Memphis Run, page 16
part #18 of Endworld Series
At the moment, he couldn’t care less.
He had a jeep stashed away, the means of transportation they needed to return to the Home. And the only thing standing in his way was a maniac with delusions of grandeur. The maniac, therefore, must be disposed of promptly.
The quicker, the better.
The convoy of trucks and jeeps wound through the city of Memphis, finally halting at the estate.
Blade heard muffled voices, then a grating sound, and the truck pulled forward. Peering over the heads of the Hounds, he saw a silver gate.
“We’re here,” Bonnie said, stating the obvious.
The truck drove up the drive to the front steps. Captain Tuchman stood. “All troopers out. Cover our prisoners.”
With strict precision the Hounds jumped to the ground.
“Now you,” Tuchman commanded the captives.
Blade rose and moved to the rear of the transport. He squinted in the bright sunlight, then stepped down.
Aloysius the First appeared on the steps. Behind him were two Hounds bearing the Bowies, Colts, and automatic rifles.
“Was your ride comfortable?” the King asked sarcastically.
Hickok slid to the asphalt with Chastity in his arms. “Go suck on a rotten egg,” he answered.
“Crude. And very typical,” Aloysius said. He looked at the officer. “Bring them, Captain.”
Tuchman organized the Hounds into a column of twos. He hefted the M-16 he held and wagged the barrel in the direction of the front entrance.
“Let’s go,” he directed the Warriors. “Take it slow.”
Aloysius was ascending the steps.
Blade strolled toward the door, his arms at his sides, trying to convey the impression he was resigned to his fate. He wanted them unprepared when he made his move.
“Wow! This must be the biggest house ever,” Chastity declared in amazement.
“I never wanted to set foot in this place again,” Bonnie remarked apprehensively.
“Look at the bright side,” Hickok suggested.
“What bright side?”
“One way or the other, this is the last time you’ll need to come here.”
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“Any time.”
Blade looked at the gunman. “Maybe you should give Chastity to Bonnie,” he recommended.
“Good idea, pard,” Hickok acknowledged, and kissed his newfound daughter on the right cheek. “You listen to Bonnie, you hear? Do everything she tells you.”
“I will,” Chastity said.
Hickok handed her to Bonnie. “Take real good care of my young’un.”
“No problem,” Bonnie replied.
Hickok winked at Chastity, then caught up with Blade. “Say when,” he whispered.
Blade nodded. He reached the top step and went inside, marveling at the plush interior.
“This way,” Aloysius commanded, already a dozen steps up the wide stairway to the right. The pair of Hounds carrying the weapons were a step below him.
“I could never live in a place this size,” Hickok commented as they started up.
“Why not?” Blade inquired.
“It’s too blamed huge,” Hickok said. “I’d get lost lookin’ for the john.”
Blade grinned, then looked over his left shoulder at the column of Hounds marching through the door. Captain Tuchman was covering them with his M-16. He faced front, climbing to the landing, scrutinizing the portrait of a man in black leather attire.
“Who do you think he was?” Hickok asked.
“I don’t know.”
“He can’t be related to the King.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He looks intelligent,” Hickok quipped.
Blade turned the corner, trailing Aloysius and the two Hounds as they traversed another opulent corridor.
The King stopped abruptly, staring at an open door on the right-hand side. “That’s odd,” he remarked. “I know I closed it when I left.”
The Warriors and Bonnie halted.
Captain Tuchman raised his right hand and the Hound column stopped.
Aloysius glanced at the officer. “Captain.”
Tuchman hurried forward, past the Warriors. “Yes, sir?”
“Check my throne room,” Aloysius ordered.
The Hound officer entered the chamber, and 30 seconds elapsed before he reappeared. “No one is here, sir.”
Aloysius scratched his chin. “General Thayer must have been here and neglected to close the door. He’ll be duly reprimanded for this gross oversight.” So saying, he waved the officer out of his path and stalked inside.
“Let’s go, you,” Captain Tuchman instructed the Warriors.
