Liberty Run

by David Robbins

  Cole had squirmed onto his elbows and knees.

  What was he up to? Bertha halted behind a rock outcropping 60 yards from the base of the hill.

  There was movement in the thicket secreting the Bobcat boy.

  Bertha stiffened. She was too far away yet! If only nothing would happen until she was closer! She sccambled forward on her stomach, across a grassy stretch, and reached a maple tree. Once behind the trunk, she stood and surveyed the situation below.

  The movement in the thicket had ceased.

  Libby was still seeking a glimpse of Cole.

  Cole was peering over the top of the weeds.

  Bertha was about to crouch and proceed further, when something flickered at the edge of her vision, lower down and off to the right. She glanced in that direction, her nerves tingling.

  The Bobcat leader had circled around Cole! He was 15 yards from Cole’s hiding place, slowly advancing, stooped over.

  How the hell had he done it? Bertha had supposed he was on the opposite side of the tree where he’d taken cover. The guy was good! There was no doubt about it.

  The Bobcat leader was searching from side to side. Several trees and a dense bush separated him from Cole.

  Bertha didn’t believe the Bobcat leader had seen Cole. Yet. But in a few seconds Cole was bound to be spotted. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the Bobcat leader, waiting for the right moment. He passed one of the trees, then another. Bertha’s abdomen tightened expectantly. The tall Bobcat leader came abreast of the third tree, and now just the bush obscured Cole’s hiding place from the alert, black-haired youth. Bertha’s eyes were glued to the Bobcat’s ragged brown leather shoes. He took one step, then another, cautiously edging around the bush to the left. Another one took him to the very border of the bush. He was scrutinizing the slope above him, and he still hadn’t spied Cole squatting in the weeds. He raised his leg, about to go past the bush, and as he did, Bertha took her calculated gamble. She leaped from concealment, waving her arms. “Up here, turkey!” she shouted.

  The Bobcat leader swiveled at the sound of her voice, pointing his AK-47 up the hill.

  Even as the Bobcat leader was turning, Cole spun too. He saw the leader’s head and shoulders visible above the bush, and he fired from a crouch, his burst striking the Bobcat leader in the face and flinging the tall youth to the turf.

  And suddenly, everything went wrong.

  Libby, hearing the gunfire but unable to see Cole, sprang to her feet, anxious for his safety, heedless of her own. It was a fatal mistake.

  The Bobcat girl in the boulders jumped up, blasting from the hip, her AK-47 on full automatic.

  Libby was hurled onto her back by the impact, her arms spreading wide.

  Cole whirled at the chatter of the Bobcat girl’s weapon, and he saw Libby get hit. He surged from cover, crashing through the underbrush toward Libby. ” No!” he screamed. ” No! No!”

  The Bobcat in the thicket abruptly stepped into view, aiming a rifle at Cole, and he squeezed the trigger as Cole recklessly crossed a small clearing five yards from Libby.

  Cole stumbled as he was struck. He twirled toward the Bobcat in the thicket, and he fired as the Bobcat’s rifle thundered again, and kept firing as the Bobcat doubled over and dropped to one side. He turned toward Libby, staggering haltingly.

  The Bobcat girl in the boulders pressed her AK-47 to her right shoulder, aiming at Cole.

  All of this transpired so swiftly, so unexpectedly, Bertha reacted belatedly. Four seconds elapsed between her shout and Cole being struck, and when she did act, when she did enter the fray, her action was instinctive, ingrained from years of gang warfare and her training as a Warrior. Caught up in the heat of the moment, fearing for Cole and Libby, she did the only thing she could have done under the circumstances. She saw the Bobcat girl aim at Cole, and she automatically sighted her M-16

  and fired off a half-dozen rounds.

  The shots were right on target. The Bobcat girl stiffened, then sprawled over a boulder.

  Bertha plunged down the slope, taking the straightest route, limbs and thorns tearing at her clothes. Her left boot snagged in a root and she tripped, landing on both knees. But she was up in an instant, plowing through the vegetation, and she didn’t stop until she reached the small clearing near Libby. She halted in midstep, horrified, her countenance reflecting her emotional unheaval. “Dear Lord!” she exclaimed.

