Twin Cities Run

by David Robbins

  “Who’s Maggot?”

  Rat snickered. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

  “Maggot’s our main man,” Bear replied.

  “Your boss?”

  “Yeah. He calls the shots.”

  Hickok had noticed a trend. “You’re called Bear,” he said to the black, “and ugly over there is called Rat, and now you tell me your leader is someone called Maggot. What’s with the names? Why are they all animal or insect names?”

  “Sharp one, ain’t you?” Bear complimented him. “The names are Maggot’s idea. He’s got this book all about wild creatures, and he gets a kick out of namin’ us according to the book. He says he tries to pick a name that fits the person.”

  “Rat sure fits him.” Hickok indicated Rat. “But I can’t imagine anyone wanting to call himself Maggot.”

  “You’ll understand, soon enough,” Bear said slowly. “What’s your name, anyhow?”

  “Hickok.” He extended his right hand.

  Bear stared at the hand for a few awkward seconds, evidently surprised it had been offered. Finally, he shook with a firm, strong grip.

  “Pleased to meet you, Bear,” Hickok said. “Any chance of me getting some food? I could eat a… bear.” He grinned.

  So did the black. “We’ll get you something.”

  “But Maggot said we was to take him as soon as he woke up,” whined Rat in protest.

  “Some food won’t hurt,” Bear stated harshly. “Go get some.”

  “Why me?”

  Bear pivoted, fixing his eyes on Rat. “Because I told you to, that’s why.”

  Rat reached for the door handle.

  “And keep your mouth shut,” Bear warned.

  Rat left.

  “I take it you guys are Porns?” Hickok said.

  Bear nodded. “You know an awful lot about the Twins. Where are you from, Hickok?”

  “Sorry, Bear, but I think I best keep that information to myself.”

  Bear shrugged. “Where’d you learn so much about the Twins, about the Horns and Porns and such?”

  “From a friend.”

  “This friend have a name?”

  “Guess it can’t hurt.” Hickok reflected a moment. “You might even know her. She mentioned she was once a Porn. Her name is Bertha.”

  Bear’s mouth dropped at the sound of her name. He crouched next to the cot, studying Hickok’s face. “Bertha?”

  “Yeah. You know her then?”

  Bear nodded. “We were friends,” he said ruefully, “before she went over to the Nomads.”

  “Why’d she switch?”

  Bear frowned. “Didn’t she tell you? She went over because of Maggot.”

  “Maggot?”

  “Yeah. He thinks he can have any woman he wants, any time he wants.

  He wanted Bertha, and she told him to go screw himself.”

  “Sounds like our girl.”

  “Yeah.” Bear smiled. “She’s a scrapper! But Maggot didn’t take to the idea of being told no. He had her tortured.”

  “Tortured? How?”

  Bear averted his eyes, the memory filling him with a sense of shame.

  “Maggot had her arms tied over her head, and she was dangled in the pit.

  He thought it would break her.”

  “What’s the pit?”

  Bear shuddered. “Maggot’s special place for those he don’t like. The pit connects to tunnels, and when someone is thrown in the pit, the rats pour out of the tunnels and eat the poor son of a bitch alive!” Bear paused, wiping his brow with his hand.

  “He did that to her?”

  Bear swallowed. “Yeah, but instead of throwin’ her in. Maggot put a beam across the top of the pit and hung her from it so she was just out of the rat’s reach. Some of the bigger rats, though, could get her legs if they jumped real hard. Maggot kept her there for three days, until she got away somehow. The next we heard, she’d joined the Nomads.”

  “How’d she get away?”

  “Don’t rightly know,” Bear responded. “Maggot thinks someone helped her escape.”

  “Who would do that?” Hickok asked, smiling.

  Bear didn’t notice the smile. “Beats me. If Maggot ever finds out who it is, they’re dead.”

  “Thanks for telling me,” Hickok said. “It sure explains a couple of things about Bertha.”

  “You say you’re friends?”

