“Suit yourself,” Blade said.
Hickok lapsed into moody silence, contemplating his problem. How the dickens was he going to tell a woman who loved him, Bertha, that while he was gone he had up and married another woman? With Bertha’s personality and temperament, she might put a knife into his gut out of sheer spite!
How’d he ever get into this blasted fix?
Alpha Triad had rescued Bertha from some soldiers stationed in Thief River Falls. Bertha, a resident of the Twin Cities and one of the Nomads, had tried to find an escape route from the former metropolis. The soldiers from the Civilized Zone—the Watchers, as the people in the Twin Cities referred to them—had had the city bottled up, with troops stationed at strategic points along all the primary arteries. Zahner, the Nomad leader, had sent Bertha, one of his best fighters, to attempt to locate a way out of the Twin Cities and away from the incessant warfare among the different groups. She had been captured by the soldiers and was being held at Thief River Falls when Alpha Triad had saved her. Refusing to return to the Twins, she had gone with Alpha Triad back to their Home. Later, she had changed her mind and accompanied the Warriors and Joshua on their initial foray into the Twin Cities. She had been injured and Hickok had last seen her lying in a tent, bandaged, recovering from her wound but emotionally distraught over his aloofness.
But who could blame him for being aloof?
Hickok wasn’t proud of his actions, but he’d had little choice. First, Bertha liked him far more than he liked her. Not that he didn’t care for her, because he did, but more as a close friend than a lover. Secondly, he had been on the rebound, having lost a woman he did deeply love during a battle in Fox, Minnesota. He simply hadn’t been ready for another heavy romance, not then anyway. And finally, he had learned that Bear, the man he had installed as Porn leader, was in love with Bertha and wanted her to become his mate.
So who could blame him for walking out on Bertha?
Who could blame him for finding someone else, a woman he did truly love?
Who could blame him for marrying this woman?
Bertha. That was who.
Who was he kidding? Bertha wasn’t the type to take news like this in stride.
So how should he handle it? He wasn’t all that experienced with women, and the prospect of hurting her distressed him. Blowing away an enemy was one thing; causing profound grief to a friend was another.
Hickok sighed.
There had to be a painless way of…
Blade slammed on the brakes so hard the entire transport lurched violently.
Hickok placed his hands on the dashboard to brace himself. “What the blazes are you doing?” he demanded.
“Look,” Blade replied, nodding.
Hickok did.
The roadway ahead was covered with bodies, dozens of them.
“Dear Father!” Joshua exclaimed. “What could have happened?”
“We’re going to take a look,” Blade said, turning off the ignition.
“Joshua, remain in the SEAL with the doors locked.”
“But…” Joshua started to object.
“Do as I say!” Blade ordered. He glanced at Hickok and Geronimo.
“Ready?”
“I was born ready,” Hickok responded.
Geronimo nodded.
The three warriors cautiously emerged from the vehicle and advanced along the highway. Tall trees and shrubbery lined both sides of the road.
“Good spot for an ambush,” Hickok observed.
“Looks like somebody already had that idea,” Geronimo stated.
Blade could hear the wind rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. He cradled the A-1 in his huge arms, ready to react to the slightest sound or movement.
“Nothing to our rear but the SEAL,” Geronimo declared, covering their flank.
They reached the bodies.
“What a mess!” Hickok commented. “Looks like somebody caught them in a cross fire.”
The prone forms were shot to pieces; men, women, and even children were each perforated with multiple bullet holes.
“Doesn’t look like they had a chance,” Hickok deduced. “This guy still has a rifle slung over his shoulder. It must have happened so fast he didn’t have time to bring the rifle into play.”
Geronimo knelt and studied one of the bodies. “Couldn’t have happened more than forty-eight hours ago, probably closer to thirty-six.”
“Do you notice anything else?” Blade asked them.
“Like what?” Hickok answered.
Blade nudged a man dressed in black with the toe of his right moccasin. “I count fifty-two bodies. This one, from the way he’s dressed, is obviously a Horn. Look at this other one, the one wearing the beads and the outlandish hair style. I could be wrong, but I’d guess that this one is a Porn.”
