“If I can,” Yama promised.
“You’ve got to understand,” Seth went on. “I must be certain about you.
I have this gut feeling, but it isn’t enough where the safety of my family is concerned.” He paused. “Are you from the Citadel?”
“No,” Yama replied.
“From the Civilized Zone?”
“No.”
The Masons exchanged amazed glances.
“We’d heard there are people out there,” Seth said, “but we never expected to meet one. Where are you from?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t reveal that information.”
Seth pondered for a moment. “Okay. I won’t press the point. But can you at least tell me what you’re doing here?”
“If my calculations are correct,” Yama answered, choosing his words carefully, “and the map I was provided with is accurate, then I estimate I’m about twenty miles from the Cheyenne Citadel. Is this right?”
“You’re nineteen miles northwest of the Citadel,” Seth confirmed.
“Why?” he added hastily. “You’re not thinking of going there, are you?”
“I must.”
“Don’t do it!” Gail Mason interjected.
Yama looked at her.
“You’re crazy if you try to enter the Citadel,” she elaborated. “They have guards at all the entry points, and they check the identity of everyone going in. Do you have an identification card?”
“No,” Yama admitted.
“Besides,” Seth mentioned, smirking, “no one in the entire Civilized Zone wears clothes like yours. You’d stand out like a sore thumb. You’d draw soldiers like carrion draws flies.”
Yama sat back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. “Why are you telling me all of this? You live in the Civilized Zone. Aren’t you obligated to report my presence to the proper authorities?”
Seth laughed, a bitter, grating sound, devoid of all genuine mirth. “If you only knew! Do you have any idea what it’s like living in the Civilized Zone?”
“I’ve heard some tales,” Yama replied. “I stopped here with the hope of learning some more before I go into the Citadel.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Seth vowed.
“But why would you…” Yama started to speak, then abruptly stopped, his head cocked to one side.
Adam, ingesting all this astounding information in stunned silence, was the first to realize why Yama fell silent. “Listen!” he exclaimed. “The dogs!”
The pair of mixed-breed canines owned by the Masons were barking frantically.
“How did you get past our dogs, Yama?” Adam thought to ask him.
“They were dozing in the sun,” Yama detailed. “I didn’t want to disturb their beauty rest.”
Seth Mason rose and hurriedly walked to one of the two windows in the main room. “Damn! It’s a patrol! what are they doing here now?”
Yama rose so swiftly, so unexpectedly, Adam involuntarily jumped.
“If they find you here,” Gail said to Yama, “they’ll kill you.”
“They will try.”
Gail nodded her head toward Adam. “They may kill us too.”
Adam found Yama’s eyes on him for a moment.
“I don’t want to pose a danger to your family,” Yama stated. “I’ll stay out of sight until they’re gone.”
Seth motioned for Gail to join him. “Let’s greet them on the porch. Maybe we can talk them out of coming inside. Adam, you stay in here with Yama and don’t you dare make a sound!”
Seth and Gail walked onto the porch, arm in arm.
Yama waved Adam toward the window to the left of the front door while he positioned himself beside the window to the right. Both of the windows were open, as was the wooden front door, although the screen door in front was closed.
Adam crouched below the window sill and cautiously peeked his eyes upward until he could see their front yard: the water pump, the red barn beyond, five of their chickens scratching in the dirt, his parents standing on the front porch, and just rounding the northern corner of the barn a tall soldier in his green uniform, carrying an M-16.
The first soldier was followed by another.
And another.
Horrified, Adam saw six troopers approach the Mason house. What was going on? Why were the soldiers here? They hardly ever came here!
The nearest major road was a good ten miles to the south, and Adam’s dad had often mentioned how he liked it that way, liked having a small ranch off the beaten track where they could remain free from the Government’s constant prying and snooping. Except for infrequent trips into the Citadel for items and supplies the family couldn’t produce on its own, and to attend Government-mandated functions and courses of instruction, the Masons avoided the Citadel like the proverbial plague.
