Lynx was opening his mouth to respond when the corridor was racked by the shattering wail of klaxons.
Yama crouched, cradling the Wilkinson. “What the…”
“The alarm!” Lynx shouted. “They must know you’re here!”
The klaxons were alerting the entire structure.
“Which way, boss?” Lynx asked sarcastically.
Before Yama could decide, the door to the Baby Room opened and two men in white stepped out, pistols in their hands. Beyond them, the doors to the first, third, and fourth elevators simultaneously slid open, disgorging four full armed soldiers apiece. The twelve troopers started jogging along the hallway, as the two men in white turned and spotted Yama and Lynx at the junction.
Lynx cackled. “Can I attack yet?” he yelled over the klaxons.
The two men in the white frocks opened fire.
Chapter Nineteen
Hickok reached the gate in the west side of the stockade and was greeted by a virtual sea of smiling faces.
“We knew you’d come back!” someone said.
“Took you long enough!” came from another.
“Get us out of here!” shouted a woman.
“Yeah,” added Geronimo, standing beside the gate. “Get us out of here!
I don’t like being cooped up like this!”
Hickok shifted his gaze to the right, finding Zahner, Bear, and Bertha.
“Hello, Hickok,” Zahner greeted the gunman.
“Hey, you loony sucker!” Bear beamed. “It’s good to see your sorry ass again!”
“Hi, White Meat!” Bertha said, grinning from ear to ear. “I missed you!”
“Howdy, folks!” Hickok addressed them collectively. “Right nice to see you too. We don’t have much time for small talk.” He deliberately refrained from looking into Bertha’s eyes. “Some of the soldiers got away and they may return at any minute. First we’ve got to get you out of this overgrown chicken coop.”
“Blow the lock off!” a Horn recommended.
“Are you nuts?” Hickok retorted. “The bullet might ricochet and hit one of you. Hold the fort. I’ll find something to bust you out with. Be right back.” He whirled, catching sight of a pained expression on Bertha’s face.
Blast it!
Just what he needed at a time like this!
He shut her from his mind and ran to Blade and Joshua. “I need to break the lock,” he told the Alpha Triad leader. “Don’t we have that metal doohickey in the back of the SEAL?”
“You mean the crowbar?” Blade asked him.
“That’s it. I’ll use it to pry the lock open.”
“Good idea,” Blade agreed, watching Joshua bandage his injury. “If that doesn’t work, take our rope and tie one end to the rear fender on the SEAL and the other end to the gate and tear the thing down.”
“Will do,” Hickok said, starting to turn, bolstering his Colts.
“Oh!” Blade thought to mention. “Your Henry is in that tent over there, along with Geronimo’s weapons. Tell him. Then have everybody gather near the troop transports. And keep your eyes peeled for any soldiers.”
“Want me to help you blow your nose too?” Hickok quipped, then raced for the SEAL. He quickly located the crowbar and returned to the gate.
“Stand back!” he told them, and slipped one end of the crowbar through the loop in the padlock on the gate.
“If you’re planning to use some muscle,” Geronimo suggested, “you should lean on it with your head.”
Hickok ignored him and exerted his weight on the crowbar. The padlock refused to budge.
“I still say you should shoot it off!” mentioned the Horn.
Hickok shot him a nasty look, then reapplied himself to the crowbar.
His sinewy muscles strained and strained, to no avail.
“Blasted lock!” Hickok muttered.
“Anyone have a deck of cards?” Geronimo asked.
Hickok leaned on the crowbar again.
“Here,” offered someone behind him. “Let me try.”
The gunman stood aside as Blade grabbed the crowbar in both huge hands.
“Be careful!” Joshua admonished, standing a few feet behind Blade.
“You’ll start that wound bleeding again!”
Blade pressed on the crowbar, his arms bulging with power. For a moment, it appeared as if the crowbar itself would snap in half.
“You can do it!” Bear said goading him on.
Blade grunted as he applied additional strength, gritting his teeth from the strenuous effort.
