The premature senility. What did these Watchers know about the dreaded affliction?
“…thought it was impossible,” Lieutenant Putnam was saying. “The Doktor must be furious! I agree. Anything the Doktor wants, the Doktor gets. Any references to the G.R.D. will be relayed to you as soon as possible.”
Rikki entertained an inkling of the subject of Putnam’s conversation.
The G.R.D. was the creature called Gremlin. Blade had supplied the essential information.
The capital of the remnant of the United States of America was currently located in Denver, Colorado. But Denver was not the only city still intact in the Civilized Zone. One city, once known as Cheyenne, Wyoming, was now called the Cheyenne Citadel. A contingent of the Army of Samuel was based at the Citadel. Also conducting operations from Cheyenne was the mysterious man known only as the Doktor. The mere mention of the Doktor would suffice to arouse fear in the ordinary army troops. The precise nature of the Doktor’s work and status in the new Government was unknown, although Blade had discovered the Doktor was very close to Samuel II. Blade had also learned that the Doktor operated something called the Genetic Research Division, the unit Gremlin had belonged to before deserting the Doktor and joining the Family.
“The jeeps?” Putnam said, still talking to the colonel. “We left them at the usual spot. No mechanical problems enroute. Yes, sir, will do. Over and out.”
So they had arrived by jeep? Rikki grinned. The Family could use additional modes of transportation. It only owned nine horses and the SEAL.
Lieutenant Putnam handed the microphone and the headset to the radio operator and turned toward the two men beside the parabolic microphone. “Is it clear yet?”
“Yes, sir,” the trooper handling the cassette recorder at the base of the microphone replied.
“Good. Then proceed. Be sure your transcript of the tape is legible,” Putnam ordered.
“Will do, sir.”
Rikki glanced at Teucer and Yama, still holding their positions and awaiting his command. The soldiers were engaged in their respective tasks, oblivious to the three Warriors only yards away.
Perfect, Rikki thought. They’d be able to neutralize this patrol with a minimum of difficulty. Surprise was totally on their side. The setup couldn’t be better if he’d personally planned it this way. It didn’t seem likely that anything could go wrong now.
As if to prove him wrong, a tremendous racket commenced in a tree near Yama.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi looked up into the branches above Yama’s head and pinpointed the source of the hubbub.
Dear Spirit! Not now!
A blue jay was perched on a limb twenty feet above Yama. The bird had spotted the intruder at the base of his tree and was letting the world know there was danger in the area.
Would the soldiers pay any attention? Were any of them sufficiently versed in wood lore to recognize the traditional warning cry of the jay?
One of the troopers, a lean soldier holding an M-16 and idly standing on guard about six feet from Yama, glanced up at the noisy bird, his brow furrowed.
Rikki tensed. What would he do? Would he investigate, or decide it was just a loud-mouthed blue jay?
The guard shuffled several steps toward the tree.
Yama was still invisible behind the log at the bottom of the tree.
The blue jay was screaming bloody murder.
Shut up! Rikki’s right hand closed on the hilt of his katana.
The soldier had spied the prancing jay and was watching it, smiling at its antics.
Good! Now just turn around, like a nice little boy, and return to your post! Rikki started to slide the katana from its scabbard.
Shaking his head, the trooper began to turn. Apparently, he finally realized the jay was excited about something at the base of the tree. The man hesitated.
Rikki imagined he could read the trooper’s mind. Should I take a peek or not? the man was probably thinking.
Don’t do it!
Leave it alone!
The guard lowered the barrel of his M-16 and advanced on the log, not really expecting trouble.
Rikki’s katana was clear of the scabbard.
Teucer had raised his bow and was sighting at a target.
Yama was still immobile on the ground.
The blue jay was squawking to high heaven.
Another soldier noticed the first moving toward the tree and turned to watch.
I never did much like blue jays, Rikki told himself.
The guard reached the fallen tree and peered over the top of the log.
