Denver Run

by David Robbins

  “He’s hanging in there,” Jenny said. “He’s tough. He’ll pull through,” she predicted.

  “I hope so,” Hickok stated. “I’m sort of fond of the critter.”

  Jenny frowned at his use of the term “critter,” but Hickok didn’t see anything wrong with it. How else should you refer to a “man” with leathery gray skin, red eyes, and pointed ears?

  “Is Sherry all right?” Jenny asked.

  Now it was the gumman’s turn to frown. “Don’t know yet,” he muttered, and departed.

  More walking wounded had joined the line while he was inside.

  Hickok smiled encouragingly at them and headed for the moat. The Clan leader, Zahner, was directing the removal of bodies from the western rampart, and six men were engaged in fishing floating figures from the moat.

  “Hickok!” someone called behind him.

  The gunman turned.

  Spartacus, his HR93 in his left hand, his right on the hilt of his broadsword, raced up, slightly out of breath.

  “Report,” Hickok instructed him.

  “The final tally on the dead and wounded isn’t in yet,” Spartacus stated.

  “We’re still counting. But from the preliminary reports, I’d estimate we lost sixty to seventy, with another forty or fifty injured.”

  “It could have been worse,” Hickok remarked.

  Spartacus stared into Hickok’s eyes, his own features softening, saddening, reflecting his sense of loss. “You haven’t heard the bad news.”

  Hickok tensed, afraid to pose his next question. “What bad news? Did we lose any Warriors?”

  Spartacus nodded. “Four.”

  Hickok’s shock showed. “Four? Are you sure?”

  “Runners came from each wall to tell us the enemy stopped their assault,” Spartacus informed him. “Seiko and Shane held the north wall with minimal losses. Ares reports the south wall sustained considerable damage and suffered a large number of casualties, including Carter and Gideon—”

  “Carter and Gideon?” Hickok repeated, dazed. They had been his friends since childhood. He reached out and gripped Spartacus by the left shoulder. “What about…” he began haltingly. “What about the… east wall?”

  A large lump seemed to slide down Spartacus’s throat. “We lost Crockett… and Samson.”

  Hickok closed his eyes and silently gave thanks. “Sherry is okay?” he asked huskily.

  “Sorry,” Spartacus apologized. “I should have told you about her right off. She took a hit, a flesh wound to her left shoulder. From what I’ve learned, she also may have saved the Home.”

  “What?”

  “The runner told me the east wall fell. With Crockett and Samson dead, the rest of the defenders took cover in the woods. Sherry rallied them. They hid behind the trees and shot at the soldiers as they came over the wall, containing them, preventing them from spreading to the north and the south along the rampart. If Sherry hadn’t done what she did, Seiko and Ares would have been outflanked. She saved the entire compound,” Spartacus concluded.

  Hickok beamed with pride. He was so happy to hear she was alive, he felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He coughed and made a show of rubbing his eyelids. “That blasted smoke got in my eyes.”

  Spartacus placed his right hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

  “Yeah. A lot of us have that problem.”

  “How’s your girlfriend?” Hickok inquired.

  “She’s fine,” Spartacus replied. “She was on the north wall with Seiko and Shane. They weren’t as hard pressed as the rest of us.”

  “And there’s no sign of activity in the enemy camp?” Hickok asked.

  “All four sides are quiet,” Spartacus said.

  “Then maybe we will have time to regroup,” Hickok declared.

  “What’s our next move?” Spartacus asked him.

  Hickok patted the pearl handles on his Pythons. “The way I see it, Brutus has about twelve hundred soldiers left. We took a heavy toll today, but they’ve still got the edge. We can’t let them get inside the Home.”

  “How can we stop them?” Spartacus asked. “Whether they attack one wall, like you said they might, or all four, there’s no way we can keep them out indefinitely.”

  Hickok watched Zahner on the west rampart. “We need to come up with a humdinger of an idea. Somethin’ that’ll stop ol’ Brutus cold.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t rightly know. Yet. But whatever we come up with, we’d best do it fast. And whatever we come up with, it’d better work right the first time out of the chute because we won’t get a second chance.”

