New Orleans Run

Chapter Twelve

“Stay where you are!” the man in black called out.

Lynx’s mind raced. Where there was one scuzzbucket, there were probably more. If he didn’t do something—anything—and do it fast, the woman and he were as good as caught. The SOB was too faraway to take out, which meant resorting to evasive action. “No problem!” he shouted, and stood, blocking the man’s view of Eleanore.

“Step aside!” the scuzzbucket ordered.

“Okay,” Lynx replied cheerily, and went into action, whirling and driving his right shoulder into the woman, bearing both of them to the ground.

The rifle boomed and a slug thudded into the log.

“Stay close,” Lynx said, and crawled quickly to his right, toward the oak tree. Once there, he rose into a squat and peeked past the trunk.

The man in black was running for the log.

Snickering, Lynx darted into the undergrowth, pausing just long enough for Eleanore to reach his side. He angled into the densest thicket he could find, squeezing in until he came to an open spot, ignoring the jabs of the short, thin branches.

Eleanore eased next to him. “What now?” she whispered.

“Shhhhh,” Lynx cautioned, listening.

Loud voices penetrated the brush.

“What happened?”

“I saw two of them. A hairy thing and DeCoud. They got away.”

“Fool! Did you hit them?”

“I don’t think so, Captain Francois.”

“What is that?”

“What?”

“No wonder you missed. You can’t even see a dead boar lying ten feet in front of you.”

“Mon Dieu!”

“Simpleton.”

Five seconds of quiet ensued.

“The hairy one must have done this to the boar. Trés formidable, no?”

“Nothing human could do this, Captain.”

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you? Come. We must get to the boats. The Baron will be waiting for us.”

“But the hairy creature and the girl?”

“They are trapped here without a means of navigating the bayou. In a few days we will return and find their putrid corpses. Right now we have the ceremony to consider. Midnight will be here before we know it.”

“I can hardly wait, Captain. Damballah will be very pleased.”

The voices began to fade as the speakers bore to the north.

“The Baron and Majesta have promised something special for tonight.”

“Did they say—”

“—multiple sacrifices, which will—”

“—Snake God—”

Lynx strained to hear additional details, but the pair of tonton macoutes were too far off.

“Did they mention multiple sacrifices?” Eleanore queried. “I could barely make out the words.”

“Yeah.”

“Dear God! They must mean Jerry and Adrien. We’ve got to save them.”

“How? There are dozens of them and only two of us.”

“We can go into New Orleans. Violet will know what to do.”

“Who?”

“Violet is the leader of the Resistance. She’s also an old friend of mine. We go back a long way.”

Lynx flattened and squirmed out of the thicket. “I’m not leavin’ until I locate my buddies.” He stood and waited for her to join him.

“For all you know they could be dead or captured,” Eleanore noted as she rose and ran her fingers through her hair. “It makes more sense to head for New Orleans.”

“Feminine logic never ceases to amaze me,” Lynx declared, and grabbed her by the right wrist. “Come on.” He marched northward, pulling her along.

“What’s this? I thought we were friends?”

“We are. If we weren’t, I’d slug you and throw you over my shoulder.”

“Please, Lynx. Let go.”

“Just move your tush and quit yakkin’.”

“I can’t keep going.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. Just keep puttin’ one foot in front of the other.”

“You don’t understand,” Eleanore said weakly, and unexpectedly collapsed, falling to her knees.

Lynx turned, his expression contorted in anger until he saw her eyelids fluttering and realized she was about to pitch onto her face. He stooped and caught her in his arms. “What’s wrong with you?”

Eleanore mustered a wan smile. “Haven’t eaten for almost two days, remember?” She sagged in his arms, her eyes closing.

“Damn,” Lynx growled. Now what should he do? She needed food, but he wanted to search for Ferret, Gremlin, and Blade. In her weakened state she was bound to slow him down. Either he fed her or carried her. He looked back at the dead boar and contemplated tearing out a large chunk of fresh meat. A steak would undoubtedly revive her. Unfortunately, he doubted she would eat the meat raw like he often did, which meant taking the time to get a fire going and roasting the flesh. Since he didn’t have matches, starting a fire would be a bitch.

