The Kalispell Run

by David Robbins

  “You’ve got your nerve, jackass!” Spartacus angrily retorted. “You’re the traitor here, not me! As usual, you’ve got everything butt backward.” The broadsword made small circles in the air as Spartacus glared at Napoleon.

  “Did you really believe I would betray the Family, that I’d go against everything I was ever taught, against everyone who cares for me, my own family and friends, to feed your insane ambition? Did you really think I bought your stupid scheme? And Jenny! What kind of man do you think I am? I would never take a woman against her will. What good is a relationship without love? Didn’t you learn anything from your parents or in school?” Spartacus paused, sadly shaking his head. “Why bother! Everything I say goes in one ear and out the other.”

  “You traitor!” Napoleon growled.

  “See what I mean!” Spartacus said. “You made mistakes, Napoleon. You assumed I was as dissatisfied with the system at the Home as you are, and I’m not. I don’t have any beef with Plato. He’s a good Leader. I’m not an airhead, Napoleon, despite what you might believe.”

  Rikki was viewing the proceedings with intent fascination. They seemed to have momentarily forgotten his presence. Napoleon’s face was an infuriated marble mask. Seiko, strangely enough, was calmly standing to one side, his arms folded across his chest. What was going through his mind? Rikki wondered.

  Napoleon looked at Seiko. “Why are you just standing there? Don’t tell me you’re turning against me too?”

  Seiko grinned. “Turning against you? Not exactly. But I will confess I wasn’t very keen on your takeover idea. I was going along with you for one reason, and one reason only. I never hid that fact from you. It really doesn’t interest me one way or the other as to who is in charge of the Family. There is only one thing I want out of this.” He deliberately stared at the katana in Rikki’s hands.

  Rikki raised the sword to waist level. “Is this really that important to you?” he asked quietly.

  “Let me ask you,” Seiko rejoined. “How would you have felt if you lost our match and I was awarded the katana? How would you have dealt with such a tremendous loss of face?”

  To carry such a burden all this time! Rikki selected his words judiciously. “Can there be a loss of face between friends, between brothers, between fellow Warriors?”

  Seiko’s brow furrowed thoughtfully.

  “You know the Family has a huge firearms collection,” Rikki went on, “but our supply of certain other weapons is limited. We only own the one katana. You and I both wanted it. The Elders did what they thought wisest. If your loss bothered you, why didn’t you come to me afterward and tell me? I thought we were close when we were younger.”

  Seiko gazed into the distance, frowning. “We were close,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Then why allow Napoleon’s poison to taint you?” Rikki inquired.

  Seiko raised his right hand and rubbed his palm against his forehead.

  Rikki gestured with the katana toward Seiko. “If it means so much to you, my former and future friend, you may have this.”

  Seiko’s astonishment at the offer was plainly visible. “You mean that?”

  “I do,” Rikki affirmed. “If it will repair the rift between us, and bring you fully back into the fold, then I will relinquish the katana to you.”

  “But I know how much the katana means to you,” Seiko objected. “It means as much to me.”

  “Can a mere sword mean as much as a living, breathing brother in the Spirit?”

  Seiko bowed his head. His voice was barely audible when he finally spoke. “I am shamed to my core, and I have brought dishonor to my name and my family.”

  “Will you lighten up?” Spartacus interjected. “We all make dumb mistakes. Don’t make such a big deal out of it!”

  Seiko looked at Rikki, his eyes mirroring his self-torment. “There is no apology adequate to equal the injustice I have done you. I will return to the Home and submit to whatever discipline the Elders decree.” So saying, he wheeled and departed, his head hanging low.

  “Go with him,” Rikki said to Spartacus. “Keep an eye on him. He may try to commit seppuku.”

  “Seppu… what?”

  “Ritual suicide. It was practiced by ancient samurai, especially when they suffered what they considered an irretrievable loss of honor.”

  “What’d they do?”

  “They disemboweled themselves by slicing open their abdomen,” Rikki clarified.

  Spartacus began to leave. He paused and glanced at Napoleon. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, but you brought it on yourself.”

