When?
Who was he kidding?
If.
Hickok wondered where, exactly, he was being held. How far was it from the SEAL? What had happened to Bertha and the others? Were any of them still alive?
A high-pitched squeak came from below.
Hickok glanced down.
A rat was directly below him, staring up, its whiskers and nose twitching.
“Beat it, hair ball!” Hickok shouted.
The rat scurried into one of the tunnels.
Hickok smiled. Score one for the idiot! Thank the Spirit, he still had his guns! They’d dragged him to the pit, holding him under his armpits, his feet bumping down each and every step as they descended to the basement. Brother, did they smart! Fortunately, the Porns had missed his concealed guns. When they bound his wrists, one of the bodyguards had held him fast at the elbows and another had tied the rope at the edge of his wrists, at the point where they joined the hands. They’d walked him onto the beam and wrapped the other end of the rope around the wood, knotting it securely. Then, Maggot chuckling, they had shoved him from the beam. His shoulders had lanced with agony when he reached the end of the rope, causing him to grit his teeth to suppress a scream. He hadn’t been about to give them the satisfaction! Instead, he had smiled up at Maggot, and detected a dawning reflection of fear in Maggot’s eyes.
More squeals came from underneath his dangling feet.
Hickok looked down again.
Now there were two rats.
“Brought your wife, did you?” Hickok said to the rodents. “Why don’t you go home and get the kids? Make a family night out of it, for crying out loud.”
Two more rats emerged from one of the black holes.
Uh-oh!
Time for Mama Hickok’s little darling to get the hell out of here!
Hickok watched the gathering rodents. Now there were seven. His feet were about two feet above the floor of the pit, within their reach if they jumped high enough. He glanced up at the beam. There were two feet of rope between his hands and the bottom of the beam. Not much to work with, but it would have to do.
One of the rats, hungrier than the rest, leaped, smacking against his right foot and dropping to the ground.
“You can do better than that, gruesome,” he told the rodent.
The same rat tried again, missing.
Determined little fart!
Hickok concentrated, his muscles throbbing, and gripped the rope with his hands. Good. Step one completed.
A rat struck his left foot, clinging for an instant, then falling.
Hickok began moving his legs back and forth in an increasingly wider pendulum motion, his momentum building. He kept at it until his long legs were almost parallel with the beam. Perfect! Tightening his stomach muscles, he swept his legs as high as he could force them, wrapping his calves around the beam and in one fluid motion swinging up and onto the beam, desperately clamping his elbows and thighs against the wood, fearful for an instant he would lose his hold.
He didn’t!
Hickok smiled at his success. Step two completed. He was out of the pit and precariously poised on the wooden beam. So now what? He was still tied to the beam, bound at the wrists. How did he expect to get loose? He gazed down at the gathering rats, an idea occurring. Maybe he could chew through the rope and free his hands. He examined the rope, dismayed. It was at least a half-inch thick and constructed from a sturdy synthetic. Fat chance he could bite through it. Besides, he reflected, there was another reason he wasn’t about to touch his mouth to the rope. Rat’s… watering…
had covered his hands and the knot. He wasn’t about to let his lips come in contact with something Rat had pissed on.
So what to do?
First things first. If Maggot or one of the other Porns suddenly returned, he would be powerless to resist, too exposed on the beam. He needed an edge, but could he do it and still keep his balance? Only one way to find out.
Piece of cake, he told himself.
Slowly, exercising supreme care, Hickok drew his legs up closer to his body until his knees were touching his elbows. His legs now had a firm clasp on the beam, and he laboriously rose to a sitting position.
Hallelujah! He reached his hands down, raised the buckskin covering his left leg to just above his ankle, and unsnapped the catch on the small holster for the C.O.P. .357 Magnum. Grinning, he drew the gun and sat up again.
Now let the bastards come!
As if on cue, the door abruptly opened.
Hickok swiveled, leveling the C.O.P., his finger tightening on the trigger.
Bear, just inside the doorway, threw his hands in the air, holding the Winchester in his left fist.
“Hey!” Bear said hastily. “Don’t shoot, Hickok! I’m here to help you!”
“Close the door!” Hickok commanded harshly.
Bear complied.
“Lay that Winchester on the ground.”
“You got it!” Bear began to bend over.
“Slowly!”
Bear made a show of placing the rifle on the ground, his movements measured, conveying his lack of hostile intent.
“Now stand up and come over here,” Hickok directed, his gun steady in his grip.
Bear walked over to the edge of the pit, smiling.
“What’s so funny?” Hickok wanted to know.
“You, bro. You.” Bear laughed.
“How do you mean?”
“You sure are somethin’,” Bear stated in admiration. “Maggot made a big mistake when he didn’t kill you right off.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m tryin’ to tell you,” Bear said sincerely, looking Hickok in the eyes, “that I think you got a lot of guts. You’re one mean dude, Hickok.”
Hickok smiled. “I already know that.”
“Yes, sir.” Bear nodded his head. “Maybe Maggot’s finally met his match.”
“What are you doing here?” Hickok asked.
“I came to set you free,” Bear explained.
“Like you did Bertha?” Hickok casually remarked.
