“You see those branches on that dead tree?” He pointed.
Shane followed the direction his arm indicated. “Yep. You want me to hit them?”
“Tell you what we’ll do,” Hickok said. “I’ll count to three. When I hit three, we’ll both draw and fire. You take the top branch, I’ll take the bottom. Okay with you?”
Shane’s hefty frame coiled as he tensed, his right hand dangling above his revolver, an Abilene Single Action in .44 Magnum. “I’m ready when you are.”
“That’s a big gun you’ve got there, pard,” Hickok observed. “You sure you can handle it?”
“Just do the counting,” Shane replied, nervously flexing his right hand.
The dead tree was northwest of their position.
Smiling, pleased his ruse was working, Hickok let his hands drop to his side. “Okay, pard. Get ready.”
“I was born ready!”
“One…” Hickok counted.
Shane froze, every muscle immobile, focused on the tree.
“Two…” Hickok wondered if the youth would fall for it. If he did, Shane could forget being a Warrior.
“Three!” Hickok yelled, pretending to draw his Pythons.
Shane’s hand was a streak as he whipped out the Abilene and cocked the hammer. His finger was tightening on the trigger when he abruptly stopped and glanced at Hickok.
The Warrior was standing quietly, waiting.
“You didn’t draw!” Shane declared. “You didn’t even draw!”
“And you didn’t shoot,” Hickok mentioned. “Why not?”
Shane looked at his revolver, then replaced it in its holster. “You almost had me!” He breathed a sigh of relief.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play innocent with me!” Shane barked. “The whole thing was a test, wasn’t it?”
“Was it?”
Shane slapped his right thigh and laughed. “You’re good. You are really good!”
“Am I?” Hickok asked quietly.
“You know as well as I do,” Shane said, “that shooting inside the Home is only permitted on the firing range. Even the Warriors must follow this rule. The only exception is when the Home is under attack.”
“Is that all?” Hickok queried.
“No, it isn’t,” Shane replied. “That dead tree is between us and the Blocks, where most of the Family is likely to be. If one of us had missed the tree, our bullet might have struck one of the Family.”
“I’m impressed,” Hickok admitted.
“Then it was a test?”
“Of course.”
Shane stared from the tree to Hickok and back again. “But what if I had fired?”
“I would have stopped you,” Hickok informed him.
“Oh? How?”
Hickok pointed at the Abilene. “Draw and fire at the tree.”
“What?” Shane asked doubtfully.
“Draw as fast as you can,” Hickok instructed him, “and try to shoot before I stop you.”
“Nobody is that fast,” Shane stated. “You’ll never be able to stop me.”
“Draw.”
Shane instantly obeyed, his hand dipping and bringing the gun up as he had hundreds of times in practice. The revolver was almost level when something caused the gun to abruptly jerk downward.
Hickok’s right hand was on the Abilene, his palm pressing on the hammer, preventing Shane from firing.
Shane, astonished, gaped at the Warrior. “I can’t believe it! I thought I was fast on the draw.”
“You are,” Hickok verified, releasing the Abilene and resuming his course toward the Blocks and the SEAL.
“But you beat me!” Shane protested.
“You’re fast,” Hickok repeated, “but being fast isn’t enough.”
“What more is there?” Shane asked, sliding the Abilene into its holster on his right hip.
“Quick.”
“Quick? I don’t understand,” Shane frankly admitted.
“How can I explain it to you?” Hickok thought a moment. “Would you say a fly is fast?”
“A fly?”
“Yeah, pard, a fly. When it’s buzzing around your head and you’re trying to swat it, but you keep missing. Would you say that fly is fast?”
Hickok glanced at the youth.
“I guess so,” Shane said. “Flys can be hard to hit, hard to catch, sometimes.”
“So imagine this same fast fly makes the fatal mistake of flying too close to a bullfrog sitting on the bank of a pond,” Hickok elaborated. “The bullfrog snags the fly in its mouth and swallows it. What does that make the bullfrog?”