Rikki could only imagine the shocked expression on his face.
With a startled curse, the guard leaned forward, aiming his M-16.
Chapter Seven
“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you.” She found him sitting beside the moat in the northeastern corner of the Home, as far from the mainstream of Family activity as he could get.
“I’d prefer to be alone,” he grumbled, his buckskin-clad form hunched over, his hands on his knees. His handsome face was a study in sorrow, a rare emotional display for him.
“We need to talk,” she persisted, staring at the reflection of herself in the water, her long blonde hair stirring in the breeze.
“We have nothing to talk about,” he groused.
“Give me a break!” She sat down next to him, examining his rugged, troubled features. “Never thought I’d see you like this. I’d heard the great Hickok never let anything affect him. Well, almost never, anyway.”
Hickok actually glared at her.
“Oooooh! Aren’t we pissed!”
“Leave me alone, Sherry,” Hickok told her gruffly.
“And what if I don’t?” Sherry retorted. “Are you going to whip out your famous Pythons and blow me away?”
Hickok studied her. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“I refuse to let you sit out here feeling sorry for yourself,” Sherry replied.
“If you knew why…” he began.
“I know,” she informed him. “Jenny just told me all about Joan. How you loved her. How she was killed. And how you’re not over her yet, not by a long shot.”
Hickok didn’t say anything.
Sherry tenderly placed her left hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know about Joan when I proposed becoming a Warrior, but it wouldn’t have changed my mind even if I had known.”
Hickok started to speak, but she placed a finger over his lips.
“Hear me out, lover. This is important.” Sherry paused, gathering her thoughts. “I think I’ve already told you my life in Canada, before the Trolls kidnapped me, was pretty dull. Boring, in fact. I never liked it. I always wanted something more, some excitement in my life. And then you came along.”
Hickok was attentive to her every word.
“You rescued me from those miserable bastards. My own Prince Charming to my rescue! It was marvelous. I didn’t want to go back to Canada and a monotonous routine, so I persuaded you to bring me here to the Home. I want to stay here, Nathan. I thoroughly enjoy it here. But I wouldn’t feel right about it if I didn’t contribute to the Family. Everyone here has a specific job to do. Where would I fit in? As a Tiller? Don’t make me laugh. As a Weaver? It’d be duller than Canada. As an Empath? I don’t have the talent.”
“But why a Warrior?” he interjected.
“It’s the obvious choice,” Sherry explained. “I can learn to handle a handgun. You know I’m already a good shot with a rifle. Aren’t I?”
“You are,” Hickok reluctantly admitted.
“So there! Becoming a Warrior is the logical choice.”
“There’s more to being a Warrior than just being competent with firearms,” Hickok stated.
“I can learn the martial arts too,” Sherry said confidently.
“It’s not that,” Hickok said. “It’s a state of mind you must have if you’re to succeed as a Warrior. Without it you wouldn’t last five minutes in the field.”
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br /> “What state of mind?” she asked.
“You must constantly be prepared to kill or be killed. The fancy talk about preserving the Home and protecting the Family is well and good, but when you get down to it, to the bare facts, being a Warrior is synonymous with being a killer.”
Sherry inexplicably began laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“I just realized you haven’t used your usual Wild West talk once this whole conversation.”
“I thought we were having a serious talk here,” Hickok snapped.
“Blasted contrary females!”
“I’m sorry,” Sherry apologized.
“I’ll bet.”
“Listen,” Sherry quickly continued, “maybe I’m not a natural killer like you, maybe I’m not cut out to be a Warrior. But I won’t know unless I try, will I?”
“You could be dead before you learn the answer,” Hickok rejoined, expecting her to ignore the remark. She did.
“Well, what’s so bad about being a killer? You’re one, right? And Blade and Geronimo and Rikki and the other Warriors. You don’t seem to mind your profession. How come it’s so bad for me?”
