Twin Cities Run

by David Robbins

  “Z told me. He’s Nomad Leader, remember?”

  “What?”

  “Zahner. His parents taught him some readin’ and writin’ before they died. There’s still a heap of signs up, tellin’ us what everything was before the war. He’s been tryin’ to teach me, but I’m a slow learner.”

  “Don’t worry none, babe,” Hickok assured her. “When we get back to the Home, I’ll teach you myself.”

  “You will?” she brightened. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

  “Just don’t ask him for driving lessons,” Geronimo advised her.

  “So what’s closest?” Blade interrupted their banter, probing Bertha.

  “Where do we go from here?”

  “We keep goin’ on 47,” she told him. “It becomes University Avenue. About three miles from where we’re standin’ is the University of Minnesota itself. It might be your best bet. There’s a lot of big buildings used by smart types before the war. Oh.” she added as an afterthought, “there’s also three hospitals real close to one another.”

  “Three?”

  “Yeah.” She counted them off. “There’s the University Hospital at the University, and a mile from that is one called Shriner’s Hospital, and a ways east is one called Midway Hospital.”

  “Piece of cake,” Hickok said.

  “Maybe not.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause all of this stuff is right in the middle of no-man’s-land,” she said, her voice on edge. “Not many people go there in the day, and no one’s been stupid enough to go at night.”

  “Until now,” Hickok corrected.

  “Yeah. Just my dumb luck to be along when it’s done.”

  Hickok laughed.

  “Okay.” Blade had decided. “We’ll stay with this road all the way to the University of Minnesota. We’ll run a mile, rest a bit, then run about another mile. I want us in top form when we get there.”

  “If we’re not in top form now,” Hickok joked, “we will be by the time we get there.”

  They ran in determined silence, eating up the distance. The buildings closed in on the highway the further they went. Taller structures, former businesses and offices and apartments, replaced individual houses with increasing frequency.

  Blade found his mind straying. What would they do if they couldn’t locate the supplies and equipment Plato required? What if their entire trip here was wasted? Their lives endangered, their futures in jeopardy, for what? He grinned. At the very least the Family had a new member and Hickok a new… friend. He knew Bertha liked Hickok, and he suspected the gunman reciprocated, but Bertha had intimated Hickok was holding back.

  Why?

  A clanging sound momentarily split the shadows off to their right.

  Blade whistled and dropped flat, braced. Hickok and Geronimo did likewise, Hickok pulling Bertha down, Geronimo grabbing Joshua.

  The clanging stopped.

  “Oh, Lordy!” Bertha whispered, terrified.

  “What’s the matter?” Hickok asked her. He could feel her shaking.

  “The Wacks.”

  “The crazy ones you were telling us about?”

  “None other. We’re in for it, for sure!”

  “We can handle them,” Hickok promised her.

  Bertha gently touched Hickok’s right cheek. “If we don’t get the chance to know one another more,” she said softly, “I want you to remember I liked you a lot.”

  “What’s with the past tense? We’re still alive, and where there’s life, there’s hope.”

  “That’s beautiful.” Bertha smiled at him. “You got brains to go with your looks.”

  “I read it somewhere,” Hickok said, embarrassed, “and I wish you’d stop complimenting me in public.”

  “I don’t care who knows how I feel.”

  “Let’s go,” Blade ordered, moving out.

  “Thank the Spirit!” Hickok muttered, following.

  It took them thirty minutes to reach the junction of University and 10th.

  “That’s the place.” Bertha pointed when they stopped in the intersection. “The things you want might be in there.”

  The college campus was a jumble of black buildings, stands of trees, and high weeds.

  “Look at this,” Joshua remarked. He walked to their left.

  A rusted automobile stood at the side of the road. The windows were gone, the tires flat and frayed almost to nothing.

  “There’s a lot of them scattered around,” Bertha explained.

