Blade could scarcely believe the sequence of events since they had returned from the Twin Cities. First, Plato verbally lambasted them for not complying with their orders. The Family Leader gave them two weeks to mend and prepare for their next run to the Twin Cities. Before the two weeks elapsed, however, circumstances conspired to prevent their departure for Minneapolis and St. Paul. While Alpha Triad was engaged in its initial trip, with Family member and Empath Joshua and Bertha, the colorful black woman raised in the Twin Cities, one of the Family had vanished from the Home. He was an aspiring Warrior, a youth named Shane, and he had left a sealed note for Hickok. The Family’s preeminent gunfighter read the note, then angrily tore it to shreds. The very next night, Hickok disappeared from the Home, leaving a letter of his own, explaining he was going after Shane. Apparently, to impress Hickok, his hero, the inexperienced Shane had decided to hunt down the Trolls himself. In his note, Shane told Hickok he would return to the Home with the location of the Trolls’ new headquarters by the time Hickok came back from the Twin Cities. Hickok, in his own letter, apologized for leaving without permission, but stressed he could not, in all conscience, leave Shane away from the Home alone.
Plato hit the proverbial roof!
Blade smiled at the memory. In all the years he’d known his gray-haired mentor, he could count the number of times he’d seen Plato mad on one hand. Hickok’s abrupt departure disrupted their planned trip to the Twin Cities. Plato wanted three Warriors, one of the four Warrior Triads, to make the run, and Alpha Triad was the only one familiar with the SEAL
and experienced in its use. Alpha Triad would be unable to leave until Hickok returned.
About this time, Geronimo requested a conference with Plato and the other Elders. Rainbow actually did the talking. She formally expressed her gratitude to the Family for taking her in after Hickok had saved her from three men in green uniforms. Rainbow explained her situation and requested aid. Those men Hickok had killed were part of a much larger military force attempting to exterminate her people, the Flathead Indians.
These soldiers were based at a place called the Cheyenne Citadel. An army had attacked the Flathead Indian Reservation—as it was designated before the Big Blast—and slaughtered hundreds of the Indians before they could rally and retreat. The Indians withdrew to Kalispell and were surrounded.
Four Indian warriors, along with Rainbow and Star, managed to escape the encircling troops, but they were followed, expertly tracked, and the four braves were shot. Rainbow and Star fled, and were about to be killed by the patrol sent after them when Hickok intervened and engaged the patrol in a gunfight, with fatal consequences for the unfortunate men.
During the hundreds of miles of flight, Rainbow had neglected to eat and rest regularly, wearing herself down, and she had developed pneumonia.
While the Family Healers supervised her recovery, Geronimo visited her regularly, becoming attached to both Rainbow and Star.
Blade glanced in the rear-view mirror at the two Flathead Indians, mother and daughter. They were sitting in the seat behind him. The SEAL was arranged with a pair of bucket seats in front, divided by a console. A comfortable seat the width of the transport was immediately behind the bucket seats. In the spacious rear was an ample section devoted to carrying supplies and storage.
Rainbow was the mother, a laconic woman with rich black hair and dark eyes. She wore homemade buckskins, decorated on the back with a realistic embroidered representation of a rainbow. Her twelve-year-old daughter, Star, was the perfect image of her mom.
Blade’s mind drifted to that fateful conference between the Family Elders and Rainbow. At the conclusion of her speech, Rainbow made a proposition. “I asked to meet with all of you for a reason,” the Flathead woman had said. “I need to return to Kalispell. It was a mistake for me to leave. It’s too far to try alone, with only my daughter along. I know your vehicle, the SEAL, could make the…”
“The SEAL is our only means of transportation,” Plato promptly replied, “aside from our horses. We can not risk damaging the SEAL, so we only utilize it when absolutely necessary and we have no other recourse. I’m sorry, but I can’t allow what you’re about to suggest.”
“Hear me out,” Rainbow patiently urged him. “I realize how important the SEAL is to you. I also know how much you want to find some scientific and medical things. Am I right?”