Double damn.

Lynx decided to compromise. He scooped her unconscious form into his arms and jogged to the north. He’d carry her until they came across something edible or his pals, whichever he found first. So resolved, he moved at a swift clip, the pain in his chest having subsided to a tolerable level. His wiry form flowed over the ground with the athletic grace of his namesake, and his nostrils constantly quivered as he tested the air for scent.

He thought of his mate, Melody, and experienced a twinge of guilt at leaving her alone to traipse off to Louisiana. She had hugged him with tears moistening her lovely eyes just before he stepped out the door and urged him to be careful. Not that he would ever be otherwise.

Caution was his middle name.

Well, sort of.

Lynx pondered on what his next move should be if he failed to hook up with his companions. For the first time the idea that he might wind up stranded in New Orleans occurred to him, and his brow knit in intense contemplation. Talk about gonad-busters. If he wound up stranded, he’d have to fight his way across hundreds of miles of hostile countryside to reach the Home, probably taking on countless scavengers and mutations in the process. A grin creased his thin lips.

Bop his way over hundreds of miles, huh?

Maybe being stranded had its plus side too.

The prospect of going against so many adversaries, instead of filling him with dread or at the least a sense of realistic reservation, actually appealed to his genetically created capacity for action and mayhem. He loved a good fight almost as much as he did anything—maybe even more—and he anticipated such a hazardous journey with relish.

Bring on the wimps!

He’d waste every one.

Lynx glanced at the sun hovering in the western sky, acutely conscious of the dwindling daylight hours, and increased his speed. If he didn’t locate the others, he at least wanted to find a safe place to spend the night.

Not for his sake so much as for the woman. In her frail condition another night exposed to the elements could precipitate an illness.

That, and the fact a lot of gators and snakes were nocturnal; they did most of their hunting in the cool of the night.

He definitely didn’t want to bump into a snake in the dark. Even little snakes gave him the creeps, and had for as long as he could remember.

Why, he had no idea.

For long minutes Lynx continued on his course, and he was about to stop and take a break so he could hunt for food for Eleanore, when from a couple of dozen yards ahead arose the sounds of voices. He was moving through an open stretch of field where the weeds reached past his waist.

Ten feet to his left a solitary bush reared over six feet in height. He hunched over, holding the woman close to his chest, and darted to the bush.

The voices grew louder, indicating whoever was doing the talking must be approaching his position.

Lynx gently deposited Eleanore at the base of the bush and eased to the right until he could peer at the field beyond. He discovered he’d been mistaken; the voices weren’t arising directly ahead, they were coming from a point 50 feet to the northwest.

A party of tonton macoutes was hiking from west to east along the faint trail.

Lynx vented his low trilling noise at the sight of the three figures in the middle of the file. Blade, Ferret, and Gremlin! Naturally, the dummies had been captured. He watched the group draw closer, thankful the bush must have partially screened him from their view.

None of the men in black were paying much attention to the terrain around them. They all appeared to be in a hurry and were walking briskly.

What was the big rush? Lynx wondered, and then recalled Captain Francois and the other dimwit. Those two must have been with another bunch of twits who passed by previously. Perhaps one of them had heard Eleanore’s screams or shouts and the guy armed with the rifle had been sent to investigate.

Now this second group was trying to catch up with the first.

Pleased at his deductive insights, Lynx smirked and stayed motionless as the group passed to the east. He saw Ferret and Gremlin looking glum as all get-out, which certainly figured for two guys who possessed such negative attitudes about going on runs, and noticed Blade working secretly on the rope binding those stout wrists.

Leave it to the giant to be doing something instead of feeling sorry for himself.