  “To be expected,” Blade commented. He faced the University. Where should they begin? He didn’t relish the idea of them gropping around in the dark, and lighting torches would attract any undesirables in their vicinity. Maybe he’d made another mistake. Maybe they should have used the SEAL. Maybe they should have waited until morning. It wasn’t too late to turn around, to go back to the transport and wait for daylight.

  Or was it?

  The metallic clanging sounded from the direction of the darkened buildings in front of them.

  “It’s the Wacks!” Bertha whispered, horrified. “I told you!”

  “You sure?” Hickok asked her.

  “It’s the way they signal each other.” Bertha nervously hefted the Springfield. “We’re dead!”

  Geronimo squatted on his haunches, peering into the night. The shadows appeared to be moving. “They’re closing in,” he warned the rest.

  “A lot of them.” He glanced up at Blade.

  Blade made up his mind. “Back to the SEAL,” he directed them. “If we’re separated, whatever else happens, get back to the SEAL.”

  “I don’t know if I could find it,” Joshua candidly admitted.

  Suddenly, from not far away, a booming male voice called out a single word. “MUH-EET!”

  “What the blazes was that?” Hickok whirled, his Henry ready.

  “MUH-EET!” came from the darkness.

  “Sounds like someone saying the word ‘meat,’” Joshua declared.

  “MUH-EET!”

  They could hear feet, many feet, shuffling in the night.

  Blade stepped closer to Bertha. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

  “For what?”

  “You were right. We never should have come in here in the dark. I should have listened to you.”

  “Apology accepted.” She grinned. “I guess I ain’t so dumb, after all.”

  “No one ever said you were.”

  “MUH-EET!”

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Hickok suggested.

  Blade gazed at each of them. “It’s imperative you get back to the SEAL. Let’s go.”

  They ran, staying on University Avenue. From near and far came the distinct sounds of pursuit, as if invisible phantoms were all around them, circling them, waiting for the signal to pounce.

  “This gives me the creeps,” Hickok said. “I wish they’d do something!”

  They did.

  An overgrown hedgerow materialized, bordering University Avenue to their left. To their right, like a concrete and metal juggernaut, rose a five-story office building. Scraggly shrubbery lined the lawn between the road and the structure.

  “Good spot for an ambush,” Geronimo noted.

  The Wacks swarmed on them out of the night, shrieking and hollering and babbling. Some carried bladed implements, others wielded clubs and boards, still others held large stones or bricks.

  “MUH-EET!” thundered the incessant voice.

  The first Wack, a grim, shapeless apparition in the black of night, reached the edge of University Avenue.

  “Take this, sucker!” Bertha yelled a challenge, sighted, and fired. The crack of her Springfield was the catalyst, causing pandemonium to erupt.

  The first Wack jerked backwards and tumbled to the ground. The remainder of the crazies screamed bloody murder.

  The road in front abruptly became packed with indistinct forms.

  Blade, in the lead, dropped to one knee, sweeping the Commando in an arc, the stacca
to burst clearing a path for them to proceed.

  A brick struck Geronimo on the left shoulder. He spun, catching sight of a figure behind one of the bushes, and he let loose with the Browning.

  The Wack slammed into the earth.

  “They’re all over the place!” Hickok shouted. Stones and other hard objects were striking all over the road as the Wacks pelted them with everything they could lay their hands on. A pale face flashed at the top of the hedgerow, and Hickok snapped off a shot, the blast of the Henry followed by a piercing wail.

  “Gotya’!”

  “There’s more here,” Joshua said, as another group closed in on them from the rear. Instinctively, Joshua pumped the Smith and Wesson four times. The shadows screeched and dropped. Joshua looked down at his shotgun. Dear Father in heaven! What had he done? Killed again? He hesitated, not noticing he was falling behind the others, unaware of his danger until a sturdy hand gripped his shoulder and forcefully spun him around.

  A Wack, a blurry image of torn clothes and thin arms, raised a butcher knife above his head.

  Joshua pulled the trigger.

  The blast from the shotgun caught the Wack in the face, blowing it apart.

