Hickok was first through the door, stepping over the Superior’s lifeless figure. He assisted Ferret and Gremlin in hefting Lynx over the threshold.
Blade, after a last look to insure none of the troopers were dogging them, exited the building. He surveyed their surroundings, delighted to discover a truck parked not 20 feet away next to the sidewalk. “To the truck!” he commanded, and led off.
Hickok stayed to the rear, covering their escape.
Blade reached the truck cab and yanked open the driver’s door. He clambered inside and groped along the steering column.
The keys were there!
Blade jumped to the ground. The truck was a transport of some kind, with a large bed covered by a canvas canopy.
Ferret, Gremlin, and Lynx joined him.
“In the cab!” Blade said. “It’ll be a tight squeeze, but all of us should be able to fit.”
“What’s going on?” Lynx mumbled, his green eyes focusing on Blade, his feline features twisted in bewilderment.
“We’ll fill you in as we go along,” Blade told him. “Can you move under your own power?”
“Don’t think so,” Lynx responded. “Legs feel like mush.”
Blade jerked his left thumb toward the cab.
Ferret nodded, and with Gremlin’s help hoisted Lynx up into the truck cab. They slid across the seat to the far side.
“They’re regrouping near the glass doors!” Hickok announced as he caught up with them.
“Into the truck,” Blade directed.
Hickok promptly complied, sitting in the middle of the wide seat.
Gremlin was pressed against the far door. Ferret sat between Gremlin and the gunfighter with Lynx in his lap.
Hickok glanced at Ferret and Lynx, grinning. “Don’t you two look cozy!” he quipped.
Lynx stared at the Warrior. “When I’m fully recovered,” he said slowly, “remind me to rip your face off.”
Blade vaulted into the cab, slammed the door, started the engine, and flicked on the headlights. He studied the dashboard, noting it was somewhat similar to vehicles he’d encountered in the Civilized Zone. Like most of them, the truck was an automatic, but it was in brand-new condition, while the majority of the vehicles in the Civilized Zone and elsewhere were holdovers from the prewar civilization and the decade or so following World War III, when a few of the manufacturing facilities were negligibly operational. The prewar society had evinced a marked predilection for automatic transmissions in their vehicles, and very few vehicles with manual transmissions were still on the road. Some of the military vehicles used them, but otherwise automatics were the rule. Blade had driven a truck with a manual transmission in the past, but he preferred an automatic, and he was relieved when he discovered he wouldn’t need to contend with shifting gears and using a clutch.
“What are you waitin’ for?” Hickok asked. “World War Four?”
Blade put the truck in Drive and accelerated, wheeling the transport along a drive curving toward an avenue beyond a small park.
“That’s Serling Boulevard,” Ferret stated as the truck neared the thoroughfare.
“How do you know that?” Blade inquired, scanning Serling for other traffic. He saw two cars to the left, heading toward them.
“We were coming to find you when we were caught,” Ferret explained.
“We were on Serling, right near the dinky park there, when one of those Superiors and his goons showed up in this truck. The damn Superior used his whip on Lynx. They had us climb in the back of the truck, then drove into this driveway.”
Blade braked as he came to the end of the driveway. He noticed a red sign to the right. The transport’s headlights illuminated the lettering on the sign. It read STOP.
“I’d like to find that son of a bitch with the whip!” Lynx interjected.
“Blade already took care of him,” Ferret said.
Lynx gazed at Blade. “Did you waste the sucker?”
“I don’t know,” Blade said, mentally debating whether to turn right or left on Serling.
“You don’t know?” Lynx responded.
“I broke both of his legs and busted his head wide open,” Blade elaborated. “But there wasn’t time to see if he was still alive.”
“Broke his legs and busted his noggin, huh?” Lynx said, and chortled.
“That’ll teach those dorks to mess with us!”
Blade decided to take a right, away from the approaching cars. He turned the steering wheel, the transport gaining speed.
Lynx was tittering.
“What are you so blamed happy about?” Hickok queried.
“I feel strong again,” Lynx said. “I’m back to normal.”
“Normal is one thing you’re not,” Hickok said.
“What’s that crack supposed to mean?” Lynx demanded, bristling.
“Oh, nothing,” Hickok replied innocently.
“Are you makin’ fun of me because I’m a mutant?” Lynx asked angrily.
Hickok stared into Lynx’s eyes. “You know I’d never do that, pard. I was just referring to the fact you’re a feisty runt with an ego the size of the moon.”
Ferret laughed. “Three points for Hickok.”
Lynx was about to voice a testy retort, when he abruptly grinned and nodded. “I’ve always said you have a great sense of humor.”
“Since when?” Hickok rejoined.
“Ask anybody,” Lynx said.
“Ferret?” Hickok asked.
“I never heard Lynx compliment your sense of humor,” Ferret replied.
“Thanks a lot!” Lynx snapped.
“I knew it,” Hickok said.
“But I do remember him saying something about you once,” Ferret added.
“Oh? What was that?” Hickok inquired.
“Lynx said you were such a hardhead,” Ferret stated, grinning, “that you must have granite between your ears.”
“Now that sounds like Lynx,” Hickok said.
“It was a joke!” Lynx exclaimed. “Don’t tell me an intelligent, devoted, skilled Warrior like yourself can’t take a little joke?”
Hickok gazed at Lynx suspiciously. “Okay. What’s with all the praise, runt?”
“I’m just tellin’ it like it is,” Lynx said.
“What are you up to?” Hickok demanded.
“Not a thing,” Lynx replied sweetly.
“Bet me!” Hickok rejoined.
“Is this any way to treat someone who pulled your fat out of the fire?”
Lynx asked indignantly.
“What?” Hickok responded in disbelief.
“That’s right, chuckles,” Lynx said. “We risked our butts to save Blade and you, and you treat me like dirt! Seems to me you should be treatin’ me like royalty. At the very least, you owe us a favor.”
“Uh-oh,” Ferret interrupted. “I knew he was going to get around to this eventually.”
“What did that whip do to you? Fry your brains?” Hickok queried Lynx.
“As usual, furball, you’ve got everything backwards.”
“What do you mean?” Lynx responded.
“I mean,” Hickok said slowly, “you didn’t pull our fat out of the fire. We saved your mangy hides. You were unconscious the whole time, or you would have noticed a small detail like that.”
“Yeah,” Lynx retorted. “But you wouldn’t of needed to save us if we hadn’t been tryin’ to save you.”
“And my missus says my logic is warped,” Hickok mumbled.
Blade, concentrating on his driving, gazed in the rearview mirror, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
What were those?
Three vehicles were bearing down on the transport from the rear. They were approaching at great speed. Flashing red lights swirled about the tops of the vehicles.
Blade peered into the mirror, contemplating. He’d seen lights like those once before, on police cycles in Chicago. They could only mean one thing: trouble. “Hold onto your seats,” he advised the others, flooring the gas pedal.