Cincinnati Run by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins [Robbins, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_postapocalyptic, sf_action
ISBN: 9780843928921
Publisher: Leisure Books
Published: 1989-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

“What am I going to do?” Fedorov whimpered, gaping at the approaching officer, a lieutenant.

“Don’t overreact,” Blade cautioned. “We can bluff our way out of this mess.”

“They’ll kill me if they find out I was helping you,” Fedorov said.

“They won’t find out,” Blade assured the Russian.

“Yes, they will,” Fedorov disagreed. “You don’t know them like I do.”

The lieutenant and the six soldiers were 12 feet distant.

“I’m getting out of here!” Fedorov unexpectedly cried, and shifted into reverse. He tramped on the accelerator, sending the jeep flying backwards to crash into a brown automobile, then wrenched on the wheel and tried to maneuver into the opposite lane, an impossible feat because the other lane was crammed with vehicles.

“What the hell are you doing?” the driver of the panel truck shouted.

“Don’t!” Blade snapped. “We’re already boxed in. You’re only making it worse.”

Fedorov wasn’t about to let up. He pounded on the horn, frantically striving to clear the obstructing traffic.

The detail from the gate halted, and the officer cupped his hand around his mouth. “You there! What do you think you’re doing! Do not move your vehicle!”

“We’re in for trouble now,” Geronimo predicted.

Blade was furious. Fedorov’s stupidity was attracting precisely the attention he wanted to avoid at all costs. “Quit using the horn!” he growled.

“I don’t want to die!” Fedorov blubbered, his fleshy features trembling.

The driver of the panel truck stepped over to their jeep and kicked the grill. “Turn it off and step out here!”

“I figure we should make a break for it,” Hickok advised, holding the AR-15 in his lap. His prized Pythons were concealed under his uniform shirt, the barrels held fast by his belt, with the pearl grips reversed. To draw he first had to unbutton the shirt and reach in, and he disliked the delay the unbuttoning would cause. In an emergency he wanted to be able to reach his Pythons as quickly as possible, and by his reckoning the current situation qualified as the genuine article.

“For once I agree with Hickok,” Geronimo concurred.

The lieutenant and the six soldiers were on the far side of the opposing lane of traffic, blocked by a truck and a car that were touching bumper to bumper. Gesticulating and barking orders, the officer was attempting to get them to separate.

“This sucks!” Fedorov declared, and yanked on the door handle.

Blade lunged, trying to restrain the trooper, his left hand catching hold of Fedorov’s right wrist.

“Let go of me!” Fedorov yelled, tugging and thrashing, his left leg and arm outside the jeep.

“What is happening?” the officer demanded. “Private! Answer me!”

Fedorov glanced at the officer. “Comrade Lieutenant, help me! These men are enemies of the State! They’ve been holding me prisoner!”

“This is gettin’ ridiculous,” Hickok said, and jabbed the AR-15 into Fedorov’s ribs and squeezed the trigger.

The burst tore Fedorov from Blade’s grasp and flung him against the car in the opposite lane, his chest riddled, oozing blood, his face a mask of astonishment. His lips twitched feebly and he slumped to the asphalt.

Hickok

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