Anaheim Run

by David Robbins

  If there was only one, he stood a chance of escaping with Tess. But there were few solitary Raiders abroad in the countryside. Most of the slime traveled in gangs, and usually they roamed the less-inhabited areas and retreated into the mountains if Free State soliders went after them.

  The ground floor was plunged in inky blackness.

  Grandpa stopped at the foot of the stairs, surveying the front door and the porch beyond. The door was suspended to the right of the doorway, and two strides past the door was the collapsed section of the porch.

  “We’re going out. Are you ready?” he whispered.

  “I’m ready,” Tess responded gamely.

  “Good girl. Stay with me,” Granda advised. He released her right wrist and crouched, then darted to the left side of the doorway.

  Tess was right behind him.

  Grandpa leaned against the jamb and peered outside, the cool air tingling his skin. He found himself wondering about the weapon used on poor Johnny. What could kill so silently? He had not heard a gunshot, not even the muffled retort of a firearm firing from a distance. And the weapon couldn’t have been a bow, because there had been no arrow.

  “Grandpa?” Tess whispered.

  “What?” He looked at her.

  “Why don’t we stay in here until morning?” Tess inquired, her tone strained.

  “Because if there’s more than one out there,” Grandpa said, “and if they decide to come in after us, we’ll be trapped like sitting ducks.”

  “I wish I’d never bugged you about taking a shortcut,” Tess remarked.

  “Forget about that.”

  “Johnny would be alive right now if it wasn’t for me!” Tess lamented.

  “Tess, you’ve got to put Johnny from your mind for the time being,” Grandpa instructed. “You need to concentrate on what we’re doing. We have to make it into the trees on the far side of the road. We’ll find a place to hide until daylight.”

  “I’ll be okay,” Tess said unconvincingly.

  “And if something happens to me,” Grandpa stated, “get to Los Angeles and find my sister. Betty will take you in.”

  “We never should have left the farm,” Tess mentioned.

  “Concentrate,” Grandpa said. He slowly eased around the jamb to the porch, the Astra cocked in his right hand. The yard was a jumble of shadowy vegetation. He led Tess to the left, past the hole in the porch.

  They slid over the edge into a patch of waist-high weeds, ducking below the tops of the plants. Stooped over, they started toward the road.

  Tess followed in her grandfather’s footsteps, prudently endeavoring to tread as lightly as possible. She cast apprehensive glances at the murky woods, deathly afraid they were being watched by hostile eyes.

  An owl hooted off to the north.

  Another owl answered to the west.

  Tess nearly collided with her grandfather when he abruptly halted. She saw him stare to the north, then the west, and suddenly he was sprinting to the east, toward the road. Tess took off after him, startled by his unexpected haste, dreading he had seen something behind her.

  Grandpa reached the road and paused, looking over his left shoulder to verify Tess was still with him.

  There was a pronounced swishing noise and a sharp thump, and Tess saw her grandfather hurled from his feet, his head jerking back, and her face was splattered with a spray of liquid. He was slammed onto his back by an invisible force. Heedless of her safety, Tess was next to him in one bound, kneeling alongside him and clutching his right shoulder.

  “Grandpa?” She leaned closer, and that was when she spied the fleshy hollow where once his right cheek and eye had been.

  A third owl was hooting, this one to the south.

  Tess, petrified, bolted, fleeing mindlessly to the east, into the forest on the far side of the road, exactly as her grandfather had directed. Branches tore at her clothing, impeding her progress, lashing her skin. She sobbed hysterically, unable to control her seething emotions.

  A bulky shape rose in her path.

  Tess shrieked in terror. A hard object clubbed her on the left side of her head, and she collapsed onto the dank earth, overcome by dizziness. She struggled to stand, but couldn’t.

  “What do we do with her, mate?” a gruff voice asked.

  “Can we have some fun and games?” inquired someone else in a falsetto tone.