  Cole was on his knees in the middle of the clearing, his right arm outstretched toward Libby. His body was trembling, and blood coated the front of his brown shirt. His green eyes were locked on Libby.

  Libby’s green shift was crimson from the waist up. Bullet holes dotted the fabric. She was flat on her back, her right arm extended toward Cole, her brown eyes staring at him in acute misery. Their fingers were a mere inch apart.

  Cole made a valiant effort to rise, to move closer to Libby, but his legs buckled, and he sagged to his knees.

  Libby’s gaze shifted, focused on Bertha. “Please!” she pleaded. “Please!”

  Bertha hurried over to Cole, slinging the M-16 over her left arm.

  Cole tried to twist, to use the AK-47 in his left hand, detecting movement but unaware of Bertha’s proximity.

  “It’s me! Bertha!” Bertha informed him, reaching his side and placing her right arm around his waist.

  Cole turned his tormented face toward her. “Help me,” he said. “Must touch Libby.”

  Bertha nodded. She heaved, lifting him, assisting him to move next to Libby. She could feel his blood trickling over her arm.

  Cole wearily knelt alongside Libby. Bertha released him, and he almost toppled over. Weaving, he dropped the AK-47 and braced himself with his left arm. He smiled down at Libby.

  Libby beamed up at him.

  Bertha stood at Libby’s feet, her eyes moistening.

  “Looks like I made a mess of things,” Cole said, his voice barely audible.

  Libby was breathing heavily. “No, you didn’t,” she admonished him.

  “We did okay.”

  “You always were one for looking at the bright side of things,” Cole remarked, and coughed.

  Libby glanced at Bertha. “Did we get them? Did we get all of them?”

  “Yes,” Bertha answered softly.

  “See?” Libby grinned at Cole. “We paid them back for Milly and the others. We did okay.”

  Cole nodded once, his eyelids fluttering. “I guess we did, at that.”

  Libby’s right hand drifted to Cole’s lap.

  Cole took her hand in his, their fingers entwining. Tears filled his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Libby.”

  “For what?”

  “For all the time I wasted. I heard you talking to Bertha outside the cabin.” He paused, coughed some more. “I’m sorry for not showing you how I felt. I’m sorry for all the time we could have shared. I’m sorry because I was scared to tell you, scared to open up, scared of losing you.

  You were right.” He grimaced and coughed, and blood appeared at the left corner of his mouth.

  “We’ll be together again,” Libby assured him. She seemed to be staring dreamily into the distance. “I told you about my mom lots of times, about how nice she was. She was very religious, even though religion is against the law. Maybe that’s why the Russians took Dad and her. She used to read to us from the Bible, tell us about Jesus and God and Heaven. Heaven is a wonderful place. Nobody tries to kill you there. You always have enough to eat. And there’s lots of angels all over, and music, music with harps and singing and all. And love. Everybody loves everybody. Isn’t that great?”

  Blood was seeping from both corner’s of Cole’s mouth. “You think,” he began, and wheezed, “you think we’ll go to this Heaven?”

  Libby looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I do.”

  Cole’s features were blancing. “I don’t know…”

  “Tell him, Bertha,” Libby said. “Tell him.”

  Bertha found it difficult to speak. “I don
’t know much about God and such,” she confessed. Libby frowned.

  “But the folks at the Home do,” Bertha quickly added. “The Elders there say we live on after this life. They say we go to a better place, a higher spiritual level they call it.”

  Cole took a deep breath. “And how… do we get to this better place?”

  “The Elders say all it takes is faith,” Bertha stated, recalling several worship services she’d attended. “All you got to do is believe in the Spirit.”

  “I believe,” Libby declared weakly. She gazed at Cole. “Please. For me. Believe.”

  Cole coughed and slumped lower. “I never gave it much… thought before.” He paused. “But if it means I’ll see you again, then for you,”—he wheezed—“I’ll believe.”