  “Yep.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I wish I knew.” Hickok said sadly. “The last I knew, she was with me, fighting the Wacks. I don’t know where she is now.”

  Bear glanced at the closed door, then at Hickok., “Listen, bro, and listen good! Your life ain’t worth dirt here. Maggot is goin’ to kill you. It’s only a matter of when. Don’t let him convince you otherwise. He will kill you!”

  “Real hospitable to strangers in these parts,” Hickok muttered. “Are all the Porns so ruthless?”

  “No. There’s a lot who don’t like the way things is done.”

  “Then why don’t they do something about it?” Hickok asked.

  “Lake what?”

  “Like kill Maggot and take over?”

  Bear’s eyes widened fearfully. “Shut your mouth, honky! You got to keep thoughts like that to yourself!”

  “Why don’t they?” Hickok insisted.

  Bear checked the door again. “Because Maggot’s men got all the guns, and no one is allowed to get close to Maggot with a weapon. Even if Maggot were killed, there’s no tellin’ who would take over the Porns. Might be someone worse.”

  Hickok was digesting that bit of information when the door opened and Rat entered, bearing a tray of food.

  Bear quickly stood.

  “I got the food,” Rat announced. “And I ran into someone at the food pots. He wanted to come back with me.”

  Hickok didn’t like the way Rat’s eyes were gleaming.

  “Who?” Bear asked.

  “Me,” said a growling voice, and another man filled the doorway, a huge, obese mass of a man, bald on top, wearing baggy pants and a shirt sewn together from numerous other garments. Sweat covered his face, beads of moisture dripping from his thick double chin. He was carrying the Henry, and the two Pythons were tucked into his waistband.

  Bear backed away several steps. “Maggot!”

  “You were expecting Reverend Paul?” Maggot rumbled.

  Rat laughed, reaching the cot and handing the tray to an aching Hickok. The meal consisted of soup and a glass of water.

  Maggot lumbered up to the cot. Behind him, four other men, armed to the teeth, came into the room.

  Maggot’s bodyguard, Hickok reflected. He took a sip of the tepid water, feigning indifference to

  Maggot’s presence.

  “You know who I am?” Maggot demanded.

  Hickok slowly looked up at the pumpkin head glaring down at him.

  “From here, you look like a giant mound of horse shit. Paler, of course.”

  Everyone in the room glanced at Maggot, their faces terrified.

  Maggot took the insult in stride. “You’re a real smart ass, aren’t you?”

  “Proper grammar for once,” Hickok cracked. “Hardly expected to find you were the literate type.”

  “My parents taught me to read and write,” Maggot said, smiling, “just before I strangled them to death.”

  Hickok grinned at Maggot’s feeble attempts at intimidation. “Too bad it wasn’t the other way around.” He picked up a spoon and tasted the watery soup. Yuck.

  “A real smart ass,” Maggot repeated. “I hear your name is Hickok.”

  Hickok glanced at Rat, who was grinning from ear to ear. “You got it correctly.”

  “Where you from?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Oh?” Maggot’s fingers tightened on the Henry. “What if I insist?”

  “You know what they say,” Hickok said, trying another swallow of soup.

  It was better than nothing.


  “No. What do they say?” Maggot asked, enjoying their game of cat and mouse.

  “Insisting is a lot like playing with yourself.”

  “How so?”

  Hickok grinned. “Neither do you any good unless you’re sure you can get satisfaction out of them.”

  Maggot chuckled, his rolls of fat bouncing. “You’ve got a keen sense of humor, Hickok.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But a deplorable grasp on reality.”

  “Oh?” Hickok gulped the soup directly from the bowl. It was amazing how docile starvation could render your taste buds!

  “Yes.” Maggot began to pace. “You see, I’m accustomed to getting what I want, when I want it. I can make your life very pleasant, or I can make it very painful. The choice is yours, based on your degree of cooperation with me.”

  Hickok finished the soup, deliberately smacking his lips, pretending to ignore Maggot. “Not too bad. What was in it?”

  “It was boiled rat,” Rat answered.

