Nevada Run

by David Robbins

  The portly man frowned. “He’s awake. You can talk to him, but don’t stay in there long. He needs his rest.”

  Blade joined Zahner.

  “This is Striber,” the Clan leader said, introducing the portly man.

  “He’s the closest thing to a Healer we’ve got.”

  “I know who you are,” Striber said to Blade. “Everyone knows who you are.”

  “What are Ted’s chances?” Blade questioned.

  “He’ll live, if that’s what you mean,” Striber replied. “But he’ll be on crutches for years, maybe for the rest of his life.”

  “Crutches?” Blade repeated quizzically.

  Striber frowned. “Whoever the bastards were, they shot out his knees.

  Deliberately, I’d say. Ted is fortunate his legs won’t need to be amputated below the knees. As it is, he may never walk again. We’ll have to wait and see how he heals. You never know. With the proper rehabilitation and training he could, conceivably, regain very limited use of his legs.”

  “Why did you say they deliberately shot him in the knees?” Blade asked.

  “Because of what they did to the other three,” Striber said.

  “Three?” Blade interrupted. “But Zahner said only Faron and Grace were killed?”

  Striber glanced at the Clan leader. “Didn’t you tell him about the stranger?”

  Zahner raised his right hand and smacked his forehead. “Damn! I was so worried about Ted and Mindy, I forgot! We found another body with the rest, someone who isn’t from the Clan.”

  “I’d like to take a look at this body after I talk to Ted,” Blade stated.

  “The stranger was shot to ribbons,” Striber mentioned. “You’ll see for yourself. A drastic case of overkill. And it was the same with Faron and Grace. But Ted was different. All they did to him was shoot him in the knees and kick him on the chin. A few of his teeth are broken, but they didn’t break his jaw.”

  “Why did they spare Ted’s life?” Blade queried.

  “Ted can tell you that,” Striber said, motioning toward the open door.

  Blade moved to the doorway. Inside stood a couple with grayish brown hair and homespun clothing next to a couch on which was a pale, heavyset youth who was covered from his chin to his feet by a white sheet. The lower portion of his face was swollen and bruised. “Hello,” Blade said, and entered.

  Zahner came in behind the Warrior. “Blade, these are Dan and Agnes, Ted’s parents.”

  Blade nodded grimly. “I’m sorry about your son.”

  Agnes sniffled and dabbed at her moist eyes with an old handkerchief, evidently her husband’s, she was holding in her left hand.

  “Why would anyone do this to my boy?” Dan asked angrily. “Ted has never hurt anyone.”

  “I don’t know why they did it,” Blade said. “But we’ll find the parties responsible and they will pay for what they’ve done. It’s small consolation, I know.”

  “Are you going after them?” Dan inquired.

  “Yes,” Blade said.

  “Good! Kill the scum for me!” Dan declared.

  “Dan!” Agnes exclaimed, aghast.

  “Would you mind if I talked to your son in private?” Blade asked them.

  Dan took his wife’s elbow in his right hand. “We’ll be right outside.”

  “I won’t take long,” Blade promised.

  The parents silently departed, Agnes with tears streaming down her cheeks, Dan with his shoulders slumped in abject depression.

  Blade squatted next to the youth. Ted’s eyes were open but listless.

  Dried blood caked the corners of his mouth. “Ted? Can you hear me?”

  Ted did not respond.

  “Ted? This is Blade? I need to talk to you,” Blade stated.

  “Blade?” Ted said, rousing from his trauma-induced lethargy. He focused on the Warrior with an intent expression. “You’re here!”

  “I’m here,” Blade said. He noticed the youth spoke with great difficulty.

  “I’m sorry to impose at a time like this, but we must talk.”

  “It’s all right,” Ted asserted.

  “I know you’re in a lot of pain, but I must know what happened,” Blade said, coaxing the youth.

  Ted clicked his puffy lips. “Okay. Mindy, Faron, Grace, and I took a walk south of town. We were on our way back when two jeeps pulled up and a guy got out.”