Blade’s eyes widened at the sight of the posters adorning the throne room walls. He gazed at the throne and the chandelier, and noticed a shut red door in the middle of the right-hand wall.
Aloysius stalked to his gilded throne and sat down. He beckoned for the prisoners to approach.
The column of Hounds tramped into the room and stood at attention, Captain Tuchman at their head.
“And now to business,” Aloysius declared.
Blade gazed idly to his left at the duo holding the arms, then stared at the King. Hickok was to his right, Bonnie and Chastity a few feet to their rear. Behind them, the Hounds. “What do you propose to do with us?” he inquired.
“I could let the Dark Lord have you now,” Aloysius said, and jerked his thumb in the direction of the red door. “But that would spoil all my fun.”
“Where is Rikki?” Blade asked.
Aloysius gazed at the corridor. “I’m surprised he isn’t here. I told General Thayer to bring him to the throne room before I departed to apprehend you. Perhaps the general returned your friend to his holding cell and went to find me.” He smiled. “I can’t wait to see the expression on that pompous Spartan when he learns I’ve captured you. He believes Spartans are such great military men! Well, they’re not the only ones.” The King chuckled. “I could have called him back, you know. He’d only been gone a couple of minutes, on his way to the cells to escort your friend here, when the word arrived of the gunfight. I decided to lead the Hounds myself to demonstrate my superior ability, to show him my vision is valid.”
“Vision?” Blade said.
“I’ll explain later,” Aloysius stated. “Right now I want to take a nice, long, hot bath and powder my face.”
“Your puss could use some improvement,” Hickok quipped.
Aloysius leaned forward. “How can you be so arrogant when you know that I have the power of life and death in my hands?”
“You don’t have power over diddly,” Hickok replied. “All you’ve got is the upper hand.”
Blade looked at Bonnie and Chastity and observed them whispering.
Bonnie lowered the child slowly to the floor.
“I intend to have you suffer before you die,” Aloysius told the gunman.
“I want to hear you beg for mercy.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Hickok advised.
The King snorted contemptuously. “You think you’re so tough.”
“I know I am,” Hickok responded.
“Too bad you’ll never have the opportunity to prove it,” Aloysius said.
At that moment Chastity let out with a tremendous screech and raced toward the throne room door, swinging her arms and wailing. Bonnie took off in pursuit. “Chastity! Come back!”
Every Hound automatically focused on the screaming girl, watching her flee, some smirking at the sight. Even Aloysius glanced up in annoyance.
For an instant no one was paying the slightest attention to the Warriors.
And Blade made his move.
The giant Warrior reached the pair bearing the weapons in a single stride. Before they could react, he wrenched the Bowies from the grip of the Hound bearing them and slid the knives from their sheaths with a deft flick of his hands. The gleaming blades flashed, and both Hounds were sliced across the throat in the space of a heartbeat. They released their burdens, clutching at their necks, blood spraying between their spread fingers, shock settling in.
Blade whirled and pounced on Captain Tuchman, embedding his right Bowie in the officer’s chest to the hilt. Tuchman’s eyes widened in astonishment, and Blade yanked the knife free and shoved the collapsing officer aside.
Finally, belatedly, the Hounds began to come alive, several striving to bring their automatic rifles into play.
“No shooting! No shooting!” Aloysius the First unexpectedly shouted from his throne. “I don’t want my posters hit! Use your bayonets and knives! Any soldier who uses his gun will answer to the Dark Lord!”
The Hounds hesitated uncertainly, torn between their duty and their desire to blow the giant away.
Blade seized the initiative, wading into the column with his Bowies arcing left and right, crimson droplets dripping from the blades as he hacked and cut, stabbed and slashed. Five Hounds were down in as many seconds. The next raised his AR-15, about to violate the King’s order to preserve his life, but a booming retort sounded and the Hound’s head was jerked rearward by the impact of a .357 Magnum slug tearing through his forehead. Blade managed a fleeting look back, elated to see Hickok entering the fray.