  Libby gripped his hand tightly. “Thank you.” She looked up at a patch of sky visible through the trees. “I can’t wait to get there! Maybe we’ll see our parents again. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

  Cole didn’t answer.

  “Cole?” Libby said, alarmed, examining his rigid features.

  Cole was quivering. He began to droop forward, his eyes on her. “I… love… you,” he said, and collapsed across her waist.

  Bertha took a step nearer and reached for Cole.

  “Don’t!” Libby stated.

  “But…” Bertha started to protest.

  “Leave him,” Libby directed. “I want him like this.” She managed to move her left hand to his head and began stroking his hair. For a minute she was quiet, Frowning. Then she mustered a wan smile. “You know, this is the first time I’ve touched him like this. I can’t believe it!”

  Bertha felt light-headed.

  “Bertha?” Libby said. Her voice was fading.

  “I’m here,” Bertha assured her huskily.

  “Promise me something,” Libby stated.

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me you’ll bury us side by side. Hand in hand. Please? I don’t want the animals to get us,” Libby said.

  Bertha responded with the utmost difficulty. “I promise you. I’ll bury you side by side.”

  “Thank you.” Libby gazed up at the sky, and an incredible expression of happiness transformed her face. “We’re on our way!” she cried, elated. She gasped once, then ceased breathing.

  An eerie silence enshrouded the hillside, until an unusual sound arose from a small clearing near the base of the hill, a sound gaining in intensity as it continued, softly at first, and then in loud, moanful sobs, the sound of a Warrior crying.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The day was cold, the sky a bright blue. He was dressed all in gray, with a pair of Grizzlies nestled in shoulder holsters, one under each arm. The Family firing range was all his. Few Family members ventured into the southeastern corner of the Home. The children were instructed to stay away from the firing range, which consisted of a large clearing with an earth bank at the east end. The Warriors used the firing range regularly, and the other Family members were required to visit it periodically to take firing lessons under the Warriors’ tutelage, to familiarize themselves with the correct use of firearms in case the Home ever sustained another assault.

  Two rusted tin cans had been placed on the earthen bank.

  He draped his arms at his sides, shook his head to relax the muscles, and drew, the Grizzlies gleaming as they flashed from their holsters. Both pistols boomed, and the tin cans flipped into the air. They dropped to the dirt and rattled to the bottom of the bank.

  “Right smart shootin’, Sundance,” remarked someone behind him.

  Sundance recognized the voice. He slid the Grizzlies into their holsters and turned. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

  The blond gunman in the buckskins nodded. “Figured as much.” He indicated the bank with a wave of his right hand. “It looks like you’re pretty much healed.”

  Sundance glanced at the tin cans. “Just about. It’s been a tough two months,” he admitted.

  “I know,” the man in the buckskins stated. “I’ve been keepin’ tabs on you, checkin’ with the Healers every now and then. They told me you likely would’ve died if Bertha hadn’t tended you on the way back from Philly. They said it was touch and go for a spell. You must be one tough hombre, Sundance.”

  Sundance studied the Family’s legendary gunfighter. “And to what do I owe all this attention, Hickok?”

  Hickok grinned, his blond mustache curling upward. “I reckon you know why I’m here.”

  It was Sundance’s turn to nod. “I guess I do. And I don’t see where it’s any business of yours.”

  Hickok’s grin faded. “I’m making it my business,” he declared.

  Sundance felt his temper rise. “You shouldn’t butt your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

  Hickok hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. “That’s where you’re wrong, pard. I do have a legitimate stake in what’s going on. One of my best buddies, Blade, and one of the people I care for a whole bunch, Bertha, came back from the Philly run all discombobulated. And do you know what the reason was?”

  “What?” Sundance responded.

  “You,” Hickok said.

  “How do you figure?” Sundance queried defensively.

  “Blade can be a moody cuss at times,” Hickok commented. “And he moped around here for weeks after you three got back. It took Geronimo and me a while to pry the reason out of him, but he finally ’fessed up to bein’ upset over what happened to you. It had something to do with some Commie captain. Blade blamed himself for you bein’ hurt. Claimed it never would’ve happened if he’d done what he should’ve done with the captain.”