  “Who was this guy?” Blade interjected. “Do you know?”

  “He gave his name as Anthony Pucci,” Ted revealed. “He was acting real nice and friendly, but I didn’t like the looks of him. He claimed he needed directions to the Home. Said he’d come all the way from Nevada.”

  “Nevada!” Blade remarked in surprise.

  “Yep,” Ted went on. “He was polite at first, and he seemed very interested in Mindy after she told him her mom is a Warrior. He even offered us some candy. That’s when…” Ted began, then stopped, torment etched in his features.

  “Take it easy,” Blade advised. “If you can’t talk about it, I’ll understand.”

  Ted inhaled deeply. “He shot us! For no reason at all, he shot us! He pretended to reach into his jeep for some candy, but he pulled a gun out instead. I was shot first and I didn’t see the others get hit. I was in too much pain. But I dimly recall them forcing Mindy into the jeep.”

  “Did this Pucci say why they were taking her?” Blade questioned.

  “No,” Ted said sadly. “But he did tell me to give you a message.”

  Blade’s forehead creased in bewilderment. “Me? He mentioned me by name?”

  “He sure did,” Ted stated. “I’ll never forget his words! He wanted me to give the Warriors his regards. And he said to tell you that he’d be waiting for you and the other Warriors. He said if Helen wants to see Mindy again, then the Warriors must come to Las Vegas.”

  “Why Las Vegas?”

  “I don’t know,” Ted answered. “He said if the Warriors don’t show up in Las Vegas within one month, then Mindy will die.”

  “Was that all?” Blade asked.

  “No,” Ted replied. “There was one more thing. He said Mindy would be waiting for you at the Golden Crown Casino. He wanted me to be certain to remember the name. The Golden Crown Casino.”

  Blade was baffled. “And that was all? He didn’t say anything else?”

  “That was his message,” Ted responded.

  “Okay,” Blade said. “What happened next?”

  “That’s when he kicked me,” Ted said. “I don’t remember anything else until I woke up on this couch.”

  Blade slowly straightened. “You said there were two jeeps. How many others were with Pucci?”

  “I don’t know,” Ted said. “There were two or three in the first jeep, and I didn’t see how many were in the second.”

  “What did Pucci look like?” Blade inquired.

  “He was about six feet tall,” Ted detailed. “His hair was black, his eyes brown. His face was kind of mean looking. I don’t know how to describe it.”

  Blade placed his right hand on the youth’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get some rest? If I have any more questions I’ll get back to you.”

  Ted’s eyelids were beginning to droop. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you out! We’ve got to save Mindy!”

  “I know,” Blade assured the youth. “Don’t worry. We’ll save her.” He turned and walked into the corridor.

  Dan and Agnes were waiting near the door.

  “You can go on in,” Blade directed them. “I’m through with Ted for now.”

  “Thank you,” Dan responded.

  Zahner stepped into the corridor and patiently waited for the parents to go into the room before he spoke. “So what did you make out of all that information?”

  “I’m stumped,” Blade confessed. “I don’t know any Anthony Pucci.

  None of the Warriors have ever been to Las Vegas, so far as I know. There doesn’t seem to be any reason behind the attack.”

  “
There has to be a reason,” Zahner said. “Why else did they drive all the way here from Nevada?”

  “I wish I knew,” Blade stated. “Right now I’d like to see the body of the stranger.”

  “Follow me,” Zahner said, and led the way down the corridor for another 30 feet until he stopped next to a closed door on the left. “The bodies are in here,” he explained, then opened the door.

  Blade strolled inside to find three long tables occupying the center of the room and a maple desk and a folding chair to his right. Each table was draped with a white sheet profiling the contours of a human figure underneath.

  “This is the one with the stranger,” Zahner said, moving to the table on the right. He lifted the sheet.

  Blade walked to the head of the table and examined the corpse. The man’s dark brown suit was soaked with blood. Someone had shot him repeatedly at point-blank range. “Why would they shoot one of their own men?” he wondered aloud.