The gunfighter had retrieved his Colts.
Shouting and bellowing, the Hounds surged toward the Warriors, intending to overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers.
Hickok checked their rush, decimating their ranks with his Pythons, firing coolly, methodically, his elbows bent at the waist, his aim unerring, going for those nearest Blade. With each shot a Hound was flung to the floor. Ten of them perished as they dashed forward, falling at the feet of their comrades, throwing the Hounds into temporary disarray.
Blade wasn’t about to allow them to reorganize. He glimpsed Aloysius the First darting through the red door out of the corner of his left eye, and then he attacked the remaining Hounds with the savagery of a primitive barbarian, his mighty physique rippling with power and ferocity, his conscious will supplanted by an instinctive drive to survive.
The Hounds tried to slay the rampaging titan, wielding their bayonets and knives as best they were able. A few decided to charge the gunman, thinking they could slay him before he could reload, but .357 slugs ripping apart their vital organs proved them wrong.
Blade was in his element, and he actually grinned grimly as he parried and thrust, blocked and struck. He felt stinging sensations in his arms, legs, and sides as he was nicked and cut, and he ignored the discomfort as he pressed his assault. A tall Hound attempted to spear his privates, and Blade impaled the man’s neck on his left Bowie. Another Hound rashly sprang at his head, and Blade whipped his right Bowie into the soldier’s groin, upending his foe with a powerful sweep of his steely arm.
Several of the Hounds opted to save their skins, turning and fleeing in stark panic. Two snapped off shots from their rifles. Both missed in the swirling melee of the battle, and both were promptly killed by the gunfighter in buckskins.
As he spun and shifted, always in motion, always the aggressor. Blade absently noted Bonnie and Chastity standing next to the wall near the entrance. They were transfixed by the violence unfolding in front of them.
Dead and dying Hounds littered the floor, moaning and groaning in torment, awash in puddles of their own blood.
Eight Hounds still fought on. One, a burly man with bushy eyebrows, turned and headed for the door, a bayonet in his left hand. He spotted the woman and child and angled toward them, his features contorting in fury.
“You did this!” he roared.
Blade saw the Hound going after Bonnie and Chastity and stepped in their direction, but the seven Hounds circling him closed in, cutting him off. He renewed his onslaught, splitting a Hound’s face with a slicing blow.
“Hickok!” he yelled. “Bonnie and Chastity!”
The gunman was already moving toward Blade, planning to assist his friend. He quickly scanned the room, searching for Chastity and Bonnie, and spied them on the far side of Blade and the Hounds. The swirling flow of the combat prevented him from seeing them clearly, and he raced to the right, skirting the combatants, his blue eyes picking out his daughter and the woman just as a Hound reached them.
Bonnie, unarmed, defenseless, had pushed Chastity behind her, screening the child with her own body. She turned to confront the charging Hound, but he was on her before she could lift her arms to defend herself.
The burly Hound rammed his bayonet into Bonnie’s abdomen, sneering in triumph as she gasped and doubled over. “Take that, bitch!” he cried, gloating. He looked down and saw the girl’s terrified visage peering up at him from the shelter of the woman’s legs. The child gazed past him and beamed in relief.
“Daddy!” Chastity shouted.
Tugging his bayonet loose, the Hound pivoted. Fear engulfed him at the sight of the gunman’s countenance.
Hickok was pale, his mouth a thin slit under his mustache, as he stepped closer. The Colts were held steady, trained on the burly Hound.
“No!” the Hound said, extending his left hand, palm out. “No! Please!”
Hickok shot him, just once, the slug boring through the Hound’s right kneecap and causing the soldier to buckle and fall onto his left knee.
“No!” the Hound bawled.
Hickok shot him again, planting a round in the Hound’s right shoulder.
The soldier twisted and almost went down, but he straightened with a determined effort.
“Please!” the Hound yelled plaintively. “Don’t kill me!”
Both Pythons boomed.
