Boston Run by David L. Robbins

Author:David L. Robbins [Robbins, David L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Hickok met the man bearing the white flag midway between the vehicles.

"Hey, dude. How's it hangin'," asked the other, and grinned broadly, exposing a gap where two of his upper front teeth had Been. Unkempt dark hair framed his dirty face. His beady eyes, thin nose, and oval chin gave him a rodentlike aspect. He wore a green, short-sleeved shirt and jeans, both of which had seen better days decades ago. From his right ear lobe dangled a large, circular diamond-studded earring. He also sported a silver safety pin through his nose. Adorning his left forearm was a tattoo, a depiction of a sneering skull and the words HEAVY DEATH RULES.

"What the blazes are you?" Hickok responded.

The scrawny man did a double take. "Whoa. Serious hostility. What a bummer."

"What?"

"My name is Dezi."

"I'm Hickok."

"Cool name, dude," Dezi said in a friendly fashion.

"Quit callin' me 'dude,' pipsqueak," Hickok stated testily. He glanced at the three vehicles, estimating the odds. In addition to the trio in the bed of the pickup, there were two in the cab, three men in the second car, and two more in the lead vehicle, all well armed.

Dezi made a clicking sound. "Man, what did you do in your last life to deserve such a rotten karma?"

"What are you babbling about?" Hickok asked impatiently.

"Like, you're radiatin' bad vibes," Dezi said.

"And you're one marble shy of brainless," Hickok retorted. "What's with the white flag? Who are you guys and what do you want?"

Dezi held the Winchester loosely in his left hand and placed his right on his hip. "You shouldn't be rude, dude. I'm comin' to the point."

"This century?"

"We're called the Cruisers, man. We're from Motor City," Dezi disclosed.

"Where's that?"

"East of here a ways."

"I've never heard of Motor City," Hickok said.

"Oh, it was called something else before the major rumble."

"The city you're from was hit by an earthquake?"

Dezi cocked his head and cackled. "Get real, dude! I was talkin' about the war. The city was called Detroit."

"Detroit, huh?" Hickok repeated, and looked at the pickup. "You're a long way from home."

"We got tired of all the hassles, man. Tired of fightin' for a worthless piece of turf. So we split, and we've been on the road ever since."

"Doing what?"

Dezi frowned. "It's not nice to intrude on somebody's else's space, dude."

"Let me guess," Hickok said. "You're scavengers. You take whatever you want from whoever has it. How many folks have you killed? Twenty?

Forty? Sixty?"

"Who keeps count?" Dezi responded, then added indignantly,

"And we're not scavengers, dude. We like to think of ourselves as road warriors. In fact, we get our kicks by wastin' crummy scavengers. There's a group of those scumbags in this area that we've hit a few times."

Hickok suddenly understood the reason for the barricade. "So you go around the countryside killin' scavengers. Women and children too, I'll bet."

"Hey, a brat grows up to be a full-grown scavenger. We do the world a favor by snuffin' them. As for the women," Dezi said, and smirked, "they're our entertainment, if you get my meaning.

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