  Hickok felt his stomach jump and he nearly regurgitated his meal.

  “Do you still refuse to tell me where you are from?” Maggot asked insistently.

  “I sure do, pard. But…” Hickok lanquidly stretched. “I might answer your questions if you’ll answer some of mine.”

  “I’m a reasonable man,” Maggot announced. “What would you like to know?”

  “About the Porns. Who are they? Where did they come from?”

  “You’re not from the Twins,” Maggot stated, turning to the others.

  “Didn’t I tell you?”

  They all nodded.

  “As far as your questions go,” Maggot continued, “I can’t answer all of them. There aren’t many books left in the Twins. Most have been burned during the cold weather. From what my parents told me, and what I’ve learned on my own, the Porns began as a group of people who stayed behind in the Twins after the war. They took over the west part of the Twins for themselves, and they have been fighting the Horns ever since. That’s the way things were until about seven years ago, when that damned Zahner started the Nomads. They took part of the Horns’ turf away from them, set up their own territory, and vastly complicated our life.”

  Hickok was puzzled, still lacking the answers he needed to understand the situation in the Twins. “Why are the Porns and Horns always fighting each other?”

  “It’s always been that way.”

  “But why? You need to have a reason to fight.”

  “You do?” Maggot grinned. “We don’t. We love to kill the Horns! Those bastards look down their noses at us, like we’re the scum of the earth! Them and their lousy God.”

  “Their God?”

  Maggot raised the barrel of the Henry and smacked it into his right palm. “Enough from me,” he said impatiently. “Now’s time for you to come up with some answers.”

  Hickok nonchalantly placed his hand behind him and leaned back.

  “Okay. Shoot.” He wondered how Maggot would react to what was coming.

  “Where are you from?” Maggot asked.

  “Somewhere else,” Hickok casually replied.

  “I know that! Where?”

  “Deadwood.”

  “Deadwood?” Maggot repeated, frowning. “I never heard of it,” he added doubtfully.

  “You’ve never heard of Deadwood?” Hickok asked in fake astonishment.

  “No. Where is it?”

  Hickok tried to estimate the extent of Maggot’s familiarity with geography and history. If the books were destroyed, Maggot’s knowledge would be extremely limited. Maggot would have no way of knowing Wild Bill Hickok was shot and killed in Deadwood.

  “Deadwood is west of here a ways,” he answered.

  “Really?” Maggot was naively buying the scam. “Who runs this Deadwood?”

  “Two men.” Hickok suppressed a grin. “The Lone Ranger and his faithful companion, Tonto.”

  “And why are you here?”

  “We send people out from time to time,” Hickok explained. “Scouting, hunting, and the like.”

  “Are you guys Watchers?” Maggot probed.

  “Nope.”

  “Do you know where the Watchers are from?” Maggot interrogated.

  “Sure don’t,” Hickok replied. “They’re as much a mystery to us as they are to you.”

  Maggot paused, mulling the information.

  “Anything else you want to know?” Hickok asked helpfully.

  “Did you come here alone?”

  “Naw. My good pard came with me.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “You don’t know him. His name is Zane Grey.”

  Maggot’s lower lip twitched. “Zane Grey? You don’t say.”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Maggot stated slowly, “I have.”

  Hickok grinned. The fool! He was pretending to be knowledgeable to impress the others.

  “I certainly have,” Maggot hissed. Without warning, he bent and rammed the barrel of the Henry into Hickok’s stomach.

  Hickok doubled over, gasping for air, the soup gushing from his mouth and over the front of his buckskin shirt.

  Maggot grabbed Hickok by the collar and jerked him to his feet. “You had me going, Hickok. I was falling for your shit until you mentioned Zane Grey.

  You see, I told you that most of the books in the Twins have been used as fuel for our fires, but not all of them. I personally own a dozen. One of them is called The Day of the Beast, by a man named Zane Grey. Nice try, you son of a bitch!” He threw Hickok to the floor. “Take him to the pit!” he ordered. “We’ll fix his ass! Permanently!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  He stood framed in the tent opening, the sun revealing his brown hair and blue eyes, his white skin tanned brown, wearing black shorts and leather sandals, and carrying one of their three rifles. In this case, a Marlin 336C, a six-shot lever action. He could drop a deer at two hundred yards with one shot.