The Hound was slammed onto his back, his mouth sagging, his eyes gone, replaced by the entry holes made as the slugs bored into his optic centers.
Bonnie was on her knees, bent down, her arms pressed to her stomach, with Chastity crouched beside her.
Hickok glanced at Blade, noting the odds had been drastically reduced.
Only three Hounds remained, and as he looked he saw one of those topple over, gutted like a freshly caught fish. He hurried to Bonnie’s side and knelt. “Bonnie?”
She locked her eyes on his, conveying her misery and pain, her mouth trembling. “I’m scared to die.”
“You won’t die,” Hickok said. “Let me see it.”
“Don’t bother,” Bonnie declared, wheezing slightly.
Chastity moved to the gunman and draped her arms around his neck.
“Help her, Daddy,” she urged, tears streaking her cheeks.
Hickok leaned over for a better glimpse. All he could see was rivulets of blood and pale fluid seeping under Bonnie’s folded arms and dripping onto the floor. “Move your arms.”
“Forget about me,” Bonnie said.
“I want to help.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“You don’t know that,” Hickok stated, looking again at Blade.
One Hound left.
“I know,” Bonnie replied with conviction.
“Do you want to stand?” Hickok asked.
“No,” Bonnie said. “I’ll stay right where I am.” She grinned at Chastity.
“You got yourself a real nice daddy. Don’t let anything happen to him.”
“I won’t,” Chastity pledged, sniffling.
“There must be something I can do,” Hickok offered, feeling supremely helpless.
Bonnie shook her head feebly and sagged. “I never knew I could hurt so much.”
“Are there any Healers in Memphis? I’ll go fetch one,” Hickok proposed.
“Too late,” Bonnie mumbled.
A firm hand fell on the gunman’s left shoulder and Blade squatted alongside him. “How is she?”
Hickok gazed at his friend, frowned, and shook his head.
Chastity began crying softly.
Bonnie gazed at the Warriors, grinning, blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth. “Did we kick butt or what?”
“We kicked butt,” Blade said.
“The King?” she inquired.
“I’ll get him,” Blade vowed.
“You’ll have to beat me to him.” Hickok said.
Bonnie coughed and shivered. “Would one of you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” Blade said.
“Hold me. Please.”
Blade knelt and cradled her shoulders tenderly in his arms. “I’m sorry. I never intended for you to be hurt.”
“My own fault,” Bonnie responded. “I never did know when to leave well enough alone.” She coughed once more. “I’m glad I met you two. I was beginning to think that all men were only after one thing.”
“Bonnie…” Chastity said.
“You be strong for your daddy,” Bonnie stated. She quivered and stared at the ceiling, her eyes glistening. “Oh, God. I’m sorry I wasted it.” And with that, she took a deep breath and went limp.
“Bonnie!” Chastity screamed.
Blade lowered her body to the floor, then rose, simmering with rage. He turned toward the red door.
Which abruptly opened.
Chapter Twenty
Aloysius the First cackled as he closed the red door and secured a dead bolt located at shoulder level. He could hear the strident sounds of the battle, the cursing and clanging of blades and shrieks of agony. “Kill the bastards!” he muttered. “Kill them!”
How dare they defy his rule!
He backed away from the door in the darkness, absently running his fingers over the medals on his chest. “I’m the King. My will is law.”
Shots thundered in the throne room.
“I ordered you not to fire!” Aloysius shouted at the closed door. “I don’t want holes in my pretty posters.”
“Aloysius!”
He spun, shocked to behold the fiery red eyes and the spheres of arcing light he knew so well.
“I’ve come for you, Aloysius!”
“This can’t be!” he cried.
“Your reign is over.”
“This is impossible,” Aloysius declared. “You can’t talk without me.”
“Aren’t I the Dark Lord?”
The King took several strides forward, staring at the red orbs. “You’re nothing without me! I created you to keep my followers in line. I discovered the equipment in this room. I’m your master.”
“The Dark Lord has no master.”
