by R. B. Tetro
For once, in a very long time, they got lucky. It was simply a matter of dispatching a handful of guards, taking as much water as they could carry, then slipping away quietly into the night. Each of them kept a watchful eye on their back trail, but their luck held and they eventually managed to catch up with the main group.
The next day, the first thing they felt was the heat of the morning sun. It seemed to be burning hotter and brighter and everyone began to realize the reason the Blood-eyes and the snogs had decided to let them go was because they were so close to the Griddle. While the group prepared for the hardest part of their impossible journey, Reverend and Butcher stood off by themselves.
“My first allegiance is to my brothers, Chains, Basher and Fury,” Butcher explained.
Reverend looked at him for a moment before answering. “I’m afraid Fury’s dead…killed by the Cavern of the Light council guard.”
Butcher staggered and went down to his knees. “Fury…”
Reverend left him alone but stayed put, shaking his head before lighting a cigarette. After a couple of minutes Butcher got to his feet and turned to him. “That settles it for me. I will leave twenty riders to accompany your people across the rest of the Griddle. The rest of us, me included, will go to help our club brothers.”
Reverend wanted to argue but couldn’t. Butcher and his riders didn’t owe them anything and Basher and Chains were club members in need, so to them the decision was easy.
“Sure wish you could go with us Reverend.”
Reverend nodded and smiled. “Me too…but my people are my first concern, just like yours are...”
It was Butcher’s turn to nod and smile. He put out his hand to Reverend who shook it.
“Good luck to you and your riders.”
“And to you and your people, new friend. Maybe you could say a few words to the man upstairs for us…you know, maybe let him know we’re not all so bad.”
“I would proudly speak for you and your riders.”
“Okay then…”
“Okay then…”
The two of them stood face to face, shaking hands; neither one wanting to leave the other. “All right…”
“All right…”
They turned and went their separate ways.
CHAPTER NINETY-ONE
Red Feather’s camp was strategically placed at the top of the tallest peak. There was only one way up and one way down and it was heavily guarded with a lot of well- armed warriors. Daniel was almost dead from internal injuries by the time they got him to a place where they could help him. His men set up a small fire and campsite, under the watchful eyes of the tribesmen.
Basher was sulking because Pops had said, no drinking. No one said anything, each of them were watching the opening to the tent Daniel was in. It was surreal. They were high in the sky with the stars and the moon… the nocturnal energy was radiant and intensified. While they were waiting for news about their leader, a group of children came and led them toward a huge bonfire.
Around the skyward reaching fire there were warriors dancing, both male and female, wearing bright colored paints. They whirled and danced to the rhythm of the elders’ drums. They were singing and chanting the same song or spell that had been coming from Red Feather’s tent.
Scout and his friends were delighted. None of them had ever had the privilege of witnessing a genuine Native American ceremony. As they were watching, a red- skinned warrior appeared in front of them, standing nearly as tall as Juggernaut and as broad as Pops. He was smiling, good naturedly and holding several bottles of brandy which he gave to Scout and Juggernaut with a wink, motioning for them to share with their friends. The young warrior was Red Feather’s grand-son, Scout and Juggernaut explained.
Suddenly they were being dragged toward the circle, each of them trying to pull back but unable to stop the inevitable dancing and chanting. So they danced with the mountain warriors and chanted and sang for their fallen leader and prayed to the Great Spirit for a good death.
CHAPTER NINETY-TWO
Just two days into the Griddle, the remaining rebels were well on their way to dying of dehydration. The temperature was hovering at a searing 130 degrees. The wounded suffered the most; the blazing sun adding to their fever. All around them, as far as any of them could see, there was only sand.
Now, they rested in the cool of the evening. The water they’d brought with them had unexplainably evaporated in its containers. They huddled together in the 35 degree, wind-driven desert chill, talking in hushed voices, waiting for Jessie and Lucas to bring word of how much further they would have to travel and what lie ahead.
“Gather ‘round, rebel fighters. Gather round the speaking circle and we will listen to each other and learn from one another and share things in peace together,” the old lady told them. She stood patiently waiting for them to congregate around her, thinking fondly of her Rattle cat friends who had decided it was time to go back home. The group gathered around her, and the circle she’d drawn in the sand.
“Let me tell you of a time when life was good and getting better and things were the way that things still should be. Picture in your weary mind, my friends, a time when you were not hunted, or chased… a time when you sat with your family at the dinner table- in your dining room- in your house...in peace. TV was big in those days, and after dinner we would go and watch TV and we would dream of being like the people on the TV and doing the things that the people on the TV did.
As long as you worked and did the things you were supposed to do, you could live ‘The American dream.” Don’t get me wrong, people, life was still life back then, and sometime, life’s a maniac with an axe to grind, but it was manageable most of the time with a little help from the Big Guy upstairs.”
“What did you watch on TV?” a small voice called out.
The old lady looked at the child, smiling at him despite the fact he’d interrupted the speaking circle without first raising his hand.