So why were the soldiers here?
The six troopers had stopped about ten feet from the front porch. One of them, the tall leader, wore an insignia on his lapels. Little gold bars.
An officer, Adam knew.
“Hello, Lieutenant,” Seth Mason welcomed them. “May we help you?”
The Lieutenant turned to one of his men. “Did you hear that? May we help you?”
The troopers all laughed.
Adam heard a sharp clicking noise and glanced over at Yama. The man in blue was doing something to a lever on his machine gun. Satisfied, he quickly crossed to the front door and stood by the right jamb.
The soldiers had all ceased laughing.
Adam, petrified, gazed outside.
The officer was extracting a piece of paper from a pocket on the left side of his shirt.
Adam noticed each of the troopers carried an M-16, but the officer also had an automatic pistol in a holster on his right hip.
“I’m Lieutenant Simms,” the officer was saying.
“We’re pleased to meet you,” Seth said warily.
“That’s what you think,” Lieutenant Simms retorted. “Is this the Mason’s residence?”
“It is,” Seth verified.
“And are you Seth Mason?” Lieutenant Simms inquired stiffly.
“Yes, but…”
“Is this your wife, Gail?” the officer cut him off.
“Yes.”
Adam, terrified, saw the officer point the M-16 at his parents.
“Good,” Lieutenant Simms said. “Then by the authority vested in me by Samuel the Second, acting upon the specific directive of the Doktor, for heinous crimes against the State including violating the Biological Imperative, I hereby place you and your entire family officially under arrest and confiscate your property.”
“What? You can’t!” Adam’s father took a step toward the officer.
Lieutenant Simms elevated the barrel of the M-16 until it was aimed at Seth’s head. “Make another move, you lousy dirt farmer, and I’ll blow your damn head off!”
Chapter Three
Hickok instinctively blasted the rifleman first, his hands a blur as they drew the pearl-handled Colt Pythons, his right Magnum booming, and the rifleman staggered as the slug penetrated the middle of his forehead and blew out the back of his head. The man toppled to the ground as Hickok spun, his left Python cracking, the shot catching a woman wielding a butcher’s knife in her right eye and spinning her body completely around before she fell onto her face.
Inside the SEAL, Geronimo clawed at the door handle. “They’re Wacks!” he shouted, flinging the door open and jumping to the ground, the FNC Auto Rifle already at his shoulder as he aimed at a line of charging cannibals and squeezed the trigger. The Auto Rifle burped, and four of the crazies dropped.
Blade joined the conflict, leaping from the driver’s seat, the A-1 pressed against his right hip as he fired, the heavy slugs tearing into a group of attacking Wacks and decimating them in a crimson spray of blood and flesh.
Hickok stood his ground, downing targets as rapidly as they posed a threat: four, five, six more in swift succession.
At least eigh
teen of the Wacks were down, dead or dying, when the remainder opted to retreat, breaking for the nearest cover and disappearing.
Blade and Geronimo joined Hickok and covered him while he reloaded the spent cartridges in his Pythons.
“I never expected to find the Wacks this far north,” Blade commented.
“We shouldn’t have to bother with finding the Nomads,” Geronimo remarked. “All this gunfire will draw their attention and bring them on the run.”
Blade nodded. “That’s what drew them to us the last time.” The four groups in the Twin Cities didn’t own too many guns, maybe thirty firearms among them. Invariably, they would send scouting parties to ascertain the source of any firing. “We’ll wait in the SEAL for them to arrive.”
“What about them?” Hickok asked, nodding at the fallen Wacks, some of whom were still alive, groaning and crying.
“There’s nothing we can do for them right now,” Blade said. “There might be more of them lurking nearby, or the ones who escaped could be going for reinforcements. We’ll play it safe and stay in the transport for the time being.”
The three Warriors returned to the vehicle and climbed inside.