“Faster than the fly.” Shane beamed.
“No.”
“No?”
Hickok shook his head and stared at Shane. “It makes the bullfrog quick. The fly may be fast, but the bullfrog is quick, and quick will win out over fast almost every time. You think about it.”
“I will,” Shane pledged.
They walked in silence for several minutes. The line of cabins in the center of the Home, the cabins used by the married couples and their families, came into view.
“So will you sponsor me, or not?” Shane spoke up.
“Let’s say I’ll give it serious consideration,” Hickok replied.
Shane could barely contain his excitement. “You will? You really will?”
“A man should always keep his word,” Hickok said solemnly. “And I do my best to keep mine. I’ll think about sponsoring you on the way to the Twin Cities, and I’ll give you my answer after I get back.”
“Oh,” Shane responded, frowning.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s just…” Shane hesitated, reluctant to complete the sentence.
“Spit it out, hombre,” Hickok urged him.
“How do I know you’ll even make it back?” Shane blurted out. “Couldn’t you speak to the Elders before you leave?”
“Not enough time,” Hickok told him. “Don’t you worry. I’m coming back. There’s something I’ve got to tend to, and nothing is going to stop me.”
“What is it?” Shane innocently asked.
“It’s personal,” Hickok growled.
“Oh,” Shane said meekly, and then, to hastily change the subject, he added, “I was real sorry to hear about Joan.”
Hickok’s jaw muscles visibly tightened.
Shane, failing to notice Hickok’s reaction, continued. “She was a nice person. Did you know I knew her?”
“What?” Hickok stopped and grabbed Shane’s left wrist. “Are you making this up to impress me?”
“I wouldn’t do that!” Shane retorted, hurt. “I really knew her. You see, I wanted to meet you, but I was a bit too shy to just walk up to you and introduce myself. Everyone was saying that Joan and you were… very close, and…” Shane stopped and glanced at his left wrist. “Are you trying to break it?”
Hickok self-consciously removed his hand.
“Anyway,” Shane resumed, “like I was saying, I decided to ask Joan if she thought you would mind if I asked you a personal favor. She was so friendly and understanding…”
Hickok’s mouth was a tight, tense line.
“…and she told me to go ahead, march right up to you and tell you what was on my mind. She said you’d admire me for having the guts to do it.” Shane’s voice lowered, assuming a sad tone. “But before I could follow her advice, the Trolls attacked the Home. She was one of their prisoners. I couldn’t believe it when they said she was dead. I came to her funeral, but I don’t think you noticed. It’s taken me until now to muster up the courage to come see you.” Shane looked up and saw Hickok’s grim expression. “I’m sorry! Have I offended you?”
“No,” Hickok muttered.
“I shouldn’t of mentioned Joan,” Shane realized. “I’m sorry…”
“It’s not that,” Hickok assured him, heading for the SEAL.
“Then what…?” Shane asked, perplexed.
“It’s the Trolls,”
Hickok revealed.
“The Trolls? I don’t understand.”
Hickok sighed. “We killed a lot of the bastards…”
“I heard you killed forty or fifty all by yourself.” Shane interrupted.
“A slight exaggeration,” Hickok stated.
“I also heard some of them got away,” Shane commented.
“That’s true,” Hickok said, his voice barely audible, low and mean. “A couple of dozen, at least.”
“For what they did to Joan,” Shane remarked, “they don’t deserve to live.”
“They won’t,” Hickok vowed.
Shane thoughtfully studied the glowering gunman. What did Hickok mean by that last statement? Was he planning to retaliate against the Trolls still alive? How? No one knew where the Trolls had fled after the battle in Fox. Shane recalled Hickok saying he had “something I’ve got to tend to” after he returned from the Twin Cities. Was that it? Hickok was going after the Trolls!
“Listen, pard.” Hickok faced Shane, smiling now. “Look me up after I get back. If you convince me you’re worthy, I’ll sponsor you. Fair enough?”
Shane, torn between disappointment and budding optimism, nodded.
