New Orleans Run

Chapter Six

For several heartbeats Lynx stood transfixed by the terrifying sight, until a sharp cry roused him from his astonishment.

Eleanore screamed.

Lynx roughly hauled her erect and shoved, sending her into the weeds to the north. He followed, backpedaling, watching the armored leviathan lumber up the bank and bear down on them, its thick, short legs pumping, its tail weaving from side to side.

“Oh, God!” Eleanore wailed, fleeing in abject horror.

How fast could alligators run? Lynx wondered as he raced after her.

The broad, rounded snout of the gator parted the vegetation as the reptile barreled toward them, moving at a surprisingly swift pace.

Lynx stayed on the woman’s heels. They had a 12-foot lead and were gaining ground slowly, but 12 feet didn’t seem like very much at all when a creature akin to a prehistoric dinosaur was in hot pursuit. He estimated their pursuer to be a whopping 18 feet in length, a primordial colossus.

Alarmed that she might indeed trip, Lynx concentrated on her movements, ready to assist at the first hint of trouble. If the woman did go down, he would be compelled to defend her, and he entertained grave reservations over whether his nails could inflict much damage on the alligator’s tough reptilian hide. Even using the AR-15—

The assault rifle!

Lynx suddenly realized he had foolishly left the weapon lying somewhere near the pool. Now all he had to rely on were his nails and his teeth against this bestial denizen of the swamp they hardly seemed enough. He looked over his left shoulder and almost laughed in relief.

The alligator had stopped and was simply standing there, balefully regarding their flight.

Wary that the reptile would renew its charge, Lynx kept his eyes on the animal until they were at least 30 yards away and he could no longer see the creature. “You can stop now,” he said.

Eleanore seemed not to hear him. She gasped for air, her legs driving hard, swatting at the bushes that clawed at her clothing.

“You can stop, bimbo,” Lynx repeated, and batted her on the left shoulder.

Startled, Eleanore slowed down and glanced at him, then to their rear.

“Where is it?”

“Takin’ a dump.”

“What?” Eleanore asked, not quite comprehending. She halted and peered to the south. “It’s gone?”

“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to tell you, lady.”

“I’ve got a name, you know.”

“Good for you,” Lynx snapped, surveying the field around them. “I don’t see any sign of those bozos in black, but I don’t feel safe here what with Tyrannosaurus rex just waitin’ for a chance to nip our tootsies.”

Eleanore regarded him quizzically. “Tie-ranny-who?”

“Tyrannosaurus rex, a dinosaur. A big buddy told me all about them.”

“Never heard of them. Are you sure you know what you’re talking about?”

“What?”

“Everybody and their grandmother knows the animal we saw is called an alligator. Maybe the folks where you come from call them tie-rannies, but in these parts we just call them gators.”

Lynx smirked and shook his head. “Yep. No doubt about it.”

“About what?”

“The fact you’re a bimbo.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“What are you going to do if I don’t? Stamp your foot?” Lynx cracked, and took hold of her left wrist.

“Leave go of me,” Eleanore protested, and tugged, striving to break free.

“Don’t start again,” Lynx warned. He headed westward, hauling her along, and made for an expanse of woodland 70 yards distant.

“You’re awful strong for such a little thing,” Eleanore remarked.

“And mean too, lady. Mean enough to break your arm if you give me any grief.”

“Didn’t you tell me your name is Lynx?”

“Wow. I’m impressed. You can remember something for more than two seconds. Maybe you’re not a bimbo after all.”

“I wish you’d stop insulting me.”

“Can’t help myself,” Lynx said. “It’s been a lousy day so far, and bumpin’ into you hasn’t made matters much better.”

“What are you doing here? Where are you from?”

“I’ll ask the questions.”

Eleanore frowned and studied his feline visage. “I don’t know what to make of you.”

Lynx didn’t bother to respond. He gazed to the northwest, trying to spot the cabin, but a stand of trees blocked his view.

“I mean, you certainly don’t act like one of the Baron’s creatures.”

“There’s that name again. Who is the Baron?”

“He’s the houngan.”

Lynx glanced at her. “The what?”

“The high priest.”

“High priest? Is he some kind of religious yo-yo?”

“You really don’t know, do you?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I did.”

Lines creased Eleanore’s forehead as she pondered for several seconds.

“All right,” she finally declared. “I believe you’re not connected to Baron Laveau. No one could pretend to be as dumb as you are.”

“Thanks, twit.”

“I’m not trying to bad-mouth you.”

“You could’ve fooled me.”

Eleanore glared at him. “Why are you always so hostile?”