Plato nodded, his brow furrowed.
“If you will let someone take me back to Kalispell in your SEAL,” Rainbow offered, “I will let them know where they can locate the items you need.”
Blade and Geronimo attended that meeting, held in one of the concrete blocks in the Family compound, in E Block, the library. Blade recalled how Plato leaned across the table he was seated at and drilled his blue eyes into Rainbow.
“You know where the equipment and supplies we need can be found?” Plato asked skeptically.
“I do,” Rainbow affirmed.
“You’ll excuse me,” Plato bluntly stated, “if I don’t believe you.”
Rainbow straightened. “I do not lie,” she retorted.
“I meant no insult,” Plato informed her. “But you must appreciate my stance. The SEAL is too valuable to the Family.”
Rainbow slowly stared at each of the fifteen Elders, seated at the long table with Plato. To qualify as a Family Elder, a member of the Family simply had to attain a forty-fifth birthday. The high mortality rate made the forty-fifth birthday a legitimate milestone. “And what about your problem?” Rainbow asked them.
No one answered.
“Geronimo has told me about your aging problem,” Rainbow went on.
“He also told me you’d hoped to find the things you need in the Twin Cities. You heard him. The Twin Cities are in a shambles. Those groups—what were their names?—and the crazies, the ones fighting over the Twin Cities for the last one hundred years, have left the place a shambles, the buildings in ruin, and everything of any real value destroyed.” Rainbow suddenly faced Blade. “You were there. What chance do you have of finding the things Plato needs?”
Blade, caught off guard, squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t know…”
“Be honest,” Rainbow said, goading him.
Blade stared at Plato. “Realistically, I’d have to admit our chances are pretty slim.”
“See?” Rainbow declared triumphantly. “Even if Alpha Triad goes back to the Twin Cities, you’re not guaranteed they’ll find what you’ve sent them after.”
“It is still our wisest recourse,” Plato said, dissenting.
“No, it isn’t,” Rainbow disagreed. “There is a hospital in Kalispell, and it may well have the items you’ve been looking for.”
“Why should the hospital in Kalispell be in any better condition then the ones in the Twin Cities?” Plato asked.
Rainbow grinned, sensing she was winning her argument. “Because, unlike the Twin Cities, after the Government evacuated all the towns and cities at the beginning of World War Three, there weren’t any gangs left in Kalispell to tear the place apart. I visited it several times in my youth, and it was essentially deserted, except for occasional drifters and scavengers. I can vouch for the fact that, when I left Kalispell, the hospital was still standing and its contents were still intact. I’ve seen the inside of the hospital. There’s a lot of abandoned equipment all over the place—covered with dust and dirt, but still there. It just may be what you’re looking for.”
“What about the battle?” Plato inquired.
“The army from the Cheyenne Citadel has Kalispell surrounded,” Rainbow elaborated. “They prevent my people from leaving, but they haven’t attacked yet. At least, they hadn’t before I was forced to leave. They’re just sitting there, apparently trying to starve us out, watching and waiting.”
Blade abruptly sat up, all attention. “Watching?”
“Yes.” Rainbow seemed puzzled by his reaction.
Blade glanced at Plato and knew the Leader was thinking similar thoughts. “
Have you ever heard of the Watchers?” Blade asked Rainbow.
She shook her head. “Why?”
“We had a run-in with a military organization in Thief River Falls,” Blade expounded. “The people in the Twin Cities call this organization the Watchers. I wonder if they’re related…”
“…to the ones trying to wipe out my people?” Rainbow said, finishing for him. “Could be.”
“And you maintain the hospital in Kalispell and the equipment inside it are undamaged?” Plato asked her.
“They were when I left,” Rainbow replied.
“Hmmmmmmm.” Plato leaned back in his chair and pulled at the hairs in his gray beard with his left hand. “Would you be so kind as to step outside? We must discuss your proposition in private.”