  Tess became aware of figures looming above her. She raised her head, counting four of them.

  “No fun and games,” stated the tallest of the figures.

  “Why not?” responded the man with the unnaturally high-pitched voice. “What can it hurt?”

  “Yeah, guv! I could fancy a bit of the fluff,” commented the one with the gruff manner.

  “Are you disputing my leadership?” demanded the tallest figure.

  The other two men simultaneously answered with a prompt, “No!”

  Tess rose to her elbows. She sensed the two men were wary of provoking the tall figure.

  “No distractions until the job is done,” the tall one said imperiously.

  “You knew my requirements before you signed up.”

  “I was just, you know, wondering,” the man with the high voice mentioned obsequiously.

  “You can stop wondering,” the tall one said.

  Tess was perplexed by their apparent lack of interest in her. Not one of them had acknowledged her presence.

  “Nightshade,” the tall one commanded.

  Tess saw the fourth figure, the silent one, lift his arms and point something at her. She realized she was about to suffer the same fate as her brother and grandfather, and she opened her mouth to scream, to vent her shock and dismay.

  The cool air was rent by a loud, inarticulate screech, a cry abruptly curtailed, fading to an odd gurgling whine and expiring as a gagging cough.

  Unperturbed, the forest resumed its nocturnal pattern.

  Prologue 2

  “Do you think I’ve done the right thing?”

  “I’m not paid to think, sir. Just to follow your orders.”

  The first speaker gazed out the window of his office in the Capitol Building at the twinkling lights of Denver, his blue eyes narrowed in thought. He ran his right hand through his clipped black hair and sighed.

  “Innocent lives could be lost if I’ve made a mistake.”

  “No one ever said being President of the Civilized Zone would be easy,” commented the second occupant of the room, a man with rugged features, attired in a military uniform. His dark hair was cut short in the typical Army fashion. He studied the outline of his superior, noticing a slump to the shoulders covered by the blue suit, his brown eyes reflecting his concern.

  “You’re the commander of our armed forces, General Reese,” the man at the window said. “And you’re my most trusted confidant. I need your assessment of the situation.”

  General Reese shifted in his chair. He was seated in front of the President’s desk, a manila file in his lap. “I don’t see where my input can help any, President Toland.”

  President Toland, his hands clasped behind his back, glanced over his right shoulder. The window was situated to the rear of his oaken desk, and his standing position afforded him a clear view of General Reese’s worried countenance. “Humor me, Barney,” he said, grinning.

  General Reese tapped on the manila file. “Okay. I think you’re doing the right thing.”

  President Toland chuckled. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easy.

  Go over it again.”

  “We’ve been over it a dozen times already,” General Reese noted.

  “Then once more won’t hurt, will it?” President Toland responded. He stared out the window at the panoramic view of Denver and the snow-capped peaks of the Rocky Mountains dimly visible on the western horizon despite the absence of the moon.

  “No, sir,” General Reese said.

  “Then proceed,” President Toland directed.

  “We know we have a spy in our midst,
” General Reese began. “We know because the Family alerted us after they interrogated a captured Russian.

  What we don’t know is the identity of the spy, but we suspect it is someone in a prominent position in our government. It could be one of your advisors.”

  President Toland sighed wearily. “One of my closest friends could be a traitor.”

  “We don’t know that, sir,” General Reese remarked.

  “What?”

  “We don’t know if this spy is a traitor,” General Reese elaborated. “By that, I mean we don’t know if it’s someone born in the Civilized Zone or someone the Soviets planted here.”

  “There’s small consolation for me if it’s a plant,” President Toland said.

  “It’s still someone I’ve placed my trust in, someone I’ve appointed to a high post. The blame is mine.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” General Reese advised. “Who could have anticipated the Russians using a spy?”