“You don’t understand,” Hickok mumbled.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” Sherry said. “Why don’t you enlighten me.”
Hickok sighed and gazed into the distance. “I just don’t want it to happen again,” he stated quietly.
“Are you afraid you’ll lose me the same way you lost Joan?” Sherry asked. “Is that it?”
Hickok’s reply was inaudible.
“I can’t hear you,” she prompted him.
Hickok whirled, his face contorted in anger. “Yes!” he exploded. “I don’t want to lose you! Satisfied now?”
Sherry clearly perceived the profound depth of his affection for the first time, and the staggering intensity of it shocked her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea…”
Hickok was ripping handfuls of grass from the earth in unrestrained annoyance.
“If you don’t want me to be a Warrior, I won’t,” Sherry offered.
“It’s your life. Do whatever you want!”
Sherry eased her body closer to his and pressed against him. “I don’t ever want to do anything to hurt you, Nathan. You mean more to me than anyone else in the world.”
Hickok ceased his assault on the turf and looked into her green eyes.
“I’m serious,” Sherry said, conveying her innermost feelings, baring her soul. “I love you, you big lug! You know that. If it means so much to you, if it’s going to rip you apart, I won’t become a Warrior.”
“You’d give it up for me?” Hickok questioned her.
“Of course.”
The gunman nodded thoughtfully. “Then it’s settled,” he announced.
“You want me to give it up?” Sherry inquired dispiritedly.
“Sure don’t, ma’am,” Hickok answered, grinning. “I reckon I couldn’t live with myself if I forced you to do that. You’re going to become the best damn female Warrior this here Family has ever seen!”
Sherry squealed with delight and hugged him. “I knew you’d come around, you adorable dummy!”
“Just don’t tell anyone else I’m such a softie,” Hickok admonished her.
“It’d ruin my image.”
“You certainly changed your mind pretty fast,” Sherry observed, running her fingers through his yellow hair.
“Not really,” Hickok disagreed. “I was sitting here thinking about my behavior before you showed up. I realized I was being a mite selfish. It’s your life, after all. I may not be too fond of the idea, but if you really want to become a Warrior, then I won’t stand in your way.”
“I appreciate that,” she said sincerely.
“But you’re going to learn from the best,” Hickok went on. “I’ll teach you handguns, Blade will instruct you in knife fighting, Geronimo in tracking, Rikki in the martial arts, and the others in whatever they’re tops at.” He smiled. “By the time we’re through with you, you’ll be a lean, mean, fightin’ machine!”
“Better not mess with me then,” Sherry joked in mock seriousness.
Hickok suddenly grimaced.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“It just occurred to me!” Hickok exclaimed.
“What?” Sherry queried, concerned.
“I may go to romancing you one night, and you might have a headache or something, and if I don’t take no for an answer you just might wallop the tar out of me!” Hickok feigned terror at the prospect.
Sherry snuggled against him. “No need to worry about that, lover!” She giggled. “And I don’t have a headache right now.”
“Do tell.”
They embraced, Sherry passionately pressing her warm form into his hard body, their lips locked together, their tongues entwining.
“Mmmmmmm,” Sherry moaned after they finally broke the kiss. “That was real nice! Do that again!”
“Anything you…” Hickok abruptly sat up, alert.
“What’s wrong?” Sherry questioned, gazing around them. “Did you see something?”
“Listen.”
“What?”
“Quiet! Listen!” Hickok released her and stood, his hands on his Colts.
“I don’t…” she began, then stopped, hearing the distant sounds.
Popping noises.
“It’s gunfire,” Hickok stated, facing toward the west.
“Some of the Warriors practicing?” she suggested.
“Nope.” Hickok shook his head. “Too far off. What could it be? No one’s sounded the alarm.”
“One of the Family out hunting?” Sherry opined.
“Too many shots. It’s still…” Hickok started a sentence, then snapped his fingers. “Of course! It has to be!”
“Of course what?” Sherry rose to her feet.