“Maybe because I learned an important lesson when I was knee-high to a kitten.”

“A lesson?”

“Yeah. I learned that the world will stomp you into the dust unless you stomp back. Life is hard, lady. Most humans don’t give a damn about anything but themselves, and they hate hybrids like me with a passion.

The only exceptions I’ve ever met are the sicky-sweets at the Home.”

“I don’t understand. Who are the sicky-sweets?”

“Never mind.”

They covered 20 yards before Eleanore spoke again.

“I want to know the truth. Are you going to hurt me?”

“Only if you don’t cooperate. I’m fixin’ to take you to Jumbo.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see. He’ll know what to do with you.”

“Where is he?”

“That’s what I’d like to know. We’ve got to find him and my other friends.”

“You have friends?”

“Keep it up, lady.”

“I’m just trying to make sense of what you say. It’s not easy. You talk in riddles.”

“Don’t strain your brain on my account.”

Eleanore expelled a sharp breath in frustration. “You’re impossible. Do you know that?”

“You sound like my wife,” Lynx said, and nearly fell when the woman halted so abruptly that she wrenched on his arm and caused him to stumble. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded angrily.

“Did I hear you correctly? Are you married?” Eleanore inquired, her features reflecting her shock at the revelation.

“Yeah. I’ve got a main squeeze. Her name is Melody. So what?”

Eleanore roved her eyes from his head to his toes. “But you’re a—a—whatever you are? How could any woman marry you?”

A shadow seemed to descend on Lynx and his countenance hardened.

“Oh. Is that it. You can’t imagine how a freak like me could have a wife?”

“I didn’t mean to imply—” Eleanore began, but the hybrid never gave her a chance to finish the sentence.

“Screw you, bimbo,” Lynx stated harshly, and resumed walking toward the forest.

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” Eleanore declared. “But you have to admit you’re different.”

Lynx stalked forward without replying.

“Listen to me, damn you!”

“Save your breath, bigot.”

Eleanore dug in her heels and tried to wrench her wrist loose. “I am not a bigot!” she protested. “I can’t help it if I don’t know how to relate to you without hurting your oversensitive feelings. I’ve never met anything like you before. The only other mutations I’ve seen are those from the swamps, those the Baron has collected at his estate. He puts them in cages and gets his kicks by tormenting them, by poking them with red-hot irons and whipping them. Things like two-headed black bears or bobcats with three eyes. He’s the one who can’t stand freaks.”

Lynx digested the information inscrutably. “The Baron does this, huh?”

“Yeah. And lots worse.”

“Then I’ll have to pay him a visit before I head back to the Home.”

“Forget it.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t get two feet past the outer walls. His estate is guarded by the tonton macoutes and other things. And there’s always Damballah.”

“Who’s that?”

“Damballah isn’t a person,” Eleanore said, and glanced nervously at the weeds enclosing them. “Damballah is the Snake God.”

“Let me get this straight. The Baron worships a snake?”

“Baron Laveau is the high priest of the Black Snake Society. The houmfor is located behind his estate. It’s also guarded day and night.”

“What the devil is a houmfor?”

“The temple where the rites are practiced, where Damballah is summoned.”

Lynx stared into her eyes. “And you’re not makin’ any of this nonsense up? There really are humans who go around worshiping some dinky snake?”

“Damballah isn’t dinky. Damballah is the mother and father of all snakes combined in one serpent. Damballah rules New Orleans.”

“A snake rules the city?” Lynx said, and laughed.

“It’s no laughing matter. Damballah rules through the Baron and Majesta.”

“What’s Majesta? An earthworm?” Lynx queried, snickering at his joke.

“No, dummy. Majesta is the mambo, the high priestess. She’s just as depraved as the Baron, maybe more so,” Eleanore disclosed bitterly.

“You don’t sound too fond of either of them.”

“I hate them!” Eleanore declared. “Why do you think I joined the Resistance? I want to see the Baron and Majesta destroyed. I want to help free the people of New Orleans from the Black Snake Society. The horror has to end!”

Lynx was surprised and impressed by the intensity of her passion. She genuinely despised the Black Snake Society, which qualified her as one of the good guys. Blade had provided a briefing on the distress call received at the Home, and he’d related the pertinent fact that the caller had specifically mentioned the Black Snake Society as being the group that had control of New Orleans. “Tell me more about the Black Snake Society,” he prompted.

“I can tell you everything you need to know in one word,” Eleanore said.

Lynx stared skeptically at her. “One measly word?”

“Yep.”

“What is this magical word?”

“Voodoo.”