  “We should have anticipated such an eventuality,” President Toland replied. “We know the Soviets occupied a section of the eastern United States during World War Three, a corridor running from the Mississippi to the Atlantic Ocean, sort of a belt separating the Deep South from New York and the New England states. And we know the Russians want to dominate the entire country, or what’s left of it. They’ll stop at nothing to achieve their goals. So we should have expected dirty tricks on their part.”

  He paused, looking at the far-off mountains. “And the Soviets aren’t the only enemies we have. There are the Technics in Chicago, and Androxia in south Texas. Both of these city-states are actively attempting to extend their domination, to conquer the continent, if not the world, according to the information relayed by the Family. We owe Blade and Plato a debt of gratitude.”

  “Don’t forget we have some friends out there too,” General Reese stated.

  “There are the Flathead Indians in Montana, as well as the Cavalry, the horsemen of the plains, in the Dakota territory. We have the Moles in their underground city in northern Minnesota, and we have as allies the Clan, the refugees from the Twin Cities now living in Halma, about sixty or seventy miles west of the Moles. And last, but most importantly, we have the Family. We’re not alone, sir.”

  “I know,” President Toland said. “And it was wise of us to form the Freedom Federation, to sign treaties pledging to work together to restore some semblance of sanity to this land and to oppose our mutual adversaries.” He stared at Reese. “But now I may have jeopardized the Freedom Federation by endangering its leadership.”

  “It’s a calculated risk,” General Reese admitted. “But it’s the only way to flush out the spy.”

  “I hope so,” President Toland declared.

  “You should look at the bright side,” General Reese suggested.

  “How so?”

  “You should be thankful we’re still around to resist the Soviets, the Technics, and the Androxians. We’re all that’s left of the United States of America. Think of it. Once there were fifty states, and the U.S. was one of the largest countries in the world. Now all we have are Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, New Mexico, Oklahoma, parts of Arizona, and the northern half of Texas. Denver is our capital. And although America has been renamed, although we call ourselves the Civilized Zone, we’re as dedicated to maintaining liberty and safeguarding our freedom as the U.S. ever was.”

  President Toland leaned his forehead on the pane of glass. “And I believe my decision to invite the Free State of California to join the Freedom Federation was a logical result of that dedication. The more members the Freedom Federation has, the stronger we’ll be, and the stronger we are, the less likelihood there is of our being defeated by the Russians or anyone else.”

  “So why are you agonizing over your decision?” General Reese asked.

  President Toland returned to his desk and sank into his comfortable leather-covered chair. “Because to agree to holding the summit meeting in California is one thing,” he responded with an air of self-reproach, “but to set up the leaders of the Freedom Federation as unsuspecting targets on the mere hope we can flush out the Russian spy is quite another. If one of the leaders is killed, I must assume full responsibility.”

  “Why don’t you tell the other leaders about the spy?” General Reese proposed.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?” General Reese queried.

  “What if the Russians have spies planted with the other members of the Freedom Federation? The more people we inform, the greater the risk of a leak,” President Toland stated.

  “Are you going to let at least Plato know?” General Reese questioned.

  “I don’t know,” President Toland replied.

  “You know you can trust Plato,” General Reese asserted. “And if you don’t tell him, at least inform Blade. You know damn well Blade isn’t a spy. None of the Warriors are, for that matter.”

  President Toland grinned. “Ironic, isn’t it? The ones I can trust the most are the Family’s Warriors, not my own military personnel. Except for yourself, of course.”

  “Thanks.” General Reese smiled. “Say. That reminds me. Where is this summit meeting in California going to be held?”

  “A city called Anaheim, about twenty-seven miles from L.A.”

  Chapter One

  The gleaming VTOL swooped down toward the airport from the northeast, its twin engines roaring. Dozens of aircraft of varying sizes were parked near their respective targets or taxiing toward one of the runways. Most of the planes preparing to take off were small, single-engine craft. The VTOL’s speed decreased as it descended, and the aircraft angled in the direction of a terminal exclusively reserved for military use. A large crowd had gathered outside the terminal entrance to welcome the occupants of the VTOL. The craft reached a point 35 yards from the crowd and hovered.