He had a jeep stashed away, the means of transportation they needed to return to the Home. And the only thing standing in his way was a maniac with delusions of grandeur. The maniac, therefore, must be disposed of promptly.
The quicker, the better.
The convoy of trucks and jeeps wound through the city of Memphis, finally halting at the estate.
Blade heard muffled voices, then a grating sound, and the truck pulled forward. Peering over the heads of the Hounds, he saw a silver gate.
“We’re here,” Bonnie said, stating the obvious.
The truck drove up the drive to the front steps. Captain Tuchman stood. “All troopers out. Cover our prisoners.”
With strict precision the Hounds jumped to the ground.
“Now you,” Tuchman commanded the captives.
Blade rose and moved to the rear of the transport. He squinted in the bright sunlight, then stepped down.
Aloysius the First appeared on the steps. Behind him were two Hounds bearing the Bowies, Colts, and automatic rifles.
“Was your ride comfortable?” the King asked sarcastically.
Hickok slid to the asphalt with Chastity in his arms. “Go suck on a rotten egg,” he answered.
“Crude. And very typical,” Aloysius said. He looked at the officer. “Bring them, Captain.”
Tuchman organized the Hounds into a column of twos. He hefted the M-16 he held and wagged the barrel in the direction of the front entrance.
“Let’s go,” he directed the Warriors. “Take it slow.”
Aloysius was ascending the steps.
Blade strolled toward the door, his arms at his sides, trying to convey the impression he was resigned to his fate. He wanted them unprepared when he made his move.
“Wow! This must be the biggest house ever,” Chastity declared in amazement.
“I never wanted to set foot in this place again,” Bonnie remarked apprehensively.
“Look at the bright side,” Hickok suggested.
“What bright side?”
“One way or the other, this is the last time you’ll need to come here.”
“Thanks. I needed that.”
“Any time.”
Blade looked at the gunman. “Maybe you should give Chastity to Bonnie,” he recommended.
“Good idea, pard,” Hickok acknowledged, and kissed his newfound daughter on the right cheek. “You listen to Bonnie, you hear? Do everything she tells you.”
“I will,” Chastity said.
Hickok handed her to Bonnie. “Take real good care of my young’un.”
“No problem,” Bonnie replied.
Hickok winked at Chastity, then caught up with Blade. “Say when,” he whispered.
Blade nodded. He reached the top step and went inside, marveling at the plush interior.
“This way,” Aloysius commanded, already a dozen steps up the wide stairway to the right. The pair of Hounds carrying the weapons were a step below him.
“I could never live in a place this size,” Hickok commented as they started up.
“Why not?” Blade inquired.
“It’s too blamed huge,” Hickok said. “I’d get lost lookin’ for the john.”
Blade grinned, then looked over his left shoulder at the column of Hounds marching through the door. Captain Tuchman was covering them with his M-16. He faced front, climbing to the landing, scrutinizing the portrait of a man in black leather attire.
“Who do you think he was?” Hickok asked.
“I don’t know.”
“He can’t be related to the King.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He looks intelligent,” Hickok quipped.
Blade turned the corner, trailing Aloysius and the two Hounds as they traversed another opulent corridor.
The King stopped abruptly, staring at an open door on the right-hand side. “That’s odd,” he remarked. “I know I closed it when I left.”
The Warriors and Bonnie halted.
Captain Tuchman raised his right hand and the Hound column stopped.
Aloysius glanced at the officer. “Captain.”
Tuchman hurried forward, past the Warriors. “Yes, sir?”
“Check my throne room,” Aloysius ordered.
The Hound officer entered the chamber, and 30 seconds elapsed before he reappeared. “No one is here, sir.”
Aloysius scratched his chin. “General Thayer must have been here and neglected to close the door. He’ll be duly reprimanded for this gross oversight.” So saying, he waved the officer out of his path and stalked inside.
“Let’s go, you,” Captain Tuchman instructed the Warriors.