“Um, let me see…it’s been so long, you know.” The old lady pursed her lips, tapping on them with her index finger as she was prone to do when contemplating. “Our family never missed an episode of Gold Rush. I can tell you that much, and let’s see… there was Duck Dynasty and Vikings and last, but not least, was my favorite show called, the Walking Dead which was a show about the end of the world- only zombies took over and they were much easier to kill than the snogs and the Blood- eyes that were created to kill us.”
The survivors perked up as the elders of the group remembered and shared different shows and then the topic of discussion changed gradually to music and that brought a fresh sense of purpose to the conversation, because it was almost time for the Red Robin’s broadcast.
They began to remember special times in their lives, like getting married and graduation’s. The Old Lady smiled at Reverend and him at her and she left the circle. The ragged group of survivors were stronger now, because of the strength of the past and the pleasant taste of past memories. Later they all quieted down to listen to the radio broadcast.
“This is the Red Robin. Wake up all you sleepy desert drifters. I got something to say and a short time to say it. You’re more than halfway to the Hog Trough. Don’t give up, even though your brains are frying inside of your heads… don’t give up.
We got something here, people. Something from a time long ago, something a little bit old and a little bit better and new. The Star Towers isn’t just a stronghold against evil. It’s a place where civilized humans can live free and safe, a community… a home.
Come home, rebel fighters, and be home and live at home with your family and your friends. We will fight to keep our home and our freedom and keep fighting until all threats against our personal safety and liberties have been exterminated.
Come home people, take one more painful, agonizing step and then another and another, no matter how exhausted and close to death you become, come home. We’re waiting on you here.
This is the Red Robin. Goodnight true A
mericans. Hold on, stay strong, and fight on.”
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Magnus screamed and threw the boom box that had been broadcasting the Red Robin’s message across his chambers, watching it explode into pieces before turning to his newly appointed General. “Why can’t we find him…and silence him?”
“Your highness, we’ve located the signal… unfortunately, it’s coming from the Star Towers and as you know, we have not yet taken that particular...”
The towering Blood-eye stopped himself after seeing how angry Magnus was becoming. He stepped back and out of his impressive, deadly reach.
Magnus studied him approvingly. He’d chosen well. This Blood- eye was careful.
“With all our attention on capturing and exterminating the rebels… might I suggest recalling the troops and bolstering our defenses… just in case. Let the snogs have their fun, there’s plenty of them. Hell, they seem to like the desert.”
Magnus snapped his fingers. Immediately the new General shut-up. “Your advice is sound. Send for the troops.”
The general bowed, backing away from Magnus toward the door behind him and out of sight.
Magnus shook his head and sulked. He wanted the man who killed General Blood. The rumors were swirling around the undefeatable warrior with the cobalt, rage-filled eyes. The more Magnus thought about him and the dream Siros had shared with him the more he wanted all of his troops back at the Keep. Magnus knew that a man filled with that much rage, could be extremely dangerous and was not to be taken lightly.
As he sat brooding, Constance came into his sleeping quarters unbidden and unwelcome. He looked at her with a scowl on his face. “What makes you think I won’t kill you for not being announced into my chambers?” he growled.
Constance bowed low, prostrating herself on the floor at his feet.
He sat staring down at her, deciding whether or not to stomp down on the exposed and vulnerable back of her head. “Rise…and speak,” he said finally.
She stood, avoiding his gaze, looking small and scared.
Though he tried, he could not help but be moved by her show of weakness toward him.
“I come to beg for my son’s life. He is all that I have. Please, if you ever loved me let him go and let him live with me in seclusion.”
Magnus stared hard at her, searching her eyes for deception. “He was seen outside again, at the top of the Keep. He will be tortured until he tells me what I already know.”
Constance stood her ground and met his withering gaze.
“Your son is alive. You should be happy with that,” snapped Magnus.
“He is barely alive in a tomb chained to the floor, like an animal,” Constance snapped back.
Magnus leaned forward and she backed up a step. “He is a traitor, who conspired with the enemy to help them. He is alive. That is all I can offer you at this time.”
Constance put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from losing control. If she were locked up with her son, she could do neither of them any good. Please, Magnus…just this once, show me compassion. Darius won’t last down there. He is broken now. He can do no further harm.”
Magnus leaned back deep in his throne. He studied his beautiful, but treacherous wife. “I will grant you the request with one condition.”
Without hesitation Constance answered. “Yes…anything.” regretting saying it immediately.
Magnus smiled, and it chilled Constance to the core. “I will return your traitorous son, if you will return to my bed. And also, he will be tortured one last time-tonight-so that he will not forget the price of disloyalty.”
Constance cried and pleaded for her son for as long as she could, to no avail. Later on that evening, in her sleeping chamber, she held her hands over her ears, trying to block out the sounds of his screaming.
CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR
The day was like any day, starting with mind searing-heat and ending in burying their dead. The survivors were barely hanging on, and there was no sign of things getting better.
It was deep into the day which meant the heat was at its worst and still they trudged forward, all of them bleary-eyed and disoriented. Each of them willing to part with an appendage for one sip of water. The old lady and Reverend walked out in front from the main group while Jessie and Lucas scouted ahead of them.