“Thank the Spirit only one of them had a gun,” Geronimo mentioned.
“What did the pathetic fools hope to accomplish using stones and knives and clubs against our firepower?”
“Some folks just never learn,” Hickok declared.
Blade turned in his seat and glanced at Joshua. The Empath was gazing sadly at the dead and injured littering the ground, his mouth downturned, his eyes slightly misty. “Are you all right?” Blade asked him.
“Everywhere we go,” Joshua said slowly, huskily, “it’s the same thing. Killing. Killing and more killing.”
“Oh, brother!” Hickok snapped. “Are we going to go through all of this again? It was them or us, Josh. You saw that.”
“I realize your alternatives were markedly limited, given the circumstances,” Joshua admitted.
“Decent of you, pard,” Hickok cracked.
“I just can’t become accustomed to all of this slaughter,” Joshua said, looking at Hickok in despair. “Back at the Home we live together in harmony and peace, we cultivate spiritual growth and strive to promote loving relationships.” He paused. “It’s so different out here! Every time we come out into the world, it’s the same thing! Someone is always trying to kill us! I’ve tried to adjust to it, to this survival of the deadliest, but I can’t.”
“You can’t?” Hickok quizzed him. “Or you won’t?”
“What do you mean?”
Hickok sighed. “I thought after our run to Thief River Falls and our previous trip to the Twin Cities, after you saw what the real world was like, you were beginning to see the light. Heck, pard, you even wasted some of our enemies yourself…”
“I know,” Joshua interrupted. “I know! I’ve tried to adapt! I really have.” He paused. “Sometimes I think I would have preferred living before World War III, before the Big Blast, as we so quaintly call it. At least back then people weren’t trying to kill you every chance they got!”
“I’m glad I wasn’t born before the Big Blast,” Hickok said disagreeing.
“I’ve had some interesting talks with Plato and some of the other Elders about life back then, and I reckon I would have hated it.”
“Hated it?” Joshua repeated. “Why?”
“Think back to our schooling days,” Hickok said.
“Remember our history classes? We were told that people before the Big Blast couldn’t pack their weapons on their person. Remember?”
“I recall it well,” Joshua stated.
“It may not make no nevermind to you, pard, being the spiritual type,” Hickok pointed out, “but when I heard that little bit of information, I thanked the Spirit I wasn’t born way back then. I couldn’t imagine not being allowed to strap on my Pythons whenever and wherever I wanted.”
The gunman frowned. “From what Plato told me, those folks back then were near regulated to death. They had more laws than a mangy dog has fleas! And why do you reckon it was that way? I’ll tell you. Plato said there were two big reasons for all those laws. First, the folks back then suffered from a pitiful lack of self-control and discipline. They might have everything in the world they could possibly want, but guess what? They always wanted more. The parents and the kids were all the same. They thought life owed them a living. They thought they could do pretty much as they pleased, and half of them didn’t follow half of the laws most of the time anyway. But the leaders kept slappin’ on more and more laws to compensate for the absence of self-control on the part of the people.”
Hickok stopped and looked at Geronimo. “Any sign of movement out there?”
“Nothing,” Geronimo answered, his eyes constantly sweeping their surroundings. “You keep talking. This history lesson of yours is… fascinating.”
“The second reason for all the laws was the quality of leadership they had,” Hickok continued. “Plato says they didn’t select their leaders based on which one was the wisest, like we do. They voted in leaders based on which one had the cutest smile, the best clothes, or just a name they liked.
Plato says they were actually paying these mediocre types thousands and thousands of dollars a year to make laws, and you can bet, when someone’s being paid that much money to make laws, that’s exactly what they’re going to do, whether laws need to be made or not…”
“Say, Blade,” Geronimo interjected, “do you suppose we could ask Plato to permit Hickok to teach American History after we return to the Home?”