Blade’s eyes widened at the sight of the posters adorning the throne room walls. He gazed at the throne and the chandelier, and noticed a shut red door in the middle of the right-hand wall.
Aloysius stalked to his gilded throne and sat down. He beckoned for the prisoners to approach.
The column of Hounds tramped into the room and stood at attention, Captain Tuchman at their head.
“And now to business,” Aloysius declared.
Blade gazed idly to his left at the duo holding the arms, then stared at the King. Hickok was to his right, Bonnie and Chastity a few feet to their rear. Behind them, the Hounds. “What do you propose to do with us?” he inquired.
“I could let the Dark Lord have you now,” Aloysius said, and jerked his thumb in the direction of the red door. “But that would spoil all my fun.”
“Where is Rikki?” Blade asked.
Aloysius gazed at the corridor. “I’m surprised he isn’t here. I told General Thayer to bring him to the throne room before I departed to apprehend you. Perhaps the general returned your friend to his holding cell and went to find me.” He smiled. “I can’t wait to see the expression on that pompous Spartan when he learns I’ve captured you. He believes Spartans are such great military men! Well, they’re not the only ones.” The King chuckled. “I could have called him back, you know. He’d only been gone a couple of minutes, on his way to the cells to escort your friend here, when the word arrived of the gunfight. I decided to lead the Hounds myself to demonstrate my superior ability, to show him my vision is valid.”
“Vision?” Blade said.
“I’ll explain later,” Aloysius stated. “Right now I want to take a nice, long, hot bath and powder my face.”
“Your puss could use some improvement,” Hickok quipped.
Aloysius leaned forward. “How can you be so arrogant when you know that I have the power of life and death in my hands?”
“You don’t have power over diddly,” Hickok replied. “All you’ve got is the upper hand.”
Blade looked at Bonnie and Chastity and observed them whispering.
Bonnie lowered the child slowly to the floor.
“I intend to have you suffer before you die,” Aloysius told the gunman.
“I want to hear you beg for mercy.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Hickok advised.
The King snorted contemptuously. “You think you’re so tough.”
“I know I am,” Hickok responded.
“Too bad you’ll never have the opportunity to prove it,” Aloysius said.
At that moment Chastity let out with a tremendous screech and raced toward the throne room door, swinging her arms and wailing. Bonnie took off in pursuit. “Chastity! Come back!”
Every Hound automatically focused on the screaming girl, watching her flee, some smirking at the sight. Even Aloysius glanced up in annoyance.
For an instant no one was paying the slightest attention to the Warriors.
And Blade made his move.
The giant Warrior reached the pair bearing the weapons in a single stride. Before they could react, he wrenched the Bowies from the grip of the Hound bearing them and slid the knives from their sheaths with a deft flick of his hands. The gleaming blades flashed, and both Hounds were sliced across the throat in the space of a heartbeat. They released their burdens, clutching at their necks, blood spraying between their spread fingers, shock settling in.
Blade whirled and pounced on Captain Tuchman, embedding his right Bowie in the officer’s chest to the hilt. Tuchman’s eyes widened in astonishment, and Blade yanked the knife free and shoved the collapsing officer aside.
Finally, belatedly, the Hounds began to come alive, several striving to bring their automatic rifles into play.
“No shooting! No shooting!” Aloysius the First unexpectedly shouted from his throne. “I don’t want my posters hit! Use your bayonets and knives! Any soldier who uses his gun will answer to the Dark Lord!”
The Hounds hesitated uncertainly, torn between their duty and their desire to blow the giant away.
Blade seized the initiative, wading into the column with his Bowies arcing left and right, crimson droplets dripping from the blades as he hacked and cut, stabbed and slashed. Five Hounds were down in as many seconds. The next raised his AR-15, about to violate the King’s order to preserve his life, but a booming retort sounded and the Hound’s head was jerked rearward by the impact of a .357 Magnum slug tearing through his forehead. Blade managed a fleeting look back, elated to see Hickok entering the fray.