  “We found a rifle next to his body,” Zahner disclosed. “It hadn’t been fired.”

  “What do you make of his clothes?” Blade asked.

  Zahner shrugged. “The suit looks new to me.”

  “It does,” Blade agreed. “And we both know that the men in the Civilized Zone and California wear suits just like this one. It was the style the men were wearing before the war. Buckskins are the rule elsewhere, like in the Dakota Territory and in Montana. A lot of my Family wear buckskins too, because they’re easy to make and they last a long time.

  Fabric like the material in this suit is hard to come by. Except for the Civilized Zone and California, there aren’t any factories manufacturing this type of clothing. For that matter, there aren’t many clothing manufacturers of any kind around, period. Which is why we must make buckskins or patch together old garments.”

  “Do you think there’s a link between this Nevada business and California or the Civilized Zone?” Zahner queried.

  “Don’t know,” Blade said. “Maybe there’s a manufacturing facility in Las Vegas.” He paused. “What did you find in his pockets?”

  “His pockets?” Zahner responded, sounding surprised.

  Blade looked at the Clansman. “Yes. Didn’t you go through his pockets?”

  “No,” Zahner said. “I had him brought here, along with the other bodies and Ted, and then took off for the Home. I didn’t have time to search him.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Blade declared.

  Zahner tugged on the sheet and it slid to the floor.

  Blade quickly examined the man’s pockets. He found a set of keys in the right front pants pocket and a wad of bills in the left. “Here,” he said, handing both to Zahner. Next he inspected the jacket pockets. There was nothing in either of the outside ones, but he did discover two items in an inside left pocket. The first was a small black book, the second a circular piece of blue plastic with the words JOHNNY’S PALACE imprinted on both sides.

  “There’s two thousand dollars here,” Zahner announced, having just counted the money.

  Blade paged through the small black book. On each one was a list of names, and beside each name was an address and a seven digit number.

  Some of the names were businesses, like Eddy’s Garage, and they were all arranged alphabetically. Acting on a hunch he turned to the Gs and there it was: Golden Crown Casino. 6619 Las Vegas Boulevard. 273-1400.

  “What have you got there?” Zahner inquired.

  “Something that will come in handy when we get to Las Vegas,” Blade said, closing the book. “If we have to go that far.”

  “What do you mean?” Zahner asked.

  “I want you to take me back to the Home right now,” Blade directed.

  “Alpha Triad is going after the ones who took Mindy.”

  “You sure Plato will give the okay?”

  “Of course,” Blade said. “But even if he doesn’t like the idea, there’s nothing he can do about it. In times of crisis the Warriors are empowered to do whatever is necessary, and as the head Warrior I decide our course of action. Hickok, Geronimo, and I are going after these SOBs in the SEAL.”

  “Do you really think you can catch them?” Zahner questioned. “They’ve got a head start and there’s no telling which route they’ll take back to Las Vegas.”

  “I don’t know if we can catch up with them before they reach Las Vegas,” Blade stated. “But we’ve got to try for Mindy’s sake. If need be, we’ll go all the way to Vegas.”

  “I’d like to go along,” Zahner proposed.

  “No,” Blade said flatly.

  “Why not? If anyone has a right to go, it should be one of the Clan,” Zahner insisted. “They killed two of us.”

  “I understand your feelings,” Blade mentioned. “But Alpha Triad is accustomed to functioning as a team. We can’t afford to be distracted by having to watch out for you or any other Clansman.”

  “I wouldn’t get in your way,” Zahner said.

  “Sorry,” Blade said, refusing to give in. “But the answer is no.”

  Zahner frowned. “Then do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” Blade pledged.

  “If you find whoever is responsible for killing Faron and Grace and shooting Ted,” Zahner said angrily, “give them a taste of their own medicine.”

  “I’ll make them regret the day they were born.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The SEAL had been the Founder’s pride and joy. Kurt Carpenter had wisely anticipated the deterioration of civilization after World War Three.