And here I am, Blade ruminated, on my way to Kalispell, Montana. His dearest Jenny was hundreds of miles behind him. All because Plato and the Elders decided a mission to Kalispell might be worth it, after all.
Something must be done about the creeping senility, and the sooner, the better. Family records revealed that each generation of Family members was evincing evidence of a particularly debilitating form of senility at an earlier and earlier age. If the cause and a cure weren’t discovered, the prospects for the Family’s future were exceedingly grim.
Blade gazed at Geronimo, sitting in the bucket seat on the passenger side, intently scanning a map. “How many miles do we have left to travel?” he inquired.
Geronimo, attired in a green shirt and pants sewn together from the pieces of an old tent, glanced up, frowning. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he explained. His stocky body was hunched over the road map, his left hand absently scratching the short black hair above his left ear, his brown eyes reflecting his deep concentration. “It’s not as easy as it was when we went from the Home to the Twin Cities.”
“How so?” Blade questioned him.
“It was simple to compute the total distance from our Home, in northwestern Minnesota, to the Twin Cities, in southeastern Minnesota,” Geronimo elaborated, “because they’re both in the same state. It was a snap to add the mileage listed on this map and determine there were three hundred and seventy-one miles between the Home and the Twins. But this time…” He left the thought unfinished as he studied the map again.
“It’s a good thing Hickok isn’t here,” Blade noted. “He might offer to take off his moccasins so you would have more to count with.”
Geronimo grinned and looked at Blade. “I miss him,” he admitted.
“So do I,” Blade acknowledged.
“I’m surprised Plato let us come on this trip without Hickock,” Geronimo commented.
“Plato wasn’t kidding when he said it was urgent,” Blade remarked.
“Anyway,” Geronimo said, “I think I have the mileage calculated.”
“Let me hear it,” Blade responded.
“Well,” Geronimo said, glancing at the map, “bear in mind we’re traveling across several states this time, so I may be a little off. We’ve already left Minnesota behind, we’re in North Dakota now, and the next state we’ll hit is Montana. We took Highway 11 to Highway 59, cut across to U.S. Highway 2, and, according to this map, we can follow Highway 2 all the way to Kalispell. Amazing.”
“And the mileage?” Blade reminded him.
“The total is somewhere in the range of eleven hundred miles,” Geronimo replied.
“We knew that before we left the Home,” Blade noted. “What I need to know now, Einstein, is how far have we come, and how far do we have to go?”
Geronimo smiled. “We passed through what was left of Minot this morning,” he replied. “According to my calculations, we’ve traveled about four hundred and seventy miles, and we have something like six hundred and sixty to go, give or take a few.”
“Give or take a few,” Blade repeated, sighing.
“At our average speed, about fifty miles an hour,” Geronimo stated, “it’s taken us a day and a half to come this far. If we continue driving seven or eight hours a day,” Geronimo detailed, “well reach the vicinity of Kalispell in three days. Maybe even sooner, if I’ve overestimated the distance remaining.”
“So soon?” Rainbow spoke up from the back seat. “Four or five days? Do you know how long it took me to reach your Home from Kalispell with those men after me?”
“How long?” Blade inquired.
“Over two months!” she answered. “Of course, I had to watch out for wild animals and the blistered ones…”
“The blistered ones?” Blade reiterated.
“The creatures you call mutates,” Rainbow elucidated.
Blade involuntarily shuddered. The damn mutates! He hated them with a passion! One of them was responsible for slaying his father, the Family Leader prior to Plato. The origin of the mutates was unknown, most Family members speculating they were the result of the radiation and the chemical weapons unleashed on the environment during the Big Blast.
Mutates were once normal animals, altered through a mysterious process to become monstrous caricatures of their former selves. Their hair dropped off, their skin turned brownish and dry, cracked and covered with blistering sores, oozing all over their bodies. Each mutate was endowed with a voracious appetite and undiluted ferocity. Mutates attacked and devoured any living thing they encountered, including one another. Even just a single mutate bite could prove fatal, if any of the yellow pus entered the bloodstream.