  Spartacus stared at the growing pile of bodies on the bank. “I can’t wait to hear what you come up with,” he said.

  “I do have one idea,” Hickok admitted.

  “What is it?” Spartacus inquired eagerly.

  “You won’t like it,” Hickok told him.

  “How do you know?”

  “You won’t like it,” Hickok reiterated.

  “Try me anyway,” Spartacus urged him.

  Hickok nodded toward the western rampart. “I figured we could all stand up there and toss spitballs at ’em.” He chuckled at his own joke.

  “Spitballs?” Spartacus shook his head and snickered.

  “You gotta admit,” Hickok said, “it sure would confuse the heck out of ’em.”

  “I think I understand something now,” Spartacus stated slowly.

  “You do? What?”

  “The reason Blade sent you back here,” Spartacus quipped.

  “Very funny.” Hickok suddenly sobered. “I wonder how the big guy is doing?”

  Chapter Twenty

  “What do you make of it?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi asked.

  “I don’t know,” Blade admitted.

  “It’s a trap,” Yama warned.

  “You can’t trust him,” Teucer added.

  The SEAL was parked on a low rise on Interstate Highway 25 north of Denver, not far past the DACONO exit. To the west rose the majestic Rocky Mountains with Longs Peak prominent among them. To the east was a flat plain, farmland. Outlined in stark contrast on the southern horizon was the metropolis of Denver, Colorado, the capital of the Civilized Zone and the stronghold of Samuel II. The gigantic wall constructed by the Army Corps of Engineers was visible, as were a dozen towering skyscrapers behind the wall. A peculiar brown cloud hung over the fortress city, pollution created by the widespread usage of wood-burning stoves and vehicle emissions, an atmospheric symbol of the evil controlling the city and dominating the Civilized Zone.

  The four Warriors were standing in front of the SEAL. To the rear of the transport stretched the Freedom Federation Army. Ahead of the SEAL 30 yards was a jeep with a white flag attached to its radio antenna. Three soldiers occupied the jeep, their eyes fixed on the Warriors, their expressions clearly showing their nervousness.

  There was the clatter of hooves on the tarmac, and Kilrane galloped up to the Warriors on his palomino.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  Blade pointed at the jeep. “They’ve brought a message from Samuel. He wants to meet with me. Alone.”

  “You’re not thinking of going, are you?” Kilrane asked.

  Blade nodded.

  “You’re nuts,” Kilrane said. “It’s a trick.”

  “That’s what we’ve been telling him,” Rikki mentioned.

  “But he won’t listen to us,” Yama added.

  “Why does Samuel want to meet with you?” Kilrane inquired.

  “Supposedly to talk about terms for a truce,” Blade replied. “There’s a hill a couple of miles down the road. On the other side of the hill Samuel has pitched a tent. He wants to meet me there.”

  “You can’t trust him,” Kilrane stated.

  “I know that,” Blade agreed.

  “But you’re going anyway?” Kilrane queried.

  “I have no other choice,” Blade said. He turned to Rikki. “Let those soldiers know I’v
e decided to accept Samuel’s invitation. Tell them we’ll abide by Samuel’s rules.”

  Rikki frowned, disgruntled. “I’ll inform them,” he said sullenly. He walked toward the jeep.

  Kilrane leaned forward, patting the neck of his palomino. “What are you trying to prove?”

  “I have to hear what he has to say,” Blade said defensively.

  Kilrane straightened. “I guess you do. But if the son of a bitch tries anything, if he kills you, I want you to know my men won’t rest until your death is avenged.”

  Blade grinned. “That’s comforting.”

  Kilrane smiled and rode off to rejoin his Cavalry.

  “The same holds true for us,” Yama remarked.

  Blade put his left hand on Yama’s shoulder. “I appreciate your concern.

  I really do. But I must go. You see that, don’t you?”

  Yama nodded. “We understand.”