Bear’s mouth fell. “How’d you know that?”
“It wasn’t too hard to figure out,” Hickok replied. “The question is, why are you helping me?”
“Ain’t it plain?” Bear frowned. “I hate Maggot!” he snapped, venom in his words.
“I take it you’re not the only one?”
“Hell, no!” Bear gestured toward the building above them. “Nearly everybody hates him! He’s the meanest leader the Porns ever had! He’s pure scum!”
“If everyone hates him so much,” Hickok said, broaching a subject he’d mentioned before, “why doesn’t someone simply blow him away?”
“Don’t think some haven’t tried!” Bear glanced at the door. “It just ain’t that easy, is all. Like I told you before, Maggot never lets anyone get close to him with a weapon, ’less they is one of his inner circle, and only they get to pack the rods.”
“You’re one of his trusted lieutenants,” Hickok observed.
“I’m the token.”
“The what?”
“The token, man.”
Hickok went to ask a question, then thought of a higher priority. “You got a knife?”
“Right here.” Bear patted his left rear pocket.
“Cut me free,” Hickok ordered.
Bear hurriedly complied, clambering onto the beam to remove the rope from Hickok’s wrists.
When he was once again on terra firma, Hickok rubbed his aching wrists, thankful to be out of the pit. “Thanks,” he said simply.
“Don’t think nothin’ of it,” Bear responded. “You’d do the same for me.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Hickok grinned. “Do you expect the others back here soon?”
Bear shook his head. “Not for a while. Maggot’s eatin’, and he don’t let nothin’ disturb him when he’s feedin’ that fat face of his.”
“Good. So we got
some time on our hands. Tell me, what’s a token?”
“You puttin’ me on?” Bear eyed him quizzically.
“What’s a token?” Hickok repeated.
“I’ll try and explain,” Bear answered. “You see, there’s a lot of black Porns, almost as many as there are whites. Maggot ain’t too fond of black skin, but he don’t let it show or he’d have a revolt on his hands. So to keep all the other blacks happy, and make them believe he’s all right, he made me one of his bodyguards. I didn’t know the truth myself until after I got to know him.”
“He doesn’t like blacks.” Hickok considered this new information, pondering how he could use it to his advantage. “But you said Maggot wanted to… sleep… with Bertha.”
“Maggot will screw anything,” Bear informed him. “Anything.”
“How’d Maggot get to be top dog here?”
“He did the same as all the other heads have done,” Bear replied.
“What’s that?”
“He killed the one who was the leader before him.”
“Oh? Democratic group, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Nothing. What happens if Maggot is killed?”
Bear’s face lit up. “How do you mean?”
“Who assumes command if Maggot is killed?”
“Whoever kills him,” Bear answered.
“What if an outsider did it?”
“You don’t understand the Porns,” Bear said wearily. “Most of us are tired of bein’ bossed around, told what to do and when to do it. We’re tired of fightin’ the Horns and the Nomads, and scrapin’ to just stay alive.”
“Why don’t they change the way things are?”
“They’re just too scared,” Bear said, eyeing Hickok hopefully, “and they haven’t got someone to show them any different.”
Hickok walked to the Winchester and picked it up.
“You got a plan?” Bear asked.
“Yep.”
“Mind fillin’ me in on it?”
Hickok stared at the door. There wouldn’t be any other cover when they came. The basement room was empty, devoid of furniture, and lacked a floor. He had the impression the room had been under construction at the time of the Big Blast. Why else would they have left a room with a dirt foundation?
“Bear.” Hickok faced him. “When Maggot comes, how many you figure he’ll bring with him?”
“No telling,” Bear admitted. “At least his four bodyguards. He’s got more guards, but the four you saw are his special ones. Maggot don’t go nowhere without them. A couple more might tag along, like Rat.”
“I hope Rat comes,” Hickok stated in a quiet, hard tone.
“But if he decides to show you off,” Bear added, “he might bring a whole bunch with him.”
“That would be too bad.” Hickok approached the door, noting it swung inward to admit entry. Good. “Can I rely on you?” he glanced at Bear.
“Me?”
“You going to help me fight?”
“I don’t know…” Bear said hesitantly.
“You said you hated Maggot,” Hickok reminded him.
“I do.”
“And remember what he did to Bertha.”
“I ain’t forgettin’,” Bear said.
“So what’s wrong?” Hickok demanded. “You don’t strike me as the yellow type.”
“I ain’t a wimp, if that’s what you mean,” Bear said testily.
“So I can count on you?”
“I don’t know, Hickok. I ain’t too fond of committing suicide.”
“Suicide?”
Bear fidgeted, nervously toying with his pants, pulling at the fabric and running his hands up and down.
“Can I count on you or not?” Hickok pressed him.
“You just don’t know what he’s like,” Bear replied. “If we miss, he’ll torture us for sure. You should have seen some of the things he’s done!
Once, a guy tried to waste Maggot and was caught tryin’. Maggot hacked off the guy’s balls and force-fed them to the poor son of a bitch! The way that man screamed! It was terrible!” Bear shuddered with the recollection.