  Napoleon’s eyes were livid pools of hatred.

  Spartacus shrugged and hurried after Seiko.

  Rikki moved closer to Napoleon, holding the katana in chudan-no-kumae, the middle position, with the hilt located near his navel and the blade at a slight upward angle.

  “So what’s it to be?” Napoleon arrogantly demanded. “A swift execution? Or do I have some say in the matter?”

  “You are going to die,” Rikki said coldly.

  “You always were a smug son of a bitch,” Napoleon said, intentionally insulting Rikki. His right hand was inches from his revolver, and he debated whether he could draw and fire before Rikki reached him with the sword. Probably not. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was lightning fast. Psychology was called for. “So what about it? Are you going to give me a fighting chance?”

  “No.”

  “What? Doesn’t the condemned get a last meal or a final request?”

  Rikki shook his head. “This is an execution, Napoleon, not a negotiation.”

  Napoleon’s left hand slowly circled his waist, reaching for a pouch attached to his belt. His right hand hovered near his revolver, distracting Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s attention.

  “What if I changed my mind?” Napoleon stalled as his left hand stealthily opened the flap on the pouch. He had one chance to escape. His life depended on an untried, untested, antique capsule. “What if I repent and pledge never to instigate a rebellion again?”

  “Do you expect me to believe you?” Rikki was carefully closing on Napoleon, keeping his eyes on Napoleon’s right hand, knowing the Gamma Triad leader would not submit without a fight.

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t,” Napoleon said, smiling broadly.

  Why was Napoleon so… relaxed… about his fate? It wasn’t in his nature. Something was wrong here. Rikki expected Napoleon to resist, he even welcomed the conflict, not wanting to simply murder Napoleon in cold blood, so he fixed his gaze on that right hand, expecting Napoleon to make his draw any second. With his focus on the right hand and the revolver, it took him a moment to realize the left hand was appearing from behind Napoleon’s back, holding a metallic cylinder the thickness of a finger and the length of a hand. In that instant, Rikki realized he’d been guilty of a Warrior’s ultimate folly: overconfidence.

  Rikki was throwing his shoulders into a swing of the katana when Napoleon’s thumb depressed a red button on the cylinder.

  A stream of odoriferous greenish fluid shot from a small hole in the tapered end of the cylinder and struck Rikki in the face.

  Rikki instinctively backed away, his left hand clutching at his face as the liquid burned his eyes, blurring his vision, and filled his nasal passages, constricting his throat and cutting off his air.

  What was it?

  A foot slammed into Rikki’s stomach, doubling him over. Another blow crashed against the side of his head, dropping him to his knees.

  “You won’t be needing this, bastard!” Napoleon declared.

  Rikki felt the katana being wrenched from his right hand. He gripped the hilt, striving to retain his grasp. His lungs seemed as if they were on fire, and he was gasping for breath and wheezing.

  “Release it, damn you!”

  A third time Napoleon struck, kicking Rikki-Tikki-Tavi in the abdomen.

  It was no good! He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t hold on to the katana.

  Napoleon savagely wrenched the sword fre
e and tossed it aside.

  Tears poured from Rikki’s eyes, his nose was running, and he experienced an urge to vomit.

  What was it?

  “Thought you were going to kill me, huh?” Napoleon clasped his hands together and brutally struck Rikki on the back of his head.

  Rikki collapsed on the grass at Napoleon’s feet.

  “Guess who’s going to be the one doing the killing now?” Napoleon crowed.

  Rikki gagged as the foreign substance continued to sear his respiratory system.

  “I’ll teach you! I’ll teach all of you!” Napoleon, in a frenzy, pounded on Rikki’s contorted body. Finally, he straightened and raised his arms over his head. “It won’t be that easy, Plato!” he shouted toward the Home.

  Rikki was straining to control his bodily functions, mentally forcing the fingers of his right hand to form a fist.

  “I’ll be back, you son of a bitch!” Napoleon vowed, kicking the fallen Warrior in the right side. “The Family hasn’t heard the last of me! I’ll find some allies, maybe the Watchers, and I’ll return and reduce the Home to rubble and enslave all of you. You’ll see!”