“Horns and Porns together?” Hickok said skeptically. “I know there was a truce in effect, but they still weren’t too fond of each other. What gives?”
“And what about the animals?” Geronimo brought up.
“The animals?” Hickok repeated.
“Yeah. Look at the bodies. None of them have been touched by the animals. There are a lot of wild animals in the Twin Cities, not to mention all of the rats. Why haven’t some of them taken a few bites out of the corpses:
“Something scared the animals off,” Blade reasoned.
“Like what?” Geronimo queried.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Blade replied.
Hickok gazed at the body of a little girl with blonde curls and a ragged cavity where her left cheek had been. “So what do we have here? Horns and Porns and possibly Nomads together, which is downright peculiar.
From the position of most of the bodies, I’d say they were trying to head out of the Twin Cities when they were ambushed from both sides.
Whoever did this never heard of the word mercy.”
“Do we keep going?” Geronimo questioned Blade.
“We gave our word to these people,” Blade stated. “When the Family gives its word, it keeps it.”
“If you want to get technical,” Geronimo said, “it was Hickok who gave his word on behalf of the whole Family. We could just leave and send them a post card explaining that Hickok is off his rocker and no one should ever believe a word he says.”
“I don’t rightly know what a post card is,” Hickok retorted, “but I do know when I’ve been insulted. Again.”
“You’re improving!” Geronimo grinned.
“We keep going,” Blade directed. He wheeled and strode to the SEAL.
Joshua unlocked the doors to admit them. “Any idea what happened to all of those people?”
“None,” Blade admitted.
“Where’s your M-16, Josh?” Hickok asked as he slid into his seat.
“In the back,” Joshua revealed.
“Better get it and make sure it’s loaded,” Hickok advised.
“I’d rather not,” Joshua stated distastefully.
“Do it,” Blade commanded, turning the engine over. He drove to the right, along the shoulder of the highway, avoiding the bodies. Once past the last of the corpses, he resumed driving on the pitted, cracked road surface.
“Where we headed, pard?” Hickok wanted to know.
“Same destination,” Blade revealed. “Moore Lake. That’s where the Nomads were camped, last we knew.”
“Take a left here,” Geronimo advised, consulting their map. “This is 61st Avenue. It should take us almost to the north shore of the lake.”
Blade complied, his gray eyes continuously roving over the vegetation on both sides of the road. The SEAL’s bulletproof structure would protect them from an ambush, but there was no sense in taking needless risks. He followed 61st Avenue until he glimpsed Moore Lake, and then left the roadway on a straight beeline to the water, the SEAL’s gargantuan tires crushing every obstacle in their path.
The others were quiet, expectant, and tense, on guard for any trouble.
Blade
hugged the shoreline as he cruised around the lake.
“No sign of any wildlife,” Geronimo mentioned.
“Someone, or something, has been through this area not long ago,” Hickok speculated.
“I’ve been thinking about those bodies,” Geronimo commented, “about why the animals haven’t eaten them yet. The only thing I can think of that would scare off all the animals over a prolonged period would be steady traffic on the highway or…”
“Or frequent, periodic traffic on the highway,” Blade finished for him.
“You’ve been thinking the same thing I’ve been thinking,” Geronimo said.
“Sure have,” Blade confirmed.
“I don’t understand,” Joshua stated. “What do you mean?”
Hickok looked at the Empath. “They mean patrols, Josh. Regular patrols passing along the highway would scare off all the critters.”
“You too?” Geronimo asked Hickok.
“Yep, pard. Me too.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” Blade announced. “I just caught sight of some tents about a quarter-mile ahead.”
All four of them focused on the terrain ahead as the transport bypassed a clump of boulders, circumvented a stand of trees, and arrived at their destination, a large field with a dozen tents situated in its center.
Blade braked the SEAL.