The gunfighter had retrieved his Colts.
Shouting and bellowing, the Hounds surged toward the Warriors, intending to overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers.
Hickok checked their rush, decimating their ranks with his Pythons, firing coolly, methodically, his elbows bent at the waist, his aim unerring, going for those nearest Blade. With each shot a Hound was flung to the floor. Ten of them perished as they dashed forward, falling at the feet of their comrades, throwing the Hounds into temporary disarray.
Blade wasn’t about to allow them to reorganize. He glimpsed Aloysius the First darting through the red door out of the corner of his left eye, and then he attacked the remaining Hounds with the savagery of a primitive barbarian, his mighty physique rippling with power and ferocity, his conscious will supplanted by an instinctive drive to survive.
The Hounds tried to slay the rampaging titan, wielding their bayonets and knives as best they were able. A few decided to charge the gunman, thinking they could slay him before he could reload, but .357 slugs ripping apart their vital organs proved them wrong.
Blade was in his element, and he actually grinned grimly as he parried and thrust, blocked and struck. He felt stinging sensations in his arms, legs, and sides as he was nicked and cut, and he ignored the discomfort as he pressed his assault. A tall Hound attempted to spear his privates, and Blade impaled the man’s neck on his left Bowie. Another Hound rashly sprang at his head, and Blade whipped his right Bowie into the soldier’s groin, upending his foe with a powerful sweep of his steely arm.
Several of the Hounds opted to save their skins, turning and fleeing in stark panic. Two snapped off shots from their rifles. Both missed in the swirling melee of the battle, and both were promptly killed by the gunfighter in buckskins.
As he spun and shifted, always in motion, always the aggressor. Blade absently noted Bonnie and Chastity standing next to the wall near the entrance. They were transfixed by the violence unfolding in front of them.
Dead and dying Hounds littered the floor, moaning and groaning in torment, awash in puddles of their own blood.
Eight Hounds still fought on. One, a burly man with bushy eyebrows, turned and headed for the door, a bayonet in his left hand. He spotted the woman and child and angled toward them, his features contorting in fury.
“You did this!” he roared.
Blade saw the Hound going after Bonnie and Chastity and stepped in their direction, but the seven Hounds circling him closed in, cutting him off. He renewed his onslaught, splitting a Hound’s face with a slicing blow.
“Hickok!” he yelled. “Bonnie and Chastity!”
The gunman was already moving toward Blade, planning to assist his friend. He quickly scanned the room, searching for Chastity and Bonnie, and spied them on the far side of Blade and the Hounds. The swirling flow of the combat prevented him from seeing them clearly, and he raced to the right, skirting the combatants, his blue eyes picking out his daughter and the woman just as a Hound reached them.
Bonnie, unarmed, defenseless, had pushed Chastity behind her, screening the child with her own body. She turned to confront the charging Hound, but he was on her before she could lift her arms to defend herself.
The burly Hound rammed his bayonet into Bonnie’s abdomen, sneering in triumph as she gasped and doubled over. “Take that, bitch!” he cried, gloating. He looked down and saw the girl’s terrified visage peering up at him from the shelter of the woman’s legs. The child gazed past him and beamed in relief.
“Daddy!” Chastity shouted.
Tugging his bayonet loose, the Hound pivoted. Fear engulfed him at the sight of the gunman’s countenance.
Hickok was pale, his mouth a thin slit under his mustache, as he stepped closer. The Colts were held steady, trained on the burly Hound.
“No!” the Hound said, extending his left hand, palm out. “No! Please!”
Hickok shot him, just once, the slug boring through the Hound’s right kneecap and causing the soldier to buckle and fall onto his left knee.
“No!” the Hound bawled.
Hickok shot him again, planting a round in the Hound’s right shoulder.
The soldier twisted and almost went down, but he straightened with a determined effort.
“Please!” the Hound yelled plaintively. “Don’t kill me!”
Both Pythons boomed.
