Hickok hesitated. “My irons can come in handy.”
“This is not your fight,” Locklin responded, keeping his gaze on the Storm Police. “It’s ours. And you have your friend to think of. Go! Please! We’ll be right behind you.”
“Hurry,” Rikki prompted from within the drain.
Frowning in annoyance, the gunfighter entered the storm drain and moved a few feet inward to join Rikki. He found he could stand, although the height of the culvert did not permit him to straighten entirely.
Locklin poked his head inside. “Take off! We’ll hold them as long as we can.”
“May the Spirit preserve you,” Rikki said, and headed deeper into the drain.
Hickok reluctantly followed his friend. The interior was obscured in inky blackness and the tunnel ahead was indistinguishable. “Why are we desertin’ them?” he demanded.
“Blade must come first,” Rikki replied.
“I know, but—” Hickok began.
“If we had stayed, we would die with them,” Rikki stated.
Gunfire erupted from their rear, commingled with screams and curses.
“We can’t abandon them,” Hickok objected, and unexpectedly bumped into his companion in the dark. “Why’d you stop?”
“Locklin gave me this,” Rikki said, and a small flame sparked to life, illuminating the drain for a yard or so in both directions.
“What is it?”
“A lighter. We must hurry,” Rikki reiterated, and hastened on.
The sounds of the conflict had reached a crescendo.
“I still say we shouldn’t abandon them,” Hickok groused.
“Would you rather abandon Blade?”
“Of course not,” Hickok replied.
“Then we have no choice,” Rikki stressed. “They were hopelessly outnumbered. Our guns would not have made a difference.”
“It rankles me to walk out on folks I like,” Hickok remarked. “We’d better not make a habit of this.”
“We won’t,” Rikki assured him.
The Warriors lost all track of time and distance as they penetrated farther and farther into the storm drain. The sounds of battle grew fainter, and eventually faded.
“Do you know which way to go?” Hickok asked.
“Locklin gave me directions.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You were busy relating a bedtime story to Chastity,” Rikki said.
“If anything happens to her…” Hickok stated, leaving the sentence unfinished.
They continued in silence for a long time.
“Wait,” Hickok directed.
Rikki stopped. “What is it?”
“I thought I heard something,” Hickok mentioned, turning to view the drain to their rear.
“What?”
“I’m not sure, pard.”
The pad of rushing feet filled the conduit.
“Could be the Storm Police,” Hickok whispered, leveling the Uzi.
“We should keep going,” Rikki advised.
“You can skedaddle if you want,” Hickok declared. “But I’m not runnin’ twice in one night. It’d give me a complexion.”
“Don’t you mean a complex?”
“Whatever.”
“It could be a mutant,” Rikki mentioned.
“I hope so.”
“You do?”
“I’m in the mood to blow something away, and it might as well be a blasted mutant,” Hickok stated. “Flick off the lighter.”
Rikki complied, and they stood in total darkness and waited as the footsteps became progressively louder.
Unexpectedly, the noise ceased.
An interval of quiet engulfed the drain.
“Psst! Hickok? Rikki? Are you there?”
The gunman recognized the voice and smiled. “Yeah, we’re here, Locklin.”
Rikki ignited the lighter.
“There you are!” Locklin called, and a second later the dim figure of the rebel leader and others hastened toward the Warriors.
“Glad you made it,” Hickok said.
“Not half as glad as I am,” Locklin responded. Fourteen of his band were with him, and five of them sported gunshot wounds. One was limping.
“Where are the rest?” Rikki inquired.
Locklin slowed when he was a few yards off, his expression sad, and slowly shook his head.
“And the Storm Police?” Hickok questioned, spying Big John and the youth named Dale behind Locklin.
“They closed in on us from the forest and the rampart,” the rebel leader said. “We took down twenty or so, but they were getting our range and my people were dropping right and left. I decided to live to fight another day.”
“A wise decision,” Rikki remarked.
“Are the Storm Police on your tail?” Hickok queried.
“No,” Locklin replied. “They didn’t follow us into the storm drain.”
“That’s strange,” Hickok commented.
“We must leave the drain,” Rikki declared.
Locklin stared to the rear. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That this must be a trap?”
“Why else wouldn’t the Storm Police enter the drain?” Rikki rejoined.
“How can we get out of here?” Hickok interjected.
“There are manholes in the top every fifty yards,” Locklin said. “We can climb out at the first one we find. I planned to use a manhole near the Civil Directorate, but the Storm Police might be waiting for us there.”
“The troopers could be covering all the manholes,” Rikki noted.
“I just can’t understand how they knew,” Lock!in commented. “How did they know where to ambush us?”
Hickok noticed Dale abruptly stare downward.
“Stay close to me,” Rikki recommended, and jogged along the conduit.
They traveled speedily, their footfalls and breathing unnaturally sonorous in the confines of the drain.
“There’s a manhole!” Locklin exclaimed.
The flickering flame illuminated a brown metal cover overhead.
“Allow me,” Locklin said, and stepped under the manhole. He reached up and pushed, but the manhole cover wouldn’t budge.
“Let me give it a try, boss,” Big John proposed.
“Go for it,” Locklin responded, moving aside.
Big John applied his brawny left shoulder to the cover. For a minute he puffed and strained, to no avail.
“This is odd,” Locklin commented. “It should open.”
“Let’s find another,” Rikki suggested, leading off with the lighter held aloft.
Hickok fell in beside Dale. “How are you holdin’ up, buckaroo?”
The youth looked warily at the Warrior. “Just fine, thanks.”
“Were you nicked in the fracas?”
“No.” He hefted the long bow in his right hand.
“Lucky you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dale asked.
“Nothin’ much. I was just makin’ conversation.”
Dale studied the gunman, striving to see Hickok’s face in the gloom.
“How long have you been with Locklin?” Hickok inquired.
“Three years.”
“Have you seen a lot of action?”
“Enough.”
“Ever seen anyone die before?” Hickok questioned.
“All the time,” Dale replied. “I’ve done my share of killing, you know. I helped ambush several Storm Police patrols.”
“Seein’ an enemy die is one thing,” Hickok observed. “Seein’ friends die is another. Ever seen your friends die before?”
“Once or twice,” Dale admitted.
“But not like tonight?” Hickok queried.
“No,” Dale said angrily. “Now why don’t we drop the subject?”
“If you want,” Hickok said.
“I want to drop it,” Dale reiterated.
“And well you should,” Hickok stated. “All things considered.”