“It’s okay” Hickok told him. “If you don’t want to help, you don’t have to.”
“I mean,” Bear said, to himself more than Hickok, “helpin” you get away is one thing. Goin’ up against Maggot is another.”
“I understand,” Hickok assured him.
“You say you got a plan?” Bear asked optimistically.
“Sure do.”
“What the hell is it?”
Hickok grinned. “I’m going to wait here until Maggot and his cronies return, and then I’m going to kill them.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.”
Bear chuckled. “And what if they kill you?”
“Then bury me on boot hill, pard.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Hickok tossed the Winchester to Bear. “Stay or go. It’s your decision.”
“You’re crazy, sucker! You know that?”
Hickok nodded. “I’ve been told that once or twice.”
Bear took a deep breath. “So what do you want me to do?”
Chapter Eighteen
He was reclining on a comfortably made bed in a spacious room illuminated by sunlight streaming in through four windows, one in the center of each wall. Colorful blue draperies hung on the windows. A worn blue rug covered the wooden floor. Beside the bed stood an oak table, the leftovers from his last meal on top.
Joshua sighed, at ease. His head had been meticulously tended to and bandaged, and they had changed his clothes, providing some of the typical garments they wore, a black shirt and pants.
The door opened and in walked a short, bearded man with gray hair, narrow features, and a pronounced limp.
“How are you feeling, Brother Joshua?” asked the newcomer.
“Just fine,” Joshua confided. “I can’t thank you enough, Reverend Paul, for all you have done for me.”
“Please, just call me Paul.” The Reverend, likewise attired in black, sat on the foot of the bed.
“I can’t thank you enough,” Joshua reiterated. “I never expected to find such kindness in the Twin Cities after my initial experiences.”
“Don’t thank us.” Paul held up a gold necklace, consisting of Joshua’s cross and chain. “Thank this. If my alert brethren hadn’t found this when they were searching you, they would have left you there for the animals to devour.”
“A cross made that much difference?”
“A cross makes all the difference!” Paul stated emphatically. “Our Master went to his reward from a cross.” He stared at the Latin cross on the chain. “The heathen would never wear a symbol like this! They have entered sinful ways! They are evil.”
“By the heathen,” Joshua said, “I take it you mean the Porns you told me a bit about?”
“Of course!” Paul’s vibrant voice rose. “Who else? But then,” he quickly added apologetically, “I must remember you are not from the Twins.
Astonishing!”
“No, I’m not from the Twins,” Joshua said softly, “and I’d like to know more about them. I’ve answered all your questions concerning how I came here and where I came from…”
“Incredible!” Paul interrupted. “Praise the Lord! He has sent you to us.
Brother Joshua. We would never have expected that there is another group who believes as we do.”
“We believe in the Supreme,” Joshua said, selecting his words with the utmost discretion, “and we are taught that all men and women are brothers and sisters.”
“Praise the Lord!” Paul exclaimed happily.
“And I’ve already told you about the Family and the Home,” Joshua continued. “Now, I would be pleased if you would consent to answering some questions I have about the Twin Cities.”
“I would be glad to do so,” Paul said heartily.
“Can you tell me how the current situation came a
bout?” Joshua inquired. “Do you have any idea of the history of the Twin Cities since the war?”
“I know it all,” Paul said proudly.
“You do?”
“Of course.” Paul gazed at the white ceiling, sorting his facts. “Each leader of the First Church has kept a journal of events, beginning with Reverend Jack Wilcox, our illustrious organizer, the man who established the First Church of the Nazarene.”
They had touched briefly on this subject the night before. “He was the one who refused to evacuate when the Government gave the order to leave the Twin Cities?” Joshua asked.
“Exactly. Reverend Wilcox was a true fundamentalist, and he was a great man, with profound faith in the Word. He knew his flock had nothing to worry about, and he called on them to stay here with him, to show the sinful world that there were Christians willing to commit themselves, totally, to their Lord, and to rely on Him to preserve them in times of crisis. Bless them! Most of them saw the light and stayed! Two hundred and ninety-four souls stood firm and stayed in the church, praying to their Maker, while panic filled the streets and the populace fled.
And here we have stayed, ever since, never leaving St. Paul. We have withstood the onslaughts of the degenerates and the wicked! We have stayed true to the Word!”
“How many of you are there now?” Joshua asked Paul.
“Let’s see.” Paul calculated a moment. “I would say upwards of four hundred.”
“You have prospered over the years, I take it?”
“Of course! The Lord looks after His own.”
“How many of the other groups are there? The Porns and the Nomads and the Wacks?”
“I can’t answer with complete certainty,” Paul said. “But I would estimate there are close to six hundred Porns, damn their souls! They’re filthy creatures, little better than an animal in their moral and spirutal status.”
Joshua noted that comment for subsequent deliberation. “What about the Nomads and the Wacks?”
“The Nomads were only formed seven years ago,” Paul stated sadly, his face downcast, “by one of our own brethren. Zahner is his name. He and I were close. I can’t understand why he did what he did.”
“How many follow Zahner?”
“Surprisingly, our estimates place the Nomad population at two hundred or so.”
Twin Cities Run Page 13