  “Well, I don’t!” interjected a new voice.

  Lynx stood behind them, appearing as if from nowhere.

  “Now don’t you start,” Blade said.

  “Are you out of your gourd?” Lynx angrily demanded. “Sammy wants to get you alone so he can eliminate your buns. It’s as simple as that!”

  “Undoubtedly,” Blade concurred.

  “Then let me come with you,” Lynx urged. “I have a score to settle with Sammy.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Lynx demanded, peeved.

  “He wants to meet me alone,” Blade reminded the fiery creature.

  “I could sneak up on the tent,” Lynx offered, “and rip the sucker to shreds before he knew what hit him.”

  “No.”

  “It’s your funeral,” Lynx snapped, and left.

  Blade watched Rikki deliver his reply to the soldiers in the jeep. The driver said something to Rikki, gunned the engine, and wheeled the vehicle in a tight U-turn. The jeep drove due south on Interstate 25, spewing a trail of black exhaust fumes.

  Rikki returned to his companions.

  “What did the driver say?” Blade inquired.

  “The tent is positioned between two hills. Samuel will have his army on one hill. We’ll be on the other. We can send one person down to the tent to inspect it. Then Samuel will drive down and you’re to join him,” Rikki detailed.

  “Sounds simple enough,” Blade commented.

  “I still don’t like it,” Yama groused.

  “Let’s get going,” Blade suggested.

  They filed into the SEAL.

  Blade started the transport and slowly pulled out. The column took his cue and followed, the trucks traveling at a reduced speed so as not to tire the Cavalry’s horses.

  “Has anyone seen Lynx?” Teucer asked.

  Blade glanced over his right shoulder. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was seated in the front, in the other bucket seat. Yama and Teucer were in the wide seat.

  Behind them was the rear section containing their provisions, where Lynx usually sprawled while the convoy was on the road.

  Only Lynx wasn’t there.

  “I haven’t seen him since he argued with Blade,” Yama mentioned.

  “Maybe he’s so mad at me he decided to ride in one of the troop transports,” Blade speculated.

  They rode in silence, alertly surveying the countryside for any hint of a threat.

  “Are you certain I can’t prevail on you to take one of us with you?”

  Rikki inquired after the SEAL had gone a mile.

  “Samuel wants to meet me alone,” Blade noted. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, just to allay your fears. The driver said one of us could inspect the tent before the meeting, right?”

  “Yes,” Rikki affirmed.

  “Then you’ll do the inspecting,” Blade stated.

  “Thank you,” Rikki responded.

  The SEAL purred along Interstate 25. Off to the west was a small herd of cattle. Beyond the grazing cows loomed the imposing mountains, many of the pointed peaks wearing white caps, draped in mantles of snow.

  The terrain ahead began to gradually rise, forming a rounded hill. The highway went up and over the center of the hill.

  “This should be it,” Rikki said.

  Blade drove slowly up the hill. He could feel his stomach churning in anxious anticipation. A quick glance in the rearview mirror assured him the convoy was barreling up the hill; two of the jeeps were in the lead, followed by the half-track, then the troop transports, and a solitary jeep at the very end. Kilrane had divided his Cavalry riders; half of them were riding on the west side of the Interstate, the remainder on the eastern side.

  The SEAL reached the crest of the hill.

  Blade applied the brakes and placed the vehicle in park.

  “There’s the tent,” Yama commented.

  There it was, situated between two hills, exactly as Samuel’s messenger had said it would be. The other hill was a half-mile or so to the south.

  Waiting in formation on the far hill was Samuel’s army, a thousand strong according to George, the captured Assassin. The sunlight reflected off the windshields of various military vehicles. Banners and flags flapped in the wind. And in the middle of the level area between the hills was a large green tent.

  Rikki opened the door. “I will inspect the tent most carefully,” he pledged.

  “We’ll be waiting,” Blade said, switching off the engine.