With a sharp metallic clang, the padlock snapped, the crowbar slipping as the padlock broke almost causing Blade to slip and fall.
Hickok caught his friend by the back of his belt and jerked him erect.
“That’s what you get for showing off!”
Blade flung the gate open. “All right! Listen up! I want all of you to form around those trucks, and I mean right now! Move it!”
The Nomads, Porns, and Horns immediately complied as Blade, Hickok, and Joshua stepped to one side. They were joined by Geronimo, Zahner, Bear, and a strangely quiet Bertha.
“Where is Reverend Paul?” Joshua inquired of Zahner.
“Dead,” Zahner informed him.
Joshua seemed shocked by the news. “How tragic,” he said sadly. “I liked him a lot. Who is the head of the Horns now?”
“I don’t think they’ve had time to select one,” Zahner revealed. “You might look up Brother Timothy. He was second in command under Paul.”
“I’ll do that now,” Joshua said, and departed.
Hickok, continuing to avoid Bertha’s probing gaze, nudged Geronimo.
“You’d better come with me, pard.”
“Where are we going?” Geronimo asked as he followed on the gunfighter’s heels.
“Blade says our guns and your tomahawk are in that tent over there,” Hickok said. “I don’t know about you, but the sooner I have my Henry back in my hands, the better I’ll feel.”
Zahner faced Blade. “What do you want us to do?”
“I’ll let you know in just a bit,” Blade replied, moving toward the trucks.
“Wait for me,” Zahner stated, and left with him.
Bertha and Bear remained behind.
Bear glanced at her, reading the sorrow in her face. “Well, what did you expect, babe? He’d throw his arms around you and give you a big kiss?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Bertha confessed.
“I kept tellin’ you not to wait for him,” Bear mentioned. “I told you no white boy is gonna fall in love with you.”
“It’s not that,” Bertha said slowly, reflectively. “Somethin’ is bothering him. I can tell.”
Bear snorted derisively. “Listen to me, woman, and listen real good.
Hickok ain’t for you. Don’t get me wrong. I like that honky. I like him a lot.
But I know he isn’t the one for you. And sooner or later you’re gonna wake up to the fact too. When you do, old Bear will be here if you need me. You know how I feel about you, and nothin’ will ever change that.” He placed his right hand on her left shoulder and gently squeezed. “I can see you’re in for a bad fall, and I want you to know I’ll catch you if you want.”
Bertha managed a wan smile. “Thanks, Bear. I appreciate it. Believe me, you’ll be the first to know if I get serious about you. Right now I’ve got me some heavy thinkin’ to do.”
“I understand,” Bear sympathized. He detected a movement out of the corner of his right eye and turned. “Say! Look at that! Blade is on top of one of those trucks. What’s he doin’?”
Blade was perched on the canvas roof of the first troop transport, his arms raised over his head, the Commando and the A-1 both slung over separate shoulders.
Hickok and Geronimo, their weapons reclaimed, stood below their Triad leader.
“Your attention!” Blade shouted at the assembled mass. “Listen up! This is important!” He waited for the crowd to quiet, then resumed. �
��I believe all of you know who I am and the reason my friends and I are here. We promised we would lead you out of the Twin Cities to a place of safety. Orginally, we intended to conduct the exodus in the spring, when the weather would be nicer. Also, it would have given us time to prepare, to set aside extra food and other supplies to make your transition easier. Now that is all changed. Now it’s impossible.” He paused to insure they were paying attention. Everyone was riveted on his every word. “You saw what the soldiers from the Civilized Zone did to your relatives and friends today. You may know they were planning to take all of you to a place near Denver called a Reabsorption Center and enslave you. Do you want that to happen?” he asked.
Perhaps half of the throng responded with a desultory negative.
Blade scanned the people below him. “Listen!” he snapped. “My friends and I risked our lives for you! If you want to stay in the Twin Cities, that’s fine with us! But if you don’t, I need to know now! So I’ll ask you again. Do you want the soldiers to take you into the Civilized Zone? Do you want to live under a dictator? Do you want someone else telling you what you can do and when you should do it? Do you?”