“Come on!” Hickok was running off.
“Wait for me!” She ran in pursuit.
Hickok slowed to allow her to catch up. “Looks like I’ll need a rain check on some heavy breathing.”
“Just don’t make a habit of it,” Sherry warned him. “My hormones couldn’t take the stress!”
Chapter Eight
The Dead Zone certainly lived up to its reputation.
In all his travels, in all his experience, Geronimo had never encountered any terrain as devoid of life, any geographical area so utterly barren and destitute.
It was uncanny, almost as if he’d been transported to a landscape on another planet.
Vegetation was completely absent. Wildlife was nonexistent. Even the breeze seemed sluggish and abnormally warm. The earth was a reddish color and unnaturally fine.
How could anything live in such a sterile habitat?
The Legion patrol was gathered on top of a large hill, the riders allowing their weary mounts a brief rest.
“I don’t see any sign of pursuit,” Hamlin noted. “Do you?” he asked Kilrane.
Kilrane was studying the plain below them. “None,” he agreed.
“They must have given up!” Hamlin elated. “They knew they couldn’t catch us!”
“Or they had accomplished their purpose and wisely withdrew,” Kilrane stated.
“What do you mean?” Hamlin inquired.
“They may figure we’re far enough into the Dead Zone to accomplish their goal,” Kilrane elaborated. “We must be a good fifteen miles into this wasteland.”
“So what now?” Cynthia queried.
Geronimo was wondering about the same subject. He mentally attempted to envision their approximate location. He knew the Cavalry and the Legion occupied the eastern half of South Dakota, dividing it between them with the Cavalry controlling the eastern section and the Legion the western part. They were still in Cavalry territory, somewhere in the northern portion. He tried to recall the map of South Dakota he’d seen while paging through the atlas on the trip to Montana. Strange. He couldn’t remember any important military or civ
ilian targets in this region. Why had it sustained a direct hit from a nuclear weapon? Maybe it was another miss. From records and journals kept immediately after the war, and from the data acquired since commencing Alpha Triad’s extended travels, the Family knew many primary military and civilian targets had been spared direct hits during the Third World War. Other areas, lacking any major significance, had been struck. A peculiar paradox, explained away by one of the Family Elders who suggested that the incoming missiles hadn’t been as accurate as the other side had boasted. It was entirely feasible that a missile aimed at, say, a missile silo in North Dakota might have strayed a few hundred miles and instead obliterated a grazing herd of pronghorn antelope in South Dakota. When dealing in distances of thousands and thousands of miles, any slight deviation in the missile’s trajectory would negate a direct hit and result in a miss of gigantic proportions. The history books in the Family library also mentioned a disturbing number of disastrous high-technology-related accidents in the years before the war, clearly indicating that humankind’s vaunted ingenuity had been an infinitesimal speck compared to its exaggerated ego.
“Maybe we should head southwest,” Hamlin was suggesting. “We’d get to Pierre a lot faster if we made a beeline for it.”
“I was thinking along the same lines,” Kilrane said. “The Cavalry might anticipate our move and attempt to cut us off, but it can’t be helped. We can’t remain in the Dead Zone. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.”
“Do you see that?” one of the other riders asked, pointing to the west.
Geronimo swiveled, surprised at the sight.
A mile or two distant towered a huge conical mound, rearing up several hundred feet from the ground. The mound was massive, staggering the senses. Some low clouds seemed to be brushing the top of the cone.
“What the hell is that?” Hamlin inquired in awe.
“Maybe it’s where the missile or bomb struck?” Cynthia suggested.
“No,” Geronimo mentioned. “They left gaping holes, not the other way around. Some force pushed that mound up from within.”
“Could it be a…” Hamlin paused, searching for the right word.
“Volcano?” Geronimo guessed, and Hamlin nodded. Geronimo shook his head. “I never heard of any volcanoes in South Dakota.”
Dakota Run Page 6