  Rikki, his katana in his right hand, jogged down the hill toward the green tent. His mind was deeply troubled. This had to be a trap! There was no doubt about it. But what kind of trap? Would Samuel II draw Blade into the tent and then have his troops attack? No. That made no sense. Samuel knew the Freedom Federation would immediately come to Blade’s rescue. Was Samuel attempting to kidnap Blade and hold him hostage? Again, the idea was ludicrous. How would Samuel get Blade from the tent to his own forces without being spotted? Both armies were equidistant from the green tent. Neither army could reach the tent any faster than the other. Did Samuel intend to murder Blade during their meeting? If so, how? Blade wasn’t an easy man to kill, and Samuel II must be in his 70s or 80s. How would Samuel overcome Blade? And what would he gain? Killing Blade wouldn’t stop the Freedom Federation Army.

  So what did Samuel II have up his sleeve?

  Rikki slowed as he neared the green tent. He saw the tent was constructed of green canvas. Samuel had placed the square tent to the west of Interstate 25, not four feet from the highway. A field surrounded the tent, and there wasn’t a tree or boulder or any conceivable hiding place within two hundred yards of the site.

  To all intents and purposes, the location was ideal, insuring neither side could spring an ambush without detection by the armies on either hill.

  So far, so good.

  Rikki stopped and cautiously walked to the flap. Someone had imbedded a pole in the ground and tied the flap to the pole, leaving the front entrance wide open.

  How nice of them.

  Rikki paused in the entranceway. He could clearly see every inch of the interior of the tent. The ceiling was 10 feet above the ground, while the tent walls were 15 yards in length. There was ample room for 50 men, but the spacious interior was unoccupied except for a small folding table and a pair of folding chairs. Nothing else. The rough ground served as the tent’s floor, with patches of grass and weeds serving as the carpet. A pitcher of water rested on the table, next to two tall glasses.

  And that was it.

  Rikki entered the tent, annoyed. There had to be more to it than this!

  His intuition was blaring a siren warning in his mind. But what could be wrong? The field outside the tent was deserted. The inside was empty except for the table and the chairs. The tent walls were swaying slightly in the breeze, indicating there weren’t any secret passages. The roof appeared to be exactly that: a roof. Every element of the meeting place was perfectly ordinary. There was nothing to arouse suspicion.

  So why did he feel uneasy?

  Rikki walked to the table, studying the arrangement.
The table and chairs were ten feet from the entranceway. Sparsely covered ground took up the remainder of the space. There was simply nowhere a foe could hide.

  But something was wrong.

  Rikki felt it. And he always trusted his instincts. But what was it? If he didn’t find concrete evidence, Blade would laugh off his anxiety and attend the meeting.

  What? What? What?

  Rikki turned and exited the tent. He began walking around the exterior, examining the walls and the earth at his feet. All he found were the stakes used to erect the tent walls, neatly imbedded in the ground at regular intervals with sturdy cord extending from each stake to a metal ring affixed to the canvas wall of the tent.

  That was all.

  Irritated by his failure, Rikki completed a circuit of the tent and stopped at the entranceway. He would have to report the tent was safe.

  There was no other choice. He took a few steps, then paused, perplexed.

  What was this?

  There were huge tire tracks in the center of the Interstate. They ran from the front of the tent and disappeared up the hill to the south. What made the tracks so odd was their exceptionally muddy condition.

  Normally, a truck wouldn’t leave visible tracks on the surface of a road.

  But this one had, apparently because its tires were so caked with dirt and mud, that it left a trail of muddy imprints behind it.

  Why the mud?

  Rikki glanced around. Had the truck delivered the tent to this site? Had it backed into the field? The ground was hard, and it hadn’t rained in days.

  So why the mud?

  Something nagged at Rikki’s mind, but he couldn’t identify the cause of his distress. And if all he had to report was a set of muddy truck tracks, he wouldn’t be able to dissuade Blade from coming.

  Back to square one.

  Rikki started jogging toward the SEAL. He was disgusted at his ineptitude. There was something wrong, something out of kilter with that tent, but for the life of him he couldn’t determine what it was.