This time, the reaction was thunderous. “No! No! No!”
Blade waved for silence. “Good! Then pay attention! A lot of the Army troopers got away. They may return by themselves, or they could radio for reinforcements. Either way, we can’t stay here any longer. We could try to hold them off, but our supplies are limited. They’d eventually overrun us. There isn’t a place in the Twin Cities where we’d be safe. So here is what I propose. I say we pack ourselves into these trucks and head for our Home, for the place where Hickok, Geronimo, Joshua, and I come from. There are some small towns nearby. I guarantee you that my Family will do everything in its power to aid you in resettling. It won’t be easy. Food will be scarce on the trip there, and the winter ahead will undoubtedly be rough. But my Family will see to it you have a roof over your head, and well share our food with you and help you in killing game. In the spring, we’ll show you how to grow enough food to feed yourselves. So what will it be? Do we go?”
The night rocked with the chorus of “Go! Go! Go!”
“Good!” Blade yelled when they quieted. “Here’s what I want you to do.”
He hesitated. “First, who’s in charge of the Horns now that Reverend Paul is dead? I was told that Brother Timothy is the leader now.”
“I am,” a man in black cried out, a thin man with a thick beard. Joshua was standing next to him.
“Okay.” Blade pointed to the right. “Timothy, I want you to have all your people form over there. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He looked down and spotted Zahner at the front of the assemblage. “Zahner, have your people gather over there.” He pointed to the left.
“Will do,” Zahner said.
“Where’s Bear?” Blade demanded.
“Right here!” Bear shouted from near the stockade.
“Get the Porns together right there,” Blade ordered, indicating directly in front of the trucks. “Let’s go! Time is critical!”
“What do you want us to do?” Hickok inquired, looking up.
“After they’ve formed into their respective groups,” Blade directed, “go to each one and take five men from each. Then scour this field and collect all the arms and ammunition you find. Don’t miss a thing. Be sure and get those machine guns from the sentry towers still standing. Pile the weapons near the SEAL. We’ll divide them up equally among the three factions. Remember. We can’t afford to display any favoritism here. The slightest provocation could set them against each another.”
“Do you think these trucks can carry all of us to the Home?” Geronimo queried.
“Jarvis intended to take them all the way to Denver,” Blade reminded him. “Check. One of these trucks must have a spare supply of gasoline.”
“How long do you reckon it will take us?” Hickok asked.
Blade calculated aloud. “It’s about three hundred and seventy miles from the Twin Cities to our Home. If we push it, we can make a hundred miles a day, possibly more. So we could conceivably reach the Home within three or four days. The sooner the better. We’ll be sitting ducks on the open highway.”
“You figure the Army will try and stop us?” Hickok questioned.
“You can count on it,” Blade affirmed. “Like Jarvis said, Samuel doesn’t want us getting any stronger than we already are. I don’t know how many troops they can muster between here and the Home, but whatever they’ve got they’ll throw at us.”
“Should be a mighty interesting trip,” Hickok remarked.
“You’ve got that right,” Blade concurred.
“Aren’t you sorry now?” Hickok inquired.
“Sorry? About what?”
“Sorry that you didn’t send Yama with us and go on that spying assignment yourself, instead of having all the Warriors draw lots? Just think! Instead of going through all of this aggravation, you could be doing just what Yama is probably doing right now. You could be taking it easy, strolling through downtown Cheyenne and enjoying the sights.” The gunman sighed wistfully. “Yes, sir. Some folks get all the luck!”
Chapter Twenty
Yama ducked to the right, pulling Lynx after him. He leaned against the wall and shoved Lynx in the direction of the stairs.
“Ahhhh, Mom!” Lynx protested. “I wanna stay here and play!”
“Move!” Yama commanded, marveling at Lynx’s levity in light of the dire circumstances.
Lynx chuckled and hastened down the hall.
Yama counted to three, then swung into the junction, the Wilkinson leveled.
The two men in white were only five yards away, racing at full speed.