  His lungs were focal points of agony.

  “No, you won’t see,” Napoleon corrected himself. “Because you won’t be around when I return. You’ll have been long gone!” he gloated.

  My right hand! Must discipline my right hand! Rikki’s mind strained, channeling his energy and strength into his right arm and hand.

  Napoleon slowly drew his revolver, relishing the outcome of their confrontation. “I never did like you, Rikki. You were like all the rest. You failed to recognize my natural ability. I’ll prove once and for all that I’m a master of men.”

  Rikki formed his right hand into a tiger claw, tensing his fingers.

  Napoleon glared at Rikki’s panting form. “Don’t worry, Rikki. You won’t die from that stuff you’ve inhaled. It’s called tear gas. I found a carton of these cylinders in the armory. Didn’t know if it’d still function after all these years. Surprise! Surprise! Although you don’t look like you’re too happy about it!” Napoleon laughed, cackling at his own joke.

  It was not working! His fingers were too limp!

  Napoleon crouched and jammed his left hand under Rikki’s chin. “Do you need some air, poor boy? Let me help you.” He forcefully pulled on the chin, snapping Rikki’s mouth closed and rattling his teeth. Chuckling, he elevated Rikki’s face until he could see the water-filled eyes.

  Was it his imagination, or were the effects of the green fluid beginning to diminish?

  “Can’t see a thing, can you?” Napoleon facetiously inquired. “Pity. I wanted you to see what’s coming, but I can’t afford to dally. Plato might have sent other Warriors to cover you.”

  Rikki composed his racing thoughts, directing his mind to envision Napoleon’s position.

  “So I guess we should get this over with.” Napoleon cocked his revolver.

  Rikki perceived Napoleon was squatting directly in front of him.

  Napoleon’s left hand was opening his mouth, so Napoleon’s face couldn’t be too far above his own. But where was Napoleon’s right hand? He had to know where it was…

  The barrel of the revolver was rammed into his open mouth.

  “Have any last requests?” Napoleon ridiculed him.

  Rikki formed his right hand into the proper shape for a snake stab.

  “I only wish it were Plato or Blade or Hickok,” Napoleon said. “Still, you’ll do. You’ll serve as an example. The others will know I’m not to be trifled with!” He knew he should pull the trigger, but he hesitated, savoring the feeling of power Rikki’s helplessness aroused in him.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was ready, but he needed the revolver barrel out of his mouth first. He tried opening his eyes, but the itching sensation was too great.

  “Give my regards to the other side,” Napoleon nonchalantly commented.

  Rikki made his move. He deliberately gagged and choked, making motions as if he were about to puke, to regurgitate all over the revolver barrel and Napoleon.

  “What the…!” Napoleon hastily extracted the barrel and drew his right hand away from Rikki’s mouth, disgusted at the prospect of any vomit touching his person.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi surged upward, his right hand a striking snake as it swept up and in, the calloused, compact fingers aimed at Napoleon’s throat.

  For an instant, Rikki thought he had missed.

  Then his fingers gouged into Napoleon’s neck, shattering the windpipe and driving in up to the knuckles.

  The revolver discharged, blasting near Rikki’s left ear.

  Now it was Napoleon’s turn to gasp and wheeze, to choke and struggle.

  He dropped the revolver and grabbed Rikki’s right wrist with both hands, frantically striving to remove Rikki’s fingers from his throat.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, still blinded by the tear gas, grappled with the madman. His right hand, covered with a sticky liquid, was yanked from Napoleon’s neck.

  Napoleon made a protracted gurgling sound, and Rikki felt something splatter on his face.

  Had he missed a killing blow?

  Rikki, uncertain of Napoleon’s position, tried to gauge the exact location of Napoleon’s face.

  What was he doing?

  Rikki’s body was lying on top of Napoleon’s bulky form, covering it at an angle. He received the impression Napoleon was reaching for something, was stretching to the right.

  But why? Was he in his death throes? Had he finally expired?