  The others were fifteen yards ahead, grimly engaged in life-or-death combat, firing as fast as a target presented itself. They weren’t aware that Joshua had dropped behind.

  “Wait for me!” Joshua tried to make himself heard over the din. “Wait for me!”

  A heavy chunk of concrete, hurtling out of the night, connected with the back of Joshua’s head. Blood spurted as he sagged and dropped to his knees. A Wack ran up, raising a two-by-four.

  Geronimo, concentrating on their right flank, thought he heard Joshua’s voice. He whirled, catching a glimpse of a Wack about to bash in Joshua’s head. The Browning blasted, catching the crazy in the chest, the force of impact propelling him backwards onto the road.

  “Joshua!” Geronimo ran to Joshua’s side and grabbed his right arm before he could fall to the pavement. “Get up! You have to get up!”

  Geronimo tugged, trying to raise Joshua to his feet, to get them moving.

  A stone hit Geronimo’s chin, stinging him, splitting the skin.

  Joshua groaned.

  “Get up!”

  Their attackers, sensing a weak link in their defense, bore down on Geronimo and Joshua, wary now, hesitant to face the guns with over fifteen casualties already tallied in the first ninety seconds of the battle.

  One of the Wacks approached and tossed a brick. The brick missed.

  Geronimo’s shot didn’t.

  Twenty-five yards ahead, Blade noticed some of the Wacks were dropping off. Why? he asked himself. He glanced around, freezing when he realized Geronimo and Joshua weren’t with them any longer. Where?

  Where? He saw a commotion a ways behind, and caught the flash of the Browning as Geronimo fired again.

  “Damn!”

  Blade dodged a jagged piece of glass and reached Hickok’s side. “You’ve got to get back to the SEAL! Don’t wait for us!” With that, he ran back towards Geronimo and Joshua.

  “What? What’d you say?” Hickok had missed Blade’s words. He stopped, watching Blade run off. Where the blazes was he… Where were Joshua and Geronimo?

  “Lookout!”

  Bertha stepped between Hickok and a charging Wack. She aimed for the head, feeling the recoil of the Springfield against her right shoulder at the same instant the crazy fell.

  “Where are the others?” Hickok yelled.

  Bertha suddenly realized they were alone. “Lordy! Let’s get out of here!”

  “We can’t leave the others!” Hickok protested. He began to run back, managing only a few steps before they were cut off from their friends by a howling mob of zanies going after Blade.

  “This way!” Bertha took hold of his sleeve. “The way in front is clear!”

  Hickok fired four times at the group after Blade, downing four.

  “Come on, White Meat! We got to get out of here!”

  A tall crazy broke from the hedgerow, swinging a club. He lunged, bringing the club down, trying for Hickok’s head, but missing and striking the barrel of the Henry instead. The rifle clattered to the road and rolled out of sight.

  Hickok ducked a second blow, drawing his right Python, putting the Wack away with a head shot.

  Bertha tugged on Hickok’s arm. There was a momentary lull around them, the crazies devoting their attention to Blade and the others. “We got to get out of here!”

  “Not on your life! I won’t leave my friends!”

  The Commando and the Browning were still firing.

  “You can’t do them any good if you’re dead! If we get out, we can come back and rescue ‘em!”

  Dozens of Wacks had surrounded Blade, Geronimo, and Joshua.

  “I’m not leaving them!” Hickok declared stubbornly. He glanced around, searching for his Henry. “Where the blazes is my gun?” He bent over, trying to distinguish features in the dark, elated when he spotted the stock protruding from under a bush at the side of the road. “There it is!”

  “Look out!”

  This time Bertha’s warning was too late. A short Wack jumping up from behind the bush, cackling insanely, holding a hammer. Quick as his reflexes were, Hickok managed one shot as the hammer smacked into his skull. Both men sprawled to the ground.

  “Lordy, no!” Bertha crouched alongside Hickok, waiting for another attack. None came. She shook Hickok, trying to arouse him without success. Pressing her ear to his lips, she held her own breath and listened.