The Wilkinson burped, the nine-millimeter bullets, traveling at over two thousand feet per second, catching the two men in their chests before they could hope to react. Both went down as Yama leaped for cover.
The troopers advancing along the hallway began firing, their M-16’s chattering, the slugs striking the walls and ricocheting wildly.
Yama ran, hugging the right-hand wall, passing closed doors on both sides of the hallway.
Lynx was twenty yards ahead, holding the door to a stairwell wide open and gesturing for Yama to hurry.
The klaxons ceased wailing.
Yama was almost abreast of a large machine of some sort, a rectangular affair with a photograph of a drink covering the upper half and a row of glowing buttons aligned along the center, when his headlong rush was derailed by two simultaneous events. The soldiers reached the junction behind him and started shooting at the fleeing Warrior, even as a door directly in front of him opened and an elderly woman walked out.
Yama was unable to stop in time.
The woman shrieked as he plowed into her, the force of the impact spinning him around and knocking him into the drink machine.
Yama stumbled and fell to his knees, his gaze on the woman as she staggered, her mouth widening for a scream, a scream never heard because at that instant her forehead exploded outward as she was struck by the M-16 fire.
“Come on!” Lynx shouted encouragement.
Yama dropped to his elbows and knees and twisted, facing the junction.
The soldiers were just leaving the junction and bearing down on him.
Yama aimed and pulled the trigger, the Wilkinson recoiling against his shoulder, his shots finding their mark. Three of the men in uniform went down and the rest hesitated.
Lynx slid into the concealment of the stairwell.
Yama rolled, finding cover behind the drink machine as it was racked with gunfire from the M-16’s.
Had Lynx deserted him?
Yama discarded the troubling thought as he popped out from behind the machine and pumped more rounds into the troopers.
One of them fell, his face bloody, screeching in torment.
Four down, eight to go.
Yama jerked behind the drink machine again as the soldiers intensified their assault. He glanced
at the stairwell. If he tried to reach it, he knew he’d be cut to ribbons before he managed to go four feet.
The sound of the bullets striking the drink machine made it seem as if it was being attacked by a giant woodpecker.
Yama prepared to give them another blast.
“Spread out!” one of the soldiers yelled. “We’ve got him pinned down!”
That they did.
Yama attempted to lean out and fire, but a withering spray from the M-16’s drove him back.
“Hey, chuckles!” someone called, and there was Lynx in the stairwell doorway, holding a circular object in his right hand. “Duck!”
Yama obeyed, flattening as Lynx lobbed the metallic object in an overhand motion toward the troopers.
The hallway rocked with a deafening detonation and concussion.
Smoke choked the corridor and the agonized cries of the soldiers filled the air.
Yama rose and sprinted to the stairwell.
Lynx was waiting for him. “About time,” he said. “I know you said you wanted a tour, but I had no idea you were going to take the scenic route!”
Yama looked over his left shoulder.
No indication of any pursuit.
“What was that?” Yama asked Lynx.
“A grenade,” Lynx replied. “There’s a munitions room one flight up for the auxiliaries. Only contains M-16’s, some pistols, ammo, and a few grenades.”
Yama noted that Lynx was still unarmed. “Why didn’t you get an M-16 for yourself?”
“Not my style,” Lynx answered, grinning. “Besides, guns make me nervous.”
“Your choice. Now get me to that records room, and fast!” Yama directed.
Lynx started up the stairs, the Warrior right behind him. “You did pretty good back there,” Lynx commented.
“Lots of practice,” Yama responded.
“Not as good as I would have done,” Lynx said amending his compliment.
Yama smiled and stayed on his newfound companion’s heels as they jogged up the stairwell and reached the desired floor.
Lynx paused at the door. “This place will be crawling with enforcement types, human and otherwise. We’re outnumbered, but we have two elements working in our favor. These morons will be running around like chickens with their heads chopped off without the Doc to direct ’em, and I happen to know he’s out, attending a big feed with Sammy. And also, I know this place better than most. So stick with me, pal. I’ll hold your hand until we’re out of this mess.”
Citadel Run Page 17