The gunman disregarded the sarcasm. “One last thing, Josh. You mentioned something about people back then not trying to kill you every chance they got. Well, pard, they didn’t have to kill you, because back then they had other, subtler, ways of gettin’ you. The ones in control, the ones with all the power, found it real easy to dominate the ordinary folks, what with all the laws they passed. The power-mongers could break you into tiny pieces, could take your home from you and even your own family, and do it all proper and legal-like, and there was nothing you could do about it. Folks back then were forced to conform—to fit into a dictated social mold, as Plato called it—whether they liked the idea or not. Oh, sure, they could buy all the things they wanted, and live in a fancy home, and have kids and all, but only so long as they payed their taxes on time and obeyed all the laws. But try to be different, try to be unique, try to be your own person, and they’d pounce on you quicker than a fox on a rabbit.” Hickok shook his head. “No, sir. You can have those times. I’m plumb tickled to be living right here and now!”
Joshua stared out his window, reflecting on the gun-fighter’s words.
“You know,” Geronimo chimed in, “I think that’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard you give.”
“I was a mite long-winded,” Hickok acknowledged.
“What worries me,” Geronimo said gravely, “is that it actually made sense! What do you think. Blade?”
“What worries me,” Blade replied, “is that no one has shown up yet. The Nomads had to hear the gunshots. We’re not that far from their camp. Why hasn’t someone come? What’s going on?”
“Why don’t we mosey on over to their camp and take a look-see?” Hickok suggested.
“I love a man who has a way with words,” Geronimo said, chuckling.
“Hickok has the right idea,” Blade said. “We’re here to let these people know the Family has agreed to assist in relocating them in a town near our Home and to help them organize for their departure in the spring. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all get back to the Home and our wives.”
“I’m for that!” Geronimo heartily assented.
Blade started the SEAL and drove slowly forward, on the alert for any more Wacks. He was becoming increasingly disturbed by the absence of people, with the notable exception of the Wacks. What had happened?
They should have seen someone by now!
&nbs
p; As he drove, Blade reminisced. He remembered Hickok and Joshua promising the leaders of the Nomads, the Porns, and the Horns that they would return in a month with word on whether the Elders had accepted the relocation proposal. So what if they were a month or so late? Surely the leaders would have understood and been patient about the delay?
The leaders.
Zahner was the leader of the Nomads, the group in control of northern Minneapolis. The Nomads numbered about two hundred, the smallest of the three main factions.
A man named Bear led the Porns, literally handed the leadership after Hickok had eliminated their former leader. Numbering six hundred or so, the Porns were the largest group, but compared to the Nomads and the Horns, they were the least organized.
The Horns were headed by Reverend Paul, with approximately four hundred followers based in St. Paul. The men always dressed in black, the women were inevitably modestly attired, and they all practiced a devout lifestyle as befitted their religious beliefs.
The exact population of Wacks was unknown, as was the identity of their new leader, if they had one. Blade had seen their last chief consumed by a mutated monstrosity.
“Do you think it’s possible,” Geronimo speculated, “the truce broke down, that the sides are at war again?”
“Could be,” Hickok concurred. “We took too blasted long getting back here!”
“It wasn’t our fault,” Blade noted. “The Kalispell thing came up, and then Geronimo had that spot of trouble in South Dakota.”
“It’s good the Kalispell thing did come up,” Geronimo added.
“Otherwise, we might never have found the medical and scientific items Plato needed. As it is, because we did locate the equipment in Kalispell, we won’t need to bother looking here in the Twin Cities. We can concentrate on the matter at hand and get to the Home that much faster.”
“What do you intend to do about Bertha?” Blade asked Hickok.
“I thought we dropped that subject earlier,” the gunman said bristling.
“I’m only asking as your friend,” Blade emphasized. “You know that.”
“Reckon I do,” Hickok grumbled, “but I still wish everybody would stop bringing her up. Fact is, I’m not sure how to handle her. I’ve never had a problem like this before, and I sure as blazes never want one like it again.
Citadel Run Page 3