Lynx waited until the party was almost out of sight, then lifted Eleanore again and raced in pursuit. He angled to the trail and took a right, keeping his body as low as he could. Unless the tonton macoutes halted and focused binoculars on their back trail, he seriously doubted they would spot him.

Eleanore groaned but did not regain consciousness.

Par for the course.

More minutes went by. Lynx could feel his leg muscles aching. He suppressed the discomfort and concentrated on the task at hand. His ability to focus his single-minded attention on one thing at a time had been unique even among the hybrids comprising the Genetic Research Division. When he had a job to do, he pursued his objective with an almost fanatical determination until the goal was achieved. Which partly explained why he had been pushing, pushing, pushing to go on a mission with the Big Guy.

His personal philosophy on life had always been short and simple.

When you want something, go after it with gusto.

When obstacles get in your way, crush them. Go with the gut and live life to the max.

What else mattered?

Until he met the Family, he would have said, “Nothing.” But after knowing those do-gooders for so many years, after witnessing the life-style they led and seeing their devotion to higher spiritual ideals most people regarded as old-fashioned or downright wacko, now he wasn’t so certain.

Maybe there was something to that Supreme Source jazz after all.

If heavy hitters like Blade, Yama, Rikki, and Samson believed in all that stuff, then it might be worth looking into someday. What was that favorite expression of the Elders? Oh, yeah. Every person should grow his or her own spiritual experience. And the practice clearly worked as far as the Family members were concerned.

Blade, Yama, Rikki, and Samson all believed in that spirit stuff, but each one in a different way. Rikki was into the martial arts, into becoming the perfected spiritual sword-master, whatever the hell that meant. Yama seemed intent on becoming as proficient in dispensing death as the Hindu King of Death whose name he had adopted. And Samson— well, Samson was one of those yokels who believed every word of the Bible was inviolate.

Samson’s faith was as solid as the proverbial rock. And although Lynx liked to tease him about his unshakable devotion, secretly Lynx was tremendously impressed by such sterling loyalty.

The head Warrior occupied a class all his own. Blade seldom talked about his profound religious beliefs, yet anyone who knew him for any length of time knew the giant possessed faith as unshakable as Samson’s, as devoted to perfection as Rikki’s, but a faith that didn’t prevent him from being even more lethal than Yama.

Go figure.

The scent of water brought an end to Lynx’s reflection, And he gazed to the east and spied a body of shallow water, wore swamp stretching to the east. And he heard more voices conversing.

Cautious now, he slowed and crept carefully forward, his head barely above the weeds. In 15 yards he could hear the conversation and he halted.

“—off about five minutes ago.”

“Damn it! I knew we should have hurried faster.”

“Shut your lip, Pierre. We’ll take these boats and be back at the estate in two hours.”

“What about us?” a man asked anxiously.

“What about you?” someone responded in an authoritative tone.

“Captain Francois told us to stay put until everyone has been accounted for. He took the bodies of our brothers who were killed by these bastards with him. And now you show up, Jacques, with everyone else except Pétion. Do you happen to know where he is?”

“Dead, according to the one with all the muscles.”

“How did Henri die?”

There was an extended pause.

“These three claim Damballah ate him,” the man named Jacques replied.

Lynx heard the men uttering oaths in a foreign tongue. Then one of them, the one who had been doing most of the talking, spoke again.

“They lie!”

“Pierre feels the same way.”

“Don’t you!”

“I doubt they speak the truth, but I honestly don’t know,” Jacques stated.

“Perhaps, to play it safe, we should stay here until nightfall,” suggested the other one of the pair who had cursed vehemently. “Since these sons of bitches are undoubtedly lying, Henri might yet show up.”

Lynx pursed his lips. What was this business about some guy named Henri? Had the bozo really been eaten by that giant snake Eleanore had mentioned? He was about to inch closer when he felt a rubbing sensation on his feet, and he looked down to behold an olive, stout-bodied snake with a broad-based, flat-topped head distinguished by distinct holes on each side between the eye and the nostril, the traditional trademark of a pit viper.