“I’ve got to get my gear,” Hickok announced, and walked off.
Shane watched the Warrior leave. Worthy? How in the world could he prove he was worthy? An idea suddenly occurred to him, and he was momentarily stunned by the brilliance of his inspiration. It was fantastic!
If Hickok needed proof he was worthy, he would provide the proof, he would have it waiting for the gunman when Hickok returned. Shane grinned. If his deduction was correct, and Hickok intended to go after the Trolls, the Warrior would need to know where the Trolls were based, where their new headquarters was located. And wouldn’t Hickok be impressed, Shane reasoned, if he had the information, and maybe a few bear-hide tunics too, when Hickok arrived after his trip to the Twin Cities!
Shane abruptly became aware of Hickok waving at him.
“Adios, pard!” Hickok yelled. “You keep practicing.”
“You keep your head down!” Shane replied.
“You’ll see me again,” Hickok promised. “Next stop, the Twin Cities!”
Chapter Six
It was the second day after their departure from the Home.
Blade was at the wheel, squinting from the glare of the afternoon sun, bright despite the tinted windshield. He kept the SEAL at a near steady rate of fifty miles an hour, carefully avoiding the many ruts and holes and cracks in the roadway. They were on Highway 59, cruising south. Fields and forest bordered the road.
“I’m glad we didn’t stop for lunch,” Hickok commented. “I can hardly wait to reach the Twin Cities.”
Hickok, Bertha, and Joshua were sitting in the back seat. Their jerky, water, provisions, and ammunition were piled in the rear of the SEAL.
Geronimo was sitting in the bucket seat across from Blade, studying their map.
“How much longer until we reach the Twin Cities?” Blade asked.
“Well, let’s see.” Geronimo ran his finger down the map, calculating their distance traveled and ascertaining the miles until the next town.
“We’ve already passed Plummer and Brooks and Winger. A place called Bejou should be just ahead about a mile or so.”
“I wonder if they will be as deserted as the others,” Joshua speculated.
“Kind of funny we haven’t seen any more Watchers,” Hickok noted.
“That’s not so unusual,” Bertha chipped in.
“How do you mean?” Hickok asked her.
“As far as we know, the Watchers only keep posts in the larger towns and cities. You won’t need to worry about runnin’ into them until the next big town.”
“The next town of any consequence,” Geronimo informed them, his eyes glued to the map, “is a place called Detroit Lakes. Had about seven thousand at the time the war broke out.”
“When will we reach it?” Blade wanted to know.
“Oh, it’s between forty and fifty miles from where we’re at right now,” Geronimo answered. “At the speed you’ve been driving, we should reach it in an hour or so.” He glanced at the watch on his left wrist, taken from a dead Watcher. “About three o’clock.”
“I hope we do run into some more Watchers when we reach Detroit Lakes,” Hickok said hopefully, adding in a low voice, “I have a score to settle and I aim to collect.”
“You won’t be collecting in Detroit Lakes,” Blade informed Hickok.
“How come?”
“Because we’ll be bypassing Detroit Lakes.”
“Are you running from a good scrap?” Hickok asked, a touch of annoyance in his tone.
“You know better.” Blade shook his head. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is. We simply can’t afford another delay, and another fight with the Watchers might wind up with some of us being seriously hurt, or worse. Is there one of you who doesn’t want to get back to the Home as quickly as we can?”
No one spoke.
“All right, then,” Blade continued. “We already bypassed Thief River Falls, and we’ll avoid any other potential Watcher outpost. The SEAL was constructed as an all-terrain vehicle, and it’s time we put it to the test.
We’ll head around those towns possibly inhabited by the Watchers. That way, we should reach the Twin Cities without being attacked.”
“Wait a minute, Big Guy,” Bertha interjected. “You mean to tell me we are gonna cut across the country?”
“We certainly are.”
“Lordy! I don’t like that idea too much,” Bertha protested. “We could run into the Uglies doin’ that! Or worse!”
“We’ll be protected inside the SEAL,” Blade said.
