“Now, hold on,” Mortimer said. “I think you’d better-wait. Dog pit?”
Lars lifted his pistol. “This way if you please, Mr. Tate.”
Lars took Mortimer back to the elevator. Jim Ford, Terry Frankowski and a brace of goons waited for him. Lars motioned him aboard the elevator, offered him only a slight nod of the head as the doors closed and the elevator began its long descent.
“So I hear you’re for the dog pit,” Ford said. “Good. The boys can use a little entertainment.”
Mortimer said, “I don’t suppose the dog pit is your colorful name for the local sports bar.”
They all laughed at that.
“No, it’s an actual pit,” Terry said. “About twenty feet deep.”
“With dogs,” added Ford. “Rottweilers. Usually a half-dozen or so.”
Terry’s hand shot out, poked a finger at the button for the third floor.
Ford said, “We’re supposed to head straight for the dog pit. What the hell are you doing?”
“I forgot something in my office,” Terry said. “It won’t take but a second.”
“The hell with that,” Ford said. “Get whatever it is later.”
Terry sighed. “I’ve already pressed the button.”
“Just let the doors open and close again, and we’ll be on our way,” Ford said.
The lights on the display counted down, seventh floor, sixth floor, fifth floor…
When the button lit up for the fourth floor, Terry grabbed Mortimer’s wrist. When the light blinked for the third floor, Terry dropped, pulled Mortimer down with him right as the elevator doors slid open.
Jim Ford had just enough time to say, “Aw, hell-”
Ted and Reverend Jake on the other side of the door let loose with a pair of machine pistols, spraying the interior of the elevator at chest level. The blaze of slugs shredded meat, and the Red Stripes convulsed in place as the bullets hit. Blood rained down on Mortimer’s head and back. Bodies fell on top of him.
He shoved them off. “What the fuck?”
Ted and the reverend each got an arm and pulled him up. Reverend Jake looked down at the bodies. “God have mercy on your black-hearted souls.”
“Terry is our man on the inside,” Ted explained. “He helped organize your escape.”
“Sorry I had to burn you with the cigarette,” Terry said. “I had to keep up appearances.”
“No problem.” Mortimer kneed him in the balls.
Terry whuffed air, bent in half, groaned. “Okay. That’s cool. I deserve that.”
“Did you get close to him?” Ted’s eyes were wild with hope and anticipation. “He sent for you, right? Did you kill him?”
“I never had a chance,” Mortimer said. “The Czar’s been one step ahead the whole time. He knew who I was. He knew everything.”
“Shit. You didn’t find out anything?”
“He didn’t spare me a lot of time,” Mortimer said. “He’s too busy getting ready for his big attack tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Ted and the reverend said together.
“Spawn of Satan,” the reverend said. “He barely has enough gasoline. We thought for sure he’d wait another week, maybe even two.”
“We’ve got to get word to Armageddon,” Ted said. “And we’ve been standing here too long anyway.”
They shoved the dead Red Stripes into the hallway and took the elevator. Ted pressed the button for the roof.
“Wait,” Mortimer said. “My wife! The Czar has my wife and a bunch of other women held captive. We can’t leave them.”
“No time,” Ted said.
“I’m not leaving without them,” Mortimer insisted.
“They’re all the way at the top of the other tower,” Terry said. “We’d never make it.”
“It’s not negotiable.” Mortimer reached for the Stop button.
Mortimer felt sudden fire explode against his ribs. His limbs stiffened, then went loose, his brain going to fuzz, little lights in front of his eyes.
Mortimer tried to talk. “You f-fuckers…what…the…?” Drool down his chin. His eyes lifted, barely registered the buzzing stun gun in Ted’s hand. Again? Those fucking things hurt.
“Sorry,” Ted said. “But your pals said you might be stubborn.”
The door opened, and they half-dragged, half-carried Mortimer across the roof.
Mortimer’s fried brain registered night. He’d been hanging in the dungeon longer than he’d guessed. The second thing he noticed was the Blowfish on the far side of the roof, bobbing in the gentle breeze.
As they lifted him into the gondola, Sheila appeared, looking horrified.
“What did you do to him?”
“He made a fuss,” Ted said. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”
Mortimer lay flat on his back in the gondola. “Where’s…B-Bill?”
“Too much weight,” Ted said. “He was mighty pissed about being left behind. We needed somebody to guard the blimp while me and the reverend came for you, and your little girl here don’t weigh a thing.”
Frantic movement, men pulling lines, tossing over sandbags. Mortimer felt the Blowfish lift. Subtle movement. They were letting the Blowfish drift on the wind, probably didn’t want to risk the angry whine of the little engine.
Sometime later, Mortimer heard Ted say, “Okay, we’re out far enough.”
He heard the engine crank, and they pointed the Blowfish north.
Mortimer got to his feet, leaned over the side of the gondola, felt the cold air on his face. His whole body throbbed.
“Are you going to be okay?” Sheila asked.
“Yeah.”
“When you feel better, remind me to kick your ass.”
Mortimer nodded. “Right.”
They’d replaced the blimp’s ham radio, and Reverend Jake turned knobs and shouted into the microphone. “Blowfish to Joey One. Come in, Joey One.”
Through the static came, “Joey One here. Go ahead, Blowfish.”
“Black Bart plans to stampede the cattle in the morning. Repeat, it’s on for tomorrow morning. You’ve got to mobilize right now.”
“We hear you, Blowfish.”
Mortimer watched the dark, dead city slide by beneath them. Somewhere down there, he’d abandoned his wife.
L
They eventually put down in a secure field north of Kennesaw just before dawn. Ted’s underground comrades were there to light the landing zone and provide food. Mortimer sat in a big tent, a blanket around his shoulders, spooning pea soup into his face. He felt like a disaster victim getting Red Cross relief.
Ted perched on the picnic bench next to him, slurped soup. “Beats the hell out of rat jerky.”
“All these people to land a blimp?” Mortimer said. “You’ve set up a whole camp.”
“This is rendezvous point Alpha,” Ted told him. “We’ve been gathering and stockpiling supplies and keeping them hidden for months. That way Armageddon’s forces can mobilize quickly. We’ll supply them when they breeze through here right before hitting the Czar.”
Good, thought Mortimer. Because if they’re heading back to Atlanta, I’m hitching a ride.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the son-of-a-bitch, one-man-army superhero.”
Mortimer looked up, saw Bill scowling down at him, the Union officer’s hat back on his head.
“I know, I know,” Mortimer said. “I already got an earful from Sheila.”
“This partnership isn’t going to work if you keep running off all by yourself and hogging all the fun.”
Mortimer lifted his right hand. “It won’t happen again.”
“Okay, then. Follow me. I’ll show you something.”
Mortimer followed Bill out of the camp. He still clutched the blanket around him. They’d taken his jacket back at the CNN Center. Bill led him up a steep embankment, and they found themselves overlooking Interstate 75, twelve empty lanes that had often been bumper-to-bumper back in the day.
Bill pointed south toward Atlanta. “Watch for it.”