The Hound was slammed onto his back, his mouth sagging, his eyes gone, replaced by the entry holes made as the slugs bored into his optic centers.
Bonnie was on her knees, bent down, her arms pressed to her stomach, with Chastity crouched beside her.
Hickok glanced at Blade, noting the odds had been drastically reduced.
Only three Hounds remained, and as he looked he saw one of those topple over, gutted like a freshly caught fish. He hurried to Bonnie’s side and knelt. “Bonnie?”
She locked her eyes on his, conveying her misery and pain, her mouth trembling. “I’m scared to die.”
“You won’t die,” Hickok said. “Let me see it.”
“Don’t bother,” Bonnie declared, wheezing slightly.
Chastity moved to the gunman and draped her arms around his neck.
“Help her, Daddy,” she urged, tears streaking her cheeks.
Hickok leaned over for a better glimpse. All he could see was rivulets of blood and pale fluid seeping under Bonnie’s folded arms and dripping onto the floor. “Move your arms.”
“Forget about me,” Bonnie said.
“I want to help.”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“You don’t know that,” Hickok stated, looking again at Blade.
One Hound left.
“I know,” Bonnie replied with conviction.
“Do you want to stand?” Hickok asked.
“No,” Bonnie said. “I’ll stay right where I am.” She grinned at Chastity.
“You got yourself a real nice daddy. Don’t let anything happen to him.”
“I won’t,” Chastity pledged, sniffling.
“There must be something I can do,” Hickok offered, feeling supremely helpless.
Bonnie shook her head feebly and sagged. “I never knew I could hurt so much.”
“Are there any Healers in Memphis? I’ll go fetch one,” Hickok proposed.
“Too late,” Bonnie mumbled.
A firm hand fell on the gunman’s left shoulder and Blade squatted alongside him. “How is she?”
Hickok gazed at his friend, frowned, and shook his head.
Chastity began crying softly.
Bonnie gazed at the Warriors, grinning, blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth. “Did we kick butt or what?”
“We kicked butt,” Blade said.
“The King?” she inquired.
“I’ll get him,” Blade vowed.
“You’ll have to beat me to him.” Hickok said.
Bonnie coughed and shivered. “Would one of you do me a favor?”
“Anything,” Blade said.
“Hold me. Please.”
Blade knelt and cradled her shoulders tenderly in his arms. “I’m sorry. I never intended for you to be hurt.”
“My own fault,” Bonnie responded. “I never did know when to leave well enough alone.” She coughed once more. “I’m glad I met you two. I was beginning to think that all men were only after one thing.”
“Bonnie…” Chastity said.
“You be strong for your daddy,” Bonnie stated. She quivered and stared at the ceiling, her eyes glistening. “Oh, God. I’m sorry I wasted it.” And with that, she took a deep breath and went limp.
“Bonnie!” Chastity screamed.
Blade lowered her body to the floor, then rose, simmering with rage. He turned toward the red door.
Which abruptly opened.
Chapter Twenty
Aloysius the First cackled as he closed the red door and secured a dead bolt located at shoulder level. He could hear the strident sounds of the battle, the cursing and clanging of blades and shrieks of agony. “Kill the bastards!” he muttered. “Kill them!”
How dare they defy his rule!
He backed away from the door in the darkness, absently running his fingers over the medals on his chest. “I’m the King. My will is law.”
Shots thundered in the throne room.
“I ordered you not to fire!” Aloysius shouted at the closed door. “I don’t want holes in my pretty posters.”
“Aloysius!”
He spun, shocked to behold the fiery red eyes and the spheres of arcing light he knew so well.
“I’ve come for you, Aloysius!”
“This can’t be!” he cried.
“Your reign is over.”
“This is impossible,” Aloysius declared. “You can’t talk without me.”
“Aren’t I the Dark Lord?”
The King took several strides forward, staring at the red orbs. “You’re nothing without me! I created you to keep my followers in line. I discovered the equipment in this room. I’m your master.”
“The Dark Lord has no master.”