  Napoleon, puffing and gagging, reached whatever he was after. His body suddenly coiled under Rikki’s, and Rikki was staggered by a jarring blow to the left side of his head.

  Napoleon had the revolver!

  Wobbly, his head throbbing, the tear gas continuing to ravage his system, Rikki lunged wildly, grasping for Napoleon’s gun arm. His left hand contacted Napoleon’s right elbow, and he held on for dear life, forcing the arm to the grass, hoping he could prevent Napoleon from firing.

  The revolver boomed again, and the slug tore a furrow in Rikki’s left side.

  Rikki twisted, attempting to place his body on the other side of Napoleon, to present as small a target as possible.

  The revolver fired a third time, missing.

  Rikki abruptly found himself cheek to cheek with his adversary, and he instantly drove his right hand, with the first two fingers extended and stiff, into Napoleon’s face, aiming for an eye. Instead, his blow struck a glancing miss off Napoleon’s eyebrow.

  For the fourth time, Napoleon tried to shoot Rikki.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was rocked by intense pain at the base of his neck, and he knew he’d been hit, knew he was losing consciousness, and realized he had better make his next strike count, because he wouldn’t get another chance.

  Napoleon began bucking in an effort to dislodge his foe.

  Rikki, adrift in a murky sea of darkness, a whirlpool of vertigo, drew his right hand back as far as he could, then plunged it forward.

  The blackness engulfed him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You call this an escape plan?” Wally demanded.

  “You have any better ideas?” the gunman countered.

  “Well, no,” Wally admitted, “but you can bet I wouldn’t come up with something as dipsy as this!”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “What’s wrong with it!” Wally exclaimed, shaking his head. “It’s crazy!

  That’s what’s wrong with it!”

  “Keep your voice down!” Hickok directed. “You’ll make the guard suspicious.”

  “I just don’t like it!”

  “I thought you wanted to get out of here,” Hickok said.

  “I do,” Wally admitted.

  “Then quit being such a wimp!”

  “I’m not a wimp!” Wally argued. “I’ve tried to bust out, several times.

  That’s the main reason I’m in here now. But at least I didn’t rely on miracles.”


  “Miracles?”

  “What else would you call it?” Wally gestured at their cell. “If you can get two of them to come inside the cell, not just the guy with the food bucket, and if they don’t notice you’ve moved the shit pail and Shane is now standin’ in front of it, and if they don’t think we’re actin’ a little too innocent for our own good, then maybe, just maybe, we can pull it off.”

  “Piece of cake,” Hickok declared, checking their positions for the fiftieth time. He was standing nearest the door, leaning on the cell bars, his back to the hallway. The outside guard was about fifteen feet away, to the right. Shane stood ten feet into the cell, casually leaning against the wall. Hidden by his moccasined feet, positioned between his ankles and the wall, was the waste bucket, its handle raised directly above the pail.

  Wally stood in the center of the cell, nervously wringing his hands.

  “It won’t be long,” Shane said.

  “Why didn’t we do it when they brought the morning meal?” Wally inquired. “Why wait until the evening feed?”

  “They were prepared for trouble,” Hickok answered. “It was the first time they fed me, and they probably expected me to put up a fight of some kind. Since I didn’t, whoever comes now won’t be anticipating any problem.”

  Wally anxiously stared at the waste pail. “I don’t know. A shit bucket against rifles!”

  “Haven’t you ever heard the basic law of social relationships?” Hickok asked, grinning.

  “What?” Wally absently responded, confused.

  “If you can’t dazzle ’em with brilliance,” Hickok stated, “then baffle ’em with bullshit.”

  “Do you…” Wally began, then froze.

  The guards with the food were coming, their voices carrying down the hallway as they joked and laughed.

  Hickok glanced outside.

  The cell guard had straightened and was watching the approaching duo.

  Here goes nothing! Hickok moved to the corner behind the cell door, trying to convey an attitude of total indifference to the proceedings around him.

  Shane appeared completely relaxed, his hands in his pockets, humming quietly.

  The kid is good, Hickok noted. Maybe I will sponsor him for Warrior status after we return to the Home.