“There’s no sign of life,” Geronimo noted, his exceptionally keen eyesight permitting him to scrutinize the campsite closely. “Nothing. Just the tents.”
“Possibly the Nomads decided to move their camp elsewhere,” Joshua guessed.
Hickok laughed sarcastically. “Oh, sure, Josh. They moved their camp, but left all those tents behind!”
Blade eased the vehicle forward. He spotted a flock of ducks floating in Moore Lake. The scene seemed normal enough, except for the conspicious absence of the Nomads. Where could they have gone? What had happened to Zahner and Bertha?
The strong westerly breeze was intensifying as Blade brought the SEAL to a complete stop and turned the transport off. He turned and stared at Joshua. “We’re going to investigate. You will stay inside…”
“But…” Joshua began.
Blade held aloft his right hand for silence. “I’m tired of giving you an order, Joshua, and having you object every time I do. Believe it or not, I have valid reasons for the orders I give. So when I tell you to stay put in the SEAL, you will damn well stay put in the SEAL! Understand?”
Joshua sheepishly nodded his assent.
“Do you see what happens when a man is denied some lovin’ and affection for a couple of days?” Hickolt asked Geronimo, grinning. “He gets all cranky with his pards.”
“I think the poor boy needs a cold bath,” Geronimo said joining in the sarcasm. “Hey! Maybe he’d like to take a dunk in Moore Lake?”
“Great idea!” Hickok enthused. “He could splash around with the little duckies! He’d feel right at home. He’s as quackers as they are!”
The gunman laughed uproariously at his own joke, while Geronimo hid his face in his hands and shook his head.
“As I was saying,” Blade resumed, his eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth as he looked at Joshua, “you will stay in the SEAL with the doors locked. If anything happens to us, get the SEAL back to the Home.”
“But I’ve never driven it before,” Joshua noted.
“A little practice and you’ll get the hang of it,” Blade told him. “Now this next part is very important. Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to open these doors for anyone but us. Do you understand that?”
“I understand.”
“Are you positive?” Blade pressed him. “You must not open the doors for anyone else, no matter who it might be. Do I have your word as a spiritual son of the Universal Spirit that you will obey me?”
“There’s no need for that,” Joshua said.
“Do I have your word?” Blade stressed.
“You have my word,” Joshua pledged.
“Good.” Blade looked at Hickok and Geronimo. “If you two are through making like Laurel and Hardy, let’s go!” He opened his door and climbed from the transport.
“Who the blazes are Laurel and Hardy?” Hickok inquired as he followed Blade’s lead.
“I saw a picture book on them in the Family Library,” Geronimo clarified as he joined Hickok on the grass. “Laurel and Hardy were comedians way back when. They starred in something called movies. One of them was fat and the other one was thin.”
“So which one am I?” Hickok demanded.
Blade walked around the SEAL and glared at them. “What the hell is the matter with you nitwits? In case you forgot, we’re in hostile territory!
And here you two are, arguing over which one of you is the fattest?”
“He weighs more than I do,” Hickok mumbled.
“I do not,” Geronimo rejoined.
Blade shook his head. “Married life has made you sloppy!” He turned and scanned the tents. Except for a few of the tent flaps whipping in the wind, all was quiet and deceptively peaceful. “Where is everyone?” he asked, half to himself.
Geronimo and Hickok were all business now. Geronimo walked a few yards toward the lake and knelt, examining the soft earth. Hickok covered them with his Henry.
“Some tracks here,” Geronimo declared. “From the look of them, I’d say they were made by big vehicles, even larger than the SEAL. Probably not more than thirty-six hours ago.”
“About the same time frame as the ambush back there,” Blade observed.
“Think there’s a connection?” Hickok questioned him.
“Could be,” Blade responded, stepping toward the nearest of the tents.
“Move out. Each of you take a tent. There may be a clue inside one of them as to what happened here, maybe something that will tell us where the Nomads went.”
The three Warriors separated, each making for a different tent.