“You hope.”
“Don’t worry.”
“Who, me?”
“What about our meal this evening?” Geronimo questioned Blade. “Do you want me to bag some fresh meat?”
“No. We’ve got venison jerky and the canned food we took from the Watchers in Thief River Falls. When we run out of that, then you can hunt.
We’ll stop at night, for nature breaks, and that’s it.”
“You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?” Bertha tried to catch a glimpse of Blade’s face in the mirror.
“I do the best I can,” Blade replied.
“I think you’ll make a good Leader of your Family,” Bertha expressed her opinion.
“What?” Blade cast a sharp glance in her direction.
“Hey! Don’t get uptight. Big Guy. White Meat told me about you becoming the head of your Family some day.”
“White Meat has a big mouth.”
“What’s eating you?” Bertha inquired.
“Nothing,” Blade snapped. Plato’s predecessor as Family Leader was Blade’s father. Four years ago, after Blade’s father had been brutally torn apart by a mutate, Plato had assumed the awesome responsibility of heading the Family. It was customary for Leaders to select their preferred successor and Plato, to Blade’s extreme chagrin, had nominated him.
Blade vividly remembered the difficulties and hardships his father had faced, and he wasn’t certain he wanted the fate, the very lives, of over seventy people in his hands.
“Bejou ahead,” Geronimo stated, staring down the highway.
Bejou turned out to be another deserted, dilapidated town, devoid of all signs of life and habitation. So did Mahnomen, Ogema, Callaway, and Westbury.
“About ten minutes till Detroit Lakes,” Geronimo announced as they left Westbury behind.
“We’ll find a spot to leave the road soon,” Blade said.
Hickok, his head leaning against a window, was idly gazing up at the sky. He suddenly sat up. “What the blazes is that?”
“What’s what?” Blade caught Hickok’s reflection in the mirror.
“Stop the SEAL!” Hickok said urgently. “Get outside. Hurry!”
Without hestiation. Blade applied the brakes. He opened his door, prepared to jump out.<
br />
“Up in the sky,” Hickok stated. “Heading from north to south. Hurry!”
Blade ran around to the front of the SEAL, staring up at the blue sky.
Geronimo joined him.
“What did he…” Blade began.
“I see it!” Geronimo raised his right arm, pointing.
“See what?”
“It’s almost directly over us, bearing south. Do you see it yet?”
Blade did. A pinpoint of light streaking across the heavens on a southerly course.
“What is it?” Geronimo asked, fascinated.
“I don’t know,” Blade admitted.
“Do you hear something?” Geronimo cocked his head.
“No. Do you?”
“Yes. Can’t quite describe it. Like a very faint hissing or buzzing. Never heard anything like it.”
Blade and Geronimo stood rooted to the road, mesmerized as the dot of light continued to cross the sky.
“Then I wasn’t imagining things!” Joshua had walked around in front of the transport.
“How do you mean?” Blade asked, keeping his eyes on the bright marvel approaching the southern horizon.
“I’ve seen that thing several times before.”
“You have?” Blade glanced at Joshua. “When?”
“Oh, about three times in the past dozen years. Most of the time at night, when the light is much brighter. I prefer to worship at night, and I spend considerable time gazing at the stars, thanking and praising the Spirit.”
“Why haven’t you said something?”
Joshua shrugged. “What could I say? I did mention a sighting to Plato once, and he expressed his belief that I’d seen a meteor or one of the satellites placed in orbit about the planet before the Big Blast. Hardly a cause for concern.”
“Maybe.” Blade thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Let’s get back inside.”
“What was it?” Hickok asked as they climbed back in. “Could it have been an aircraft of some kind?”
“We don’t know,” Blade replied. “If anyone should see it again, let me know.”
“I’ve seen them before,” Bertha chipped in.
“Oh?” Blade turned and faced her.
“Sure. They pass over the Twins every now and then. Sometimes at night, sometimes in broad daylight.”
Twin Cities Run Page 5