Reverend was suffering from several wounds incurred in the battle at Dead Stone, and so was she. The two of them leaned on each other shuffling doggedly forward, head down and squinting against the brilliant sunshine.
“First thing I’m gonna do when I get to Hog Trough is get me an ice-cold glass of water, then a bath and then a steak,” mumbled the old lady.
“Here tell, they got a big ole water tower, right smack in the middle of town. Think I’m gonna jump in and swim around a bit,” joked Reverend, winking at her to let her know that he wasn’t done for, just yet.
That brightened the old lady and she chanced a glance into the sun to see if the Ford boys might be coming to bring them some news.
“Please God, the children are suffering. We are all suffering. Please God, send us someone…anyone that can help us. Amen,” Reverend prayed.
“Amen!” the old lady croaked, not really believing the prayer would do any good but somehow feeling better. Then she saw it, or something, she couldn’t tell what it was but something far off, coming toward them slowly, steadily. Something big and making a noise that was familiar to her from a time long ago. “There,” she pointed toward the object, barely able to hold out her arm.
“I’ll be a son of a bitch…sorry Lord,” Reverend mumbled.
“It’s a tractor. A diesel like my daddy had when I was a kid. He used to let me ride on it and plow the fields,” the old lady said.
The rest of the survivors caught up with them and together they closed ranks and got ready to meet the surprise visitor. The tractor was rust-colored and ancient. The man operating the tractor was quite possibly the roundest man that any of them had ever seen; especially in a time where food was at a premium.
The children able to stand were in wonder, nobody except the very oldest of the group had seen many cars let alone a tractor. The tractor was pulling a covered trailer, big and square and long, covered in lashed- down canvas.
“Looks like you folks could use a glass of water,” the man on the tractor chuckled. He was as round as he was tall with an old tattered pair of overalls on, wearing a tall- crowned sombrero and he had long grey curly hair with a matching beard.
The survivors were all clamoring to be heard at once. Reverend held up his hand, asking for quiet. “Did you say you have water, friend?”
“That’s what I said, and that’s what I meant,” answered the man. He climbed down from the tractor, hopping off the last step, landing with an impressive thud on the scalding sand. He walked back to the canvas-wrapped trailer and started to untie the ends of the ropes. Reverend tried to help him, but the sweat drenched man stopped him with a chubby out-thrust hand. “Don’t help me mister…I need the exercise,” he joked and laughed and kept untying the ropes until finally the canvas was free.
He looked at the crowd and smiled a big friendly smile before uncovering the trailer with a theatrical flourish, revealing a half- full plastic water tank, to which everyone gasped with approval and excitement. The old man pulled out some boxes containing paper cups, opening them and passing them around. “Everyone just take one, please. Go ahead now…pass them around.”
As the people in the crowd each took a cup, Reverend stood looking skeptically at the man. “How much is this glass of water going to cost us?” he asked.
The man frowned at him, pointing to a threadbare, faded arm band high on his left arm. Drawn on the arm band was a red cross. “I’m here to help,” he said, sounding more than a little hurt by the Reverend’s tone.
Reverend smiled, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I guess when you’ve seen nothing but bad for a while you forget that there are still some things that are good.”
He put his hand out to the man and t man took it and shook it and chuckled. “That’s okay, mister. The Red Robin sent word that you and your people were hurt and thirsty so I came as fast as I could. If you’ll follow me back to my place, we can get your people watered and doctored and fed and maybe able to push on to Hog Trough after you’re better.”
“How do we know the Red Robin sent you?” the old lady asked before Reverend could.
“Okay…yep, it’s good to be careful,” the man said, reaching into the back pocket of his overalls and taking out a card with a red robin on it. He handed the card to Reverend. “Red Robin said you’d know what to do with this.”
Reverend took the card, remembering back to when the brothers gave him the same type of card and how it proved they were indeed sent by the Red Robin.
“Gotta light?” he asked the old lady.
“What, are you kidding me?” said the old lady, winking at Poet who chuckled. She found her lighter and tossed it to Reverend who promptly lit the card on fire. Those still able to gasp did so as a red cloud of smoke came off of the burning card, turning into an image of a red robin. After it had faded, Reverend looked at the man and nodded. “Get everyone in line, children first and the wounded, then the women and men,” he said as loud as he could.
The man looked at him, smiled and winked at Reverend. He walked to the back of the trailer and turned a handle. A thin, steady stream of heavenly water came out.
“Folks in the Griddle call me, Buckets.”
Some of the women and children in line thanked him and he liked that. Buckets smiled and nodded and filled up the next cup full of water and so on and so on until, at last, everybody had their fill.
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
The men had barely been up an hour when Daniel walked out, none the worse for wear. Less than twelve hours had passed since he lay on death’s doorway. And although he stood with red scars and deep bruises covering every inch of his exposed skin, he was healthy looking, not limping or wincing. He stood before them as their leader, strong and resolute in his need to finish what he’d started. He grinned at them. “What’s everybody looking at…? Haven’t any of you seen a dead man come back to life before?”
