Three land regions dominated the former state: the West Gulf Coastal Plain, the Mississippi Alluvial Plain, and the East Gulf Coastal Plain in which New Orleans was located. Flooding had been a constant problem for those living in the lower areas. Tons of silt carried by the rivers had raised the level of the riverbeds above the surrounding countryside, and several major floods had reportedly covered a third of the state.
The climate was hot, humid, and subtropical. Louisiana had been rated as one of the wettest states with an annual rainfall of 56 inches, although the southern section had recorded receiving over a hundred inches of rain periodically.
All of these facts Blade reviewed as he hiked along a game trail and wiped his right forearms across his perspiring brow. He’d spent an hour in the Family library researching the state the night before. In his back left pocket was a map. He squinted up at the bright afternoon sun, marveling at the drastic change in weather between extreme northwestern Minnesota, where the Home was located, and extreme southern Louisiana.
A mild cold front had lowered temperatures at the Home overnight, but here, thanks to the subtropical climate, the temperature hovered in the eighties and the humid air seemed to drip moisture.
From the air, as the Hurricane swept in from the northwest, Blade had noted an interesting fact. Apparently another major flood had occurred, and the city of New Orleans was almost completely ringed by swampy bayous, cut off from the inland regions by a formidable expanse of inhospitable marsh infested by alligators, snakes, and swarms of insects.
He hoped they could avoid going into the swamps.
“Damn, it’s hot!”
Blade glanced over his right shoulder at the three hybrids following him, each attired in the usual loincloth, and grinned. Over their strenuous objections, he had compelled them to bring a weapon along. All three had opted for an AR-15. They also carried spare magazines in pouches strapped around their waists. “Quit your griping, Lynx,” he said.
“You didn’t tell me this place would fry my fur,” the cat-man groused.
“No one twisted your arm to make you come along.”
Blade noted, adjusting the backpack he wore. “You’re here of your own free will.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Ferret muttered.
Blade glanced at the second mutation. “What do you mean? Lynx told me all three of you were eager to go on a mission. He said you’d appointed him as your spokesman to present your appeal.”
“He did, did he?” Ferret said glaring at his feline companion.
A snicker came from Gremlin, who brought up the rear. “Where would we be without kind, considerate Lynx to look out for us, yes?”
“Did he lie to me?” Blade asked bluntly, halting.
The hybrids stopped. Lynx cast an apprehensive gaze at his friends.
“I won’t tolerate a Warrior who lies,” Blade declared. “He assured me that both of you wanted to come along. Is that true?”
For a second no one spoke.
Ferret sighed and stared off into the distance, “Yeah, it’s true. We couldn’t wait to go on a run with you.”
Blade looked at Gremlin. “Is that right?”
The humanoid simply nodded.
“Okay, then. I don’t want any griping from any of you. Whatever happens, you asked to be here,” Blade reminded them, and continued tramping eastward. He suspected Ferret and Gremlin were covering for their buddy, but he wouldn’t press the issue. Actually, he was pleased at the loyalty they exhibited to one another. Triad members were supposed to be supremely committed companions.
Lynx, eager to change the topic, voiced a question. “Why are we out here in the middle of nowhere, miles from the city?”
“Because these are the coordinates where the distress call originated,” Blade said.
“You must have the wrong coordinates. There’s nothin’ here but bugs and birds.”
Blade surveyed the land around them. Cypress, oak, and pine trees grew in abundance. Varieties of birds he had never seen before winged overhead or roosted in the trees. The soil underfoot felt soft, almost spongy. Before the Hurricane had landed in a large clearing to the west, as it flew in at treetop level to avoid being spotted from afar, he’d observed bayous to the north, south, and west. There might be more swampland to the east, which meant they were on an elevated tract of dry land. He’d also observed a wide field or meadow on the east side, and had selected it as their immediate goal.
“I smell something,” Lynx declared, tilting his head to sniff the air loudly.
“Human scent?” Blade asked, looking back.
“Nope. Just a rabbit.”
“I smell it too,” Ferret mentioned.
“Yeah, but I detected the scent first,” Lynx bragged.
Blade faced forward and pushed a limb aside that blocked the trail.
“What difference does it make?”
“It makes a big different to Lynx,” Ferret explained. “He’s always trying to prove his senses are sharper than ours.”
“They are,” Lynx declared.
“Your hearing is keener than that of most humans, isn’t it?” Blade asked, although he already knew the answer.
“You know it,” Lynx stated proudly. “So is my eyesight, my sense of smell, and my reflexes. Compared to me most humans are pathetic.”
“I’m lucky I brought you along then,” Blade said, his tone only marginally sarcastic. “And since your ears function so well, you should have no difficulty understanding me when I tell you that we should consider ourselves in enemy territory and only talk when absolutely essential. Understood?”
“Why are you pickin’ on me? The others were yakkin’ too.”
“You broke silence first.”
“Excuse me for living.”
Blade grinned, moving to the right as the trail curved, skirting a dense thicket. In 20 yards the path led due east again and he increased speed, anxious to reach the field, to find the party responsible for sending the distress call. He reasoned there must be a habitation of some sort nearby, a place where the radio could be sheltered from the elements. Unless, of course, someone had traveled all the way out to this spot at night just to make the broadcasts, which wouldn’t be very practical.
The cardinal flew over the path from right to left.
The Warrior’s eyes narrowed at the sight of an open tract ahead.
Rather abruptly the trees thinned and in front of them stretched the field.
Not 40 yards from the treeline stood a neglected wooden cabin. The walls were in desperate need of a paint job and the roof sagged in the center, threatening to collapse with the next heavy rain. A sole window in the middle of the wall resembled a blank, lifeless eye.
No activity could be perceived inside.
Blade stepped behind an oak tree and watched the cabin for several minutes, waiting to learn if anyone was home. But nothing happened. He looked at the hybrids, who were likewise concealed in the shelter of nearby tree trunks, and issued instructions. “We’ll go in fast. Single file. Stay low and keep close to me.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if we fanned out?” Lynx responded.
“When I want you to fan out, I’ll let you know,” Blade said brusquely.
“Let’s go.” He clutched the submachine gun he’d elected to bring along on the mission, a Thompson M1A1, hunched over, and ran toward the cabin.
His favorite SMG, a Commando Arms Carbine, was being overhauled by the Family Gunsmiths, and he’d opted for the Thompson because the two were very similar and he was accustomed to the feel and performance of the Commando.