them in orderly piles at the edge of the four-foot-high concrete pad.
“I just thought of something,” Hickok said. “We don’t have those disks on our foreheads.”
“We’re too far from the cars for anyone to notice,” Blade said. “And the two up ahead won’t care if we have disks or not,” he added ominously.
The two in blue were concentrating on their job. Once, the heavier of the pair glanced at the approaching Warriors. He resumed his work without displaying any apprehension.
Blade held the Gaskell Lasers alongside his legs as he walked up to the landing pad. He halted, smiling.
The heavyset man in blue looked over as he was setting a box on the edge of the concrete. “May I help you?”
“Are you the pilot?” Blade politely inquired.
“We’re both qualified pilots. Why?” the heavyset man replied.
“You can both fly this helicopter?” Blade reiterated.
The leaner of the pair, in the act of carrying another box to the rim of the concrete, gazed down at the giant and the blond in buckskins. “Who are you? Is there a problem?”
“My problem is I only need one of you,” Blade answered. “Sorry.” He extended his right arm and fired, frying the brains of the heavier flyer, who collapsed behind the boxes with a protracted gasp. Blade leaped onto the concrete, his Laser aimed at the thin man. He moved between two stacks of boxes and tapped the Gaskell’s barrel on the skinny pilot’s nose.
“I’m only going to say this once. If you don’t do exactly what I say, when I say it, I will add another nostril to your face. Do you understand?”
The thin man nodded vigorously, his wide brown eyes on his dead associate.
Hickok climbed onto the concrete. He surreptitiously scrutinized the parking lot. None of the pedestrians appeared to have noticed the heavy pilot’s demise.
Blade lowered the Laser. “Put down the box,” he ordered.
The lean man immediately obeyed. “What do you want?” he blurted out.
“We want to take a tour of Androxia,” Blade answered.
“But this isn’t a charter copter,” the pilot said. “This is a mail and cargo carrier. I…” he began, and abruptly froze, his mouth gaping. “You’re not wearing an O.D.!” he exclaimed. “Neither of you!”
“I took mine off,” Hickok commented. “It wasn’t doin’ a thing for my complexion.”
“Into your copter,” Blade directed. “You’re taking us for a ride.”
The man in blue turned and walked to the sliding door on the cargo section of the craft. “You must be insane.”
“My missus would agree with you,” Hickok mentioned.
“Move it!” Blade barked.
The pilot stepped onto the cargo section. Blade shadowing him. The cargo section consisted of a square area behind the only seats in the craft, one for the pilot and one for a copilot, both of which were positioned at the front, facing the instrument panel and other controls. Half of the cargo section contained stacked boxes.
Hickok was the last to board. He casually inspected the interior of the helicopter. “I’ve seen copters before,” he commented. “Soviet copters. This one is kind of dinky compared to theirs.”
The lean man in blue slid into the pilot’s seat, watching Blade as the huge Warrior took the other one. “I told you this is a small carrier,” the pilot said. “It’s a Michael Model 611121. It’s not designed to transport a lot of weight. It’s built for speed.”
“You carry mail and cargo?” Blade questioned.
The pilot nodded. “Androxia Air Express is a courier service, mainly. A lot of mail and small boxes need to be delivered from one building to another on a rush basis, and using a copter is the quickest way of getting from one skyscraper to another.”
Blade digested the news, contemplating. “Does every skyscraper have a landing pad like the one we’re on?”
“Most do,” the pilot replied. “Usually there are two landing pads. There’s a helipad at ground level, and there’s a heliport on each roof for deliveries to the upper floors.”
Blade smiled and winked at Hickok.
The gun fighter closed the door to the cargo section. “Ready when you are, pard,” he declared.
“Take off,” Blade commanded.
The pilot hesitated. “I don’t know who you are or what you’ve up to, but you’ll never get away with it.”
“What’s your name?” Blade inquired.
“Roger 196726,” the pilot responded.
“Well, Roger,” Blade said sternly, “I won’t warn you again. When I give an order, you comply. Don’t give me any back talk.”
Roger applied himself to adjusting the copter’s controls preparing to taking off. “Listen, mister,” he said as he worked, “I don’t want to die. I’ll do whatever you say. I promise. But I’m advising you, for your own good, to give this up.”
“Get us airborne,” Blade directed.
Roger flicked several switches, his practiced fingers expertly ranging over the instrument panel.
Blade heard a loud whine. He looked out the tinted canopy and saw the main rotor beginning to rotate.
“As soon as we’re off the ground,” Roger remarked, “we’re in trouble.”
“Why?” Blade asked.
“Every Express copter must adhere to a fixed route, to a set flight path,” Roger revealed. “If we deviate from the schedule, the Superiors will come after us.”
“Do the Superiors fly copters like this one?”
Roger shook his head. “The copters the Superiors fly, the police choppers anyway, are armed. They’ll blow us out of the sky.”
“I’m surprised the Superiors even allow lowly humans to fly any helicopters at all,” Blade mentioned.
“Courier copters are the only ones we can operate,” Roger said. “I love flying, and this is the only kind they let humans do. All of the police and military craft are operated by Superiors.”
“You don’t sound too happy about it, bucko,” Hickok interjected.
“The Superiors only do what is best for Androxia,” Roger said, but his voice lacked conviction.
“Are you hitched, Rog?” Hickok queried.
“Do you mean married?” Roger responded.
“One and the same,” Hickok stated.
“No, I’m not married,” Roger disclosed. “The Superiors would not approve my marriage application.” He barely suppressed a frown.
Hickok, standing in the center of the cargo section, glanced at Blade, “Sounds to me like Roger could use a change in scenery.”
Blade studied the pilot. Roger was not more than twenty-five, with angular features and curly brown hair. At such an age, enforced loneliness would be a bitter situation to tolerate. Perhaps the Superiors had evaluated Roger as a borderline Malcontent, and that was the reason his marriage petition had been denied. Blade looked up at the rotor, noting it had attained a terrific speed. “Let’s go.”
Roger took hold of the stick, and the next moment the helicopter rose from the helipad, rapidly ascending. He leveled the craft off at a thousand feet. “Okay. Where am I taking you?”