  “It wasn’t Blade’s fault,” Sundance said.

  “Well, Blade ain’t content unless he can blame himself for everything that goes wrong in his life.”

  Hickok mentioned, and chuckled. “Sometimes I swear the big dummy would blame himself for bad weather, if he could get away with it. Luckily for him, he’s got his missus, Geronimo, and me to keep him in line. He got over what happened to you.” Hickok paused. “But Bertha is another story.”

  “Bertha doesn’t concern you,” Sundance stated.

  Hickok was standing ten feet away. He moved closer, his hands straying to his sides. “Bertha does concern me, pard. A lot. We go back a long way.

  We’ve been through a lot together. We were close friends before the two of you ever met. Like I said, I care for her. And I get a mite ticked off when some yahoo gives her a bum steer!”

  “Bum steer?” Sundance snapped angrily. “Who the hell do you think you are? If Bertha has something to say to me, let her say it to my face!

  She doesn’t need to send you to do her talking for her!”

  “She didn’t send me,” Hickok said.

  “Then why are you here?” Sundance demanded. “Bertha and I are adults. We don’t need you to play matchmaker!”

  Hickok pursed his lips, then sighed. “I can see you want to do this the hard way.”

  “We have nothing to discuss,” Sundance reiterated. “Get lost.”

  Hickok squared his shoulders. “Why don’t you make me?”

  Sundance tensed. “Don’t push me,” he warned.

  “Or what?” Hickok asked. “You’ll draw on me?”

  “I’ll only be pushed so far,” Sundance declared. “I don’t like it when someone meddles in my personal affairs.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Hickok noted. “You goin’ to draw on me?”

  “I won’t draw on a fellow Warrior,” Sundance said.

  Hickok smirked. “Ahhh. Ain’t that sweet! Tell you what I’ll do. You say you want me to get lost?”

  “That’s right,” Sundance affirmed.

  “Then you beat me on the draw,” Hickok proposed, “and I’ll make tracks.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. You beat me, and I get lost. I beat you, and you hear me out. What do you say?” Hickok prompted him.

  “You’re crazy!” Sundance ex
claimed.

  Hickok shrugged. “Everybody knows that. Now what about it? Do we have a deal?”

  “I beat you,” Sundance said, “and you promise you’ll take a hike?”

  “You have my word,” Hickok vowed. “All you have to do is get a bead on my belly button before I get one on yours, and I’m out of your life.”

  Sundance mulled over the proposition. He was genuinely annoyed at Hickok for prying into his private life, and he resented Hickok’s smug attitude. Ordinarily, he detested exhibitionism. But this was a special case. He wanted to teach Hickok a lesson.

  “What’s it goin’ to be?” Hickok asked. “Yes or no?”

  “I’ll do it!” Sundance declared. “And then I want you to get the hell out of here!”

  “Such a mouth for a Warrior!” Hickok quipped. “Ain’t you heard we’re supposed to set an example for the younguns?”

  “Let’s get this nonsense over with,” Sundance commented acidly.

  “Touchy sort, huh?” Hickok shrugged. “Okay. To do this fair, let’s both hold our arms straight out from our sides. Like this.” He raised his arms.

  “This is ridiculous,” Sundance said, elevating his arms.

  Hickok surveyed the clearing and the surrounding forest. “Do you see that sparrow over there?” he inquired.

  Sundance glanced to his right. “That one on top of the pine tree?”

  “That’s the one,” Hickok confirmed. “When it takes off, we slap leather.”

  “We draw when the bird flies off?” Sundance said.

  “That’s the general notion,” Hickok declared.

  “That’s stupid,” Sundance complained.

  “You got a better idea?”

  “No,” Sundance reluctantly replied.

  “Then when the sparrow skedaddles,” Hickok directed, “pull your irons.”

  Sundance concentrated on the bird. He suddenly viewed the outcome of their mock duel as extremely important. He wanted, more than anything else, to put Hickok in his place. He was tired of always being compared to the Family’s supreme gunfighter. And he wanted to prove he was a skilled pistoleer in his own right.