“I’ve got a few questions I’d like to ask,” Blade said to Rainbow, eager to change the subject.
“Go ahead,” she said.
Blade glanced in the mirror, observing Star asleep in her mother’s lap.
“She’s a little angel,” he remarked.
Rainbow proudly stroked her daughter’s forehead. “That she is.”
“You really haven’t told us much about your people,” Blade commented.
“For instance, you’ve never mentioned your husband.”
“What would you…” Rainbow began to say.
“Look out!” Geronimo suddenly shouted in warning.
Blade’s eyes darted forward.
The SEAL was at the top of a small hill, and lined up across the road at the bottom were over a dozen armed men.
Blade slammed on the brakes and the transport lurched to a stop.
Tall trees bordered the highway on both sides. More armed men came rushing from the woods, closing in on the vehicle.
“It’s a trap!” Rainbow exclaimed in alarm.
Blade caught sight of men closing in behind the SEAL. He glared right, then left, and pounded his right fist on the steering wheel.
Damn!
Chapter Three
Sherry woke up with the sun high in the sky, a light breeze on her face, and birds singing in nearby trees. The September air was warm. She remembered the events of the night before and sat upright, fearing the gunman had abandoned her.
He was still there.
Hickok was by the fire, sitting up, his arms resting on the barrel of his rifle, the butt on the ground between his legs. His head hung low, his chin on his chest, asleep.
So he hadn’t left her to fend for herself! Delighted, she went to rise, her right hand scraping against a small rock.
Instantly, the gunman reacted, coming awake, sweeping the rifle up, searching for the source of the sound. His keen blue eyes fell on her.
“Oh. It’s just you,” Hickok grumbled, lowering his Navy Arms Henry Carbine, a reproduction of the original Henry used by pioneers in early America. Kurt Carpenter had stocked the Family armory with hundreds of firearms, the appropriate ammunition, other assorted weapons, and even a shop for reloading cartridges, repairing defective guns, and sharpening blades. The other Warriors could use whatever firearms they wanted, but the Colt Pythons and the Henry were Hickok’s by virtue of his supreme skill with both, and his attachment to them bordered on the extreme.
“Thanks a lot,” Sherry quipped. “You sure know how to make a girl feel
flattered.”
“Sorry I drifted off,” Hickok apologized, standing and stretching.
“No need,” Sherry said, following his example.
“Yes, there is,” he stated seriously. “I’m trained not to fall asleep on the job. This is the first time I’ve ever done it. I hadn’t slept for two days, but that’s no excuse.”
“It’s good enough for me,” Sherry stated.
“We could have been killed because of my laziness,” Hickok remarked.
“It won’t happen again,” he vowed.
“What are you plans?” Sherry asked him.
“Are you hungry?” Hickok responded.
“My stomach is growling loud enough to wake up the dead,” she replied.
“Here.” Hickok reached behind him and unfastened the flap on a leather pouch attached to the rear of his belt. He gripped a strip of dried meat and tossed it to her.
Sherry caught the meat and raised it to her nose. The aroma was incredibly appetizing. “What is it?”
“Smoked venison jerky,” Hickok informed her. “It’s all you’ll get until I can take the time to kill some game.”
“It will suffice,” she said, biting into the tough jerky.
Hickok walked over and retrieved the Glenfield. He knelt and probed the dead Troll’s tunic until he found a handful of bullets in a makeshift pocket.
“What are you doing?” Sherry inquired, savoring the tangy taste of the venison, her mouth watering.
“You know how to handle this?” Hickok waved the Glenfield at her.
“I can shoot,” she told him.
“Good. It’s yours.” He handed the rifle to her and looked her up and down. Her dirty yellow blouse was torn in a dozen spots, and one of the short sleeves was missing. The faded jeans on her legs were in slightly better shape. “Are those pockets in one piece, ma’am?” Hickok asked her.
The Kalispell Run Page 2