Blade approached the tent with supreme caution. The tent was old, patched in several spots, and constructed of a faded canvas. The wind was causing the flap to wave back and forth, almost like a giant hand beckoning Blade to enter. He spotted the remnant of a campfire about four feet from the tent flap, the ashes obviously cold and gray.
What had happened here?
Blade used the barrel of his A-1 to open the tent flap all the way as he stepped inside. In the instant it took his eyes to adjust to the subdued lighting, the muzzles of three M-16’s were shoved within an inch of his face.
“Not one move!” barked a harsh voice. “If you try to resist, my men will do to your brains what I like to do to my eggs—scramble them!”
Chapter Four
Adam Mason felt a tight knot in his stomach as the officer took several steps toward his father and mother, still training his M-16 on them.
“There must be some mistake!” Seth was saying.
“There was, all right,” Lieutenant Simms growled, “and you were the asshole who made it!”
“There’s no need to talk like that in front of my wife!” Seth said bristling.
Lieutenant Simms chuckled. “Where you’re going, fellow, rude language will be the least of your worries.”
“But why?” Seth demanded. “Aren’t we entitled to know the specifics of the charges against us?”
The officer gazed at one of his men. “It’s always the same, isn’t it? They always have to know! As if they didn’t already!”
“We haven’t broken any laws!” Seth countered.
Lieutenant Simms lowered his M-16 and glanced at the paper in his hand. “You can act ignorant all you want to, farmer, but it won’t do you any good.”
“Please, officer,” Adam’s mother pleaded, “won’t you tell us the reason for the charges?”
Simms sneered. “I’ll humor you, lady, only because you and I are going to have some serious fun later. But you know and I know you both are as guilty as they come!”
“Of what?” Seth demanded brusquely.
“Ar
e you, or are you not, on the circuit of Dr. Nevins?” the officer asked them.
“Yes, we are,” Seth answered.
“Then you admit that Dr. Nevins is your family physician?”
“He has been for years,” Seth replied. “He comes around on his circuit about every six months and gives us our required physical. Why?”
“Yes, the good Dr. Nevins was efficient, wasn’t he?” Lieutenant Simms said sarcastically.
“Was?” Seth asked.
“Don’t you have a boy around here somewhere?” Simms asked. “By the name of Adam, according to the record?”
“He’s around here somewhere,” Seth responded. “Probably out playing in the fields.”
“How convenient,” the officer sarcastically snapped. “And didn’t Dr. Nevins deliver the boy?”
“Yes, he did,” Seth admitted, his voice lowering, sounding less defiant.
“Looks like the wind is going out of your sails,” Simms said gloating.
“You know what I’m getting at, don’t you? Of course you do.” He snickered, then turned markedly serious. “Quick! What is the requirement of the Biological Imperative, Section 10, Subsection C, paragraphs nineteen through twenty-one?”
“I’m not sure,” Seth said uncertainly.
“Not sure? All citizens of the State are required to be completely familiar with all of its laws and regulations. Is this not so?”
“Yes,” Seth replied, averting his eyes.
“I say you do know,” Simms declared. “You knew what it was about eight years ago when Nevins delivered your brat. You knew damn well that every baby born with Type O blood, by law, must be reported to the Bilogical Center in Cheyenne! You knew damn well that the Doktor personally issued that directive! And you knew if you did report the birth, you’d never see your brat again! That’s why it was never reported!”
“What proof do you have?” Gail Mason requested.
“The lady wants proof?” Lieutenant Simms snickered again and some of his men did likewise. “We have all the proof we need, bitch! An informant told us about kindly Dr. Nevins, how he was falsifying his records, how he wasn’t reporting all the babies with Type O blood. The fool! Did he think he could get away with it forever? Well, we interrogated Dr. Nevins three days ago. Of course, he denied all of the allegations. But the moron kept a secret set of records at his home, hidden behind one of the walls in his study. We found it, and guess what? Guess whose name we found under one of the entries? Guess who gave birth to a baby boy with Type O blood and it was never reported to the Doktor? Guess!” Simms roared.
Citadel Run Page 4