  “Hello, Bertha,” he greeted her. He paused to tie the tent flap up, then entered.

  Bertha tried to rise, but couldn’t. She was lying on a worn mattress and was covered with blankets. Her right side was bandaged.

  “Don’t try to get up,” he told her. “You’ve lost too much blood.”

  Bertha reached up and took his right hand in hers. “Z, it’s good to see you again!” She smiled, her affection genuine. “I missed you.”

  Zahner sat down on the ground next to the mattress. “That’s nice to hear. I missed you too. Listen, do you feel up to talking right now? I told them to get me as soon as you woke up.”

  “I can talk,” she said. “I’m hungry, though. Sure would like some food.”

  “It’s on its way,” he assured her. Zahner pointed at her right side.

  “Sorry about that. The boys just didn’t know if they could trust you or not.”

  Bertha frowned, glancing at the bandage. “I sure am gettin’ the shit thumped out of me lately.”

  “Really? Mind telling me about it?”

  “How long have I been out?” she asked.

  “About two days.”

  “No!” She attempted to rise again, getting no further than her elbows before collapsing. “Damn!”

  “What’s the rush to get back on your feet?” Zahner closely watched her features, searching for the slightest hint of deception and treachery.

  “I need to get back,” she said, fuming over her debilitated condition.

  “He needs me.”

  “Who needs you?”

  “Hickok. A friend of mine,” she said guardedly.

  Zahner stared into her eyes. “I thought we were your friends. Bertha.”

  “You are,” she declared. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve got.”

  “Then you’ve got to understand my position,” Zahner said. “A lot of people count on me to make the right decisions, and I can’t let them down.

  You know how it is, how it’s been. I got so sick and t
ired of all the fighting between the Horns and the Porns I couldn’t stand it anymore. You know I once was a Horn. You wouldn’t believe how regimented they’ve become, how they try to control every aspect of your life. So I thought I’d break away and form my own group. That’s how the Nomads were started. What amazed me was how many others wanted to join me once the word got out. Dozens and dozens from both sides. Any day now I half expect a Wack to waltz in and ask to join us.”

  Bertha grinned. She knew all this, so what was he driving at? It was difficult to concentrate on Zahner. Her mind was filled with fear for Hickok’s safety and dread that he was dead.

  “All these people relying on my judgment,” Zahner was saying, his voice low, troubled. “I can’t let them down. I thought forming my own group would solve all my problems, but it hasn’t. The fighting hasn’t stopped. It’s become worse. Now the Porns and the Horns raid us, and we raid them.

  We’re caught in the same stupid, vicious cycle they are.”

  Bertha, still worrying about Hickok, became aware Zahner had stopped. He was gazing at the ground, his eyes blank, dejected. “Hey, bro! Are you okay?” she asked him.

  Zahner shook himself and smiled. “It gets to me sometimes, Bertha. You know what I mean?”

  “I know where you’re comin’ from.”

  “So, anyway,” he resumed, clearing his throat, “I came to the conclusion the only way we could escape this mess was to get out of the Twins. I picked my most trusted, capable soldier and I sent her out, hoping she could find a way out of the Twins.”

  Bertha recalled her determined reluctance to return to the Twins and she avoided his gaze, feeling humiliated and a disgrace to those who had counted on her.

  Zahner noted her look. “It’s been weeks, Bertha. Where the hell have you been? I was positive you’d been killed because of my harebrained scheme. Do you have any idea how bad I’ve felt? How many times I reproached myself for being a jerk?” His voice rose in anger. “Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

  “I’m really sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean…” She stopped, faltering, overwhelmed by her betrayal. “I didn’t think of it that way.” She lowered her head, resisting an impulse to cry. Not her! No way!