  He was breathing, barely.

  The Python was on the pavement by his right hand.

  Bertha replaced the Colt in its holster, tucked the Springfield under her left arm, and grabbed Hickok under her arms. She strained and pulled, dragging him behind the bush, hiding him.

  The others were still fighting.

  Bertha placed a protective hand on Hickok’s head, flinching when a moist substance covered her hand. White Meat was hurt, and hurt bad.

  She couldn’t leave him to help the rest, not now, not when he might die if she left. Cradling the Springfield in her arms, she leaned on Hickok’s chest and probed the night, sweating it out, dreading the Wacks would find them.

  No, sir.

  The other three would have to fend for themselves.

  If they could.

  Chapter Eight

  Miles away, in opposite directions, three factions heard the shots and marveled. There were few guns in the Twin Cities, and ammunition was scarce. No one would use ammo as indiscriminately as it was being used in the battle they were hearing.

  In camp one, a handsome, muscular man with brown hair and blue eyes turned to one of his men. “I want six men ready to go as soon as possible. This bears investigating.”

  “Right away, Z.”

  In camp two, an obese, bald blob of a man slapped a confederate on the cheek. “Send some patrols out. Find out what the hell is going on!”

  “You got it, Maggot!”

  In camp three, the farthest away, a short, gray-haired man with penetrating green eyes, mused aloud. “Earlier we heard that one brief burst of gunfire, and now it sounds as if a veritable war is being waged.

  Ordinarily, we should refrain from entering that hell hole at night, but this case is an exception. Our curiosity must be satisfied. Send out a patrol.

  Instruct them to ascertain the source of firing.”

  “At once, brother,” responded the second in command. “Your will be done.”

  Chapter Nine

  He found her leaning against a tree, gazing sadly up at the heavens. The light from his torch revealed the frown on her face.

  “I enjoy watching the stars too,” he said, announcing his presence.

  “Communing outdoors accentuates the experience.”

  She started, apparently unaware of his arrival until he spoke. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was preoccupied. I didn’t hear you come up. What did yo
u say?”

  “It’s not important.” He sighed, his frail shoulders sagging. “You miss him terribly, don’t you. Jenny?”

  “Of course. Don’t you, Plato? You two are very close.”

  “He’s like the son I never fathered,” Plato admitted. “I wish I had never sent the Alpha Triad out.”

  Jenny put her arm around him. “Don’t fret. Your regret is uncalled for.

  You had to do what’s best for the entire Family.”

  “That’s what I constantly tell myself,” Plato said.

  “Small consolation if anything should happen to any of them.”

  “The Spirit will guide them,” Jenny assured him, trying to assuage his emotional misery.

  “I know.”

  “And the Alpha Triad is comprised of the best Warriors in the Family.

  You’ve told me so yourself. Blade, Hickok, and Geronimo can take care of themselves in a pinch. You don’t need to worry about them.”

  Plato nodded. No matter how many times someone tried to comfort him, he couldn’t shake a nagging feeling of foreboding. Was it for the Alpha Triad or the Family? he wondered. He silently prayed Blade would return soon. His informant had told him the power-monger, the Family malcontent, was becoming more vocal in his expressions of dissatisfaction with the Family system. He desperately needed Blade. If words failed to rectify the situation and appease the errant rebel, Blade might well be the one man who could successfully prevent a bloody revolution.

  “Are you okay?” Jenny asked him. “You look tired, too tired.”

  “I’m fine,” Plato lied. “I’ve never felt better.”

  “I wonder what Blade’s doing right now?” Jenny’s concern surfaced again.

  “I’m certain he’s having a good night’s rest,” Plato told her. “Exactly as you should be doing. It’s getting a bit chilly. Permit me to walk you back.”

  “All right,” Jenny reluctantly agreed. “I suppose I could use some sleep.”

  “I bet Blade’s dreaming about you right this minute.” Plato smiled reassuringly.

  “I bet you’re right.”

  Chapter Ten