  He knew society would fall apart at the seams; the government would collapse, social institutions would cease to exist, and the transportation system would crumble. Accordingly, Carpenter spent millions on a special vehicle, a prototype intended to serve his descendants in a world gone haywire. The Solar Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle—or SEAL for short—was designed to navigate any terrain. Vanlike in build, the entire body was composed of a shatterproof and heat-resistant tinted green plastic. The floor was an impervious metal alloy. Four huge puncture-proof tires, each four feet high and two feet wide, supported the transport.

  Carpenter had also incorporated armaments into the vehicle.

  Mercenaries had been hired at great expense. The weapons systems they had installed were activated by four toggle switches on the dash. A pair of 50-caliber machine guns were mounted in recessed compartments under each front headlight, and a miniaturized surface-to-air missile was tilted on the roof over the driver’s seat. A rocket-launcher was hidden in the middle of the front grill, while a flamethrower was situated in the center of the front fender surrounded by layers of insulation.

  As its name implied, the SEAL was solar powered. The light was collected by two solar panels affixed to the roof, the energy was converted and stored in revolutionary batteries located in a lead-lined case under the vehicle. The scientists had proudly boasted the SEAL would continue to function for a thousand years provided the solar panels or the battery casings were not damaged.

  All of these thoughts filtered through Blade’s mind as he steered the SEAL southward along Highway 93 in northern Nevada. The highway was pitted with wide cracks and potholes, and many sections were buckled.

  But few were the obstacles the SEAL couldn’t circumvent, and the past seven days of travel had been relatively uneventful.

  A whole week on the road!

  Blade was intensely disappointed they had been unable to overtake Mindy’s abductors. He mentally reviewed the events of the week, speculating on what he could have done differently to achieve Mindy’s rescue. Zahner had rushed him back to the Home, and he had informed the assembled Family about the tragedy. After a hasty meeting with Plato and the Elders, it had been unanimously agreed Alpha Triad should proceed after the culprits with all dispatch. The SEAL was always fully stocked and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Alpha Triad, with one addition, had departed the Home within an hour of his return.

  But they’d never been able to catch up to the jee
ps.

  Where had he gone wrong?

  Blade had deduced the abductors would not dare to travel in a direct course from the Home to Las Vegas. Doing so would entail driving through the Dakota Territory, home of the Cavalry, and the Civilized Zone—both allies of the Family. The abductors would want to avoid all contact with Federation factions. Which meant the kidnappers either went due south from the Home, hoping to bypass the Civilized Zone, and then swung to the west around Oklahoma or Texas, or else they traveled westward from Minnesota, skirting the Dakota Territory to the north, and then angled to the southwest through the northwest corner of Wyoming, avoiding the Mormons currently in control of Utah, and entering Nevada from the northeast. Blade had opted for the second route.

  Acting on the theory the kidnappers would shun all large cities and towns, Blade had stuck to the secondary roads. At settlements along the way he had stopped and asked about the two jeeps. No one had seen them.

  Many of the inhabitants of the small towns and communities had fled at the sight of the SEAL or greeted the Warriors with unconcealed suspicion.

  But none of them, much to Blade’s relief, had attacked his party. Twice the Warriors had seen bands of scavengers near the road, and three times they had passed mutants, but neither the scavengers or their bestial counterparts had shown any inclination to tackle the SEAL.

  A voice intruded on the giant’s reverie.

  “How much longer before we reach Las Vegas, pard?” Hickok asked.

  Blade glanced to his right. The transport was spaciously designed with two comfortable bucket seats in the front separated by a brown console.

  Behind the bucket seats was a single seat the width of the vehicle. The rear of the SEAL was a storage area piled high with provisions, their jerky and water and spare ammunition. In a compartment under the rear section were two spare tires and a toolbox. “I don’t know how much longer,” he replied. “Geronimo has the map. Ask him.”

  Hickok twisted in his seat and gazed at the man sitting behind him, one of the two best friends he had. “Hey, you mangy Injun! Wake up!”