  Moments later, accompanied by a muted whine, the VTOL landed. Two individuals detached themselves from the welcoming committee and walked toward the aircraft.

  A door on the side of the VTOL opened as a ground crew pushed a portable flight of metal stairs up to the doorway. A lean, gray-haired man in a green Army uniform emerged from the VTOL. He smiled and waved at the man and woman approaching the craft. As he was going down the stairs, three more men stepped from the VTOL and paused at the top of the stairs to survey the huge airport in undisguised awe.

  One of the trio was a veritable giant, standing seven feet in height and muscled like a latter-day Hercules. His black leather vest, green fatigue pants, and black leather boots seemed unable to contain his bulging sinews. A shock of dark hair hung above his probing gray eyes. Attached to his brown belt over each hip was a Bowie knife in a leather scabbard.

  The second man was six feet tall, and while he lacked his companion’s massive physique, there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his wiry form. His long hair and handlebar moustache were both blond, his eyes blue. Buckskins clothed his frame, and moccasins covered his feet. Strapped around his slim waist were a matched pair of pearl-handled Colt Python revolvers.

  The third member of the threesome was an elderly man with shoulder-length gray hair and a flowing gray beard. His blue eyes scanned the terminal and the crowd, and he noted the advancing duo. With the temperature in the low 70s and bright sunshine, his heavy flannel shirt, patched at the elbows, and his faded corduroy pants felt uncomfortably warm.

  “Will you look at all this, pard!” the man in the buckskins said to the giant, marveling at the hustle and bustle of the airport.

  “It certainly is the busiest airport I’ve ever seen,” the giant conceded.

  “And considering the extent of your travels,” chimed in the elderly one, “that says a lot.”

  “We haven’t seen all that much, Plato,” commented the man with the Pythons.

  “Really, Hickok?” Plato responded.

  “We’ve seen a lot of Minnesota,” Hickok stated, “and some of the Civilized Zone. I’ve been to Washington, D.C.,
and Chicago, or Technic City as they now call it. And Blade here has seen St. Louis, New York City, and Philadelphia.” He paused, smirking. “Then again, I reckon we have seen a sizeable chunk of landscape.”

  “I’d say so,” Plato agreed.

  “We’d better join General Owens,” Blade said, and together they walked down the stairs to the tarmac and the waiting officer.

  Hickok gazed up at the aircraft. “I can’t believe we got here so fast.” He glanced at the gray-haired general. “What’d you call this contraption again?”

  “A VTOL,” General Owens answered, grinning.

  “What do those letters mean?” Hickok inquired.

  “VTOL stands for vertical take off and landing,” General Owens explained. “It describes the capabilities of the aircraft.”

  “All those fancy words just means this buggy can fly like a jet, but it can take off and land sort of like a helicopter, right?” Hickok said.

  General Owens nodded. “You’ve described it precisely.”

  “Too bad we don’t have one of these at the Home,” Hickok observed.

  “They’d come in right handy.”

  General Owens looked at the VTOL. “We could use more of these. We only have two still in service. They use less fuel than a conventional jet, and fuel is a precious commodity.”

  “There has been a chronic shortage of fuel since World War Three,” Plato mentioned. “You are fortunate in one respect. The Free State of California has several operational refineries.”

  “California has been very lucky,” General Owens agreed. “The state sustained only two nuclear strikes during the war. San Diego was obliterated, and March Air Force Base at San Bernardino was hit. San Diego is south of here and San Bernardino is to the east, so the prevailing winds blew the fallout away from Los Angeles.” He paused. “Frankly, I’ll never understand why the Russians didn’t toss more warheads at California. The state had over two dozen primary and secondary targets when the war began, not to mention all of the tertiary sites.”

  Plato thoughtfully scratched his head. “Only two nuclear strikes? I take it, then, your mutant problem has been minimal.”