The voices were much nearer.
Ferret took a step toward the gunfighter.
Hickok instantly reacted, thumbing back the hammer on his left Colt Python. “I warned you!”
Ferret grinned impishly.
“You think having your brains blown out is funny?” Hickok asked, perplexed.
“It beats the alternative,” Ferret answered.
“I don’t follow,” Hickok admitted.
“I’ve failed in my mission,” Ferret explained. “The Doktor does not tolerate failures. Any second he will throw a switch on a certain piece of equipment in Cheyenne, and moments later I’ll be fried from the neck up. Not a particularly appealing fate. Your way will be faster and painless.”
“You want me to kill you?” Hickok queried incredulously.
“Yes.”
“No way! I’m keeping you for Plato to question.”
“I won’t last that long,” Ferret said, his tone pleading. “Please! Finish me now! Before it’s too late!”
“Forget it, shrimp.”
Ferret growled in frustration. “Don’t you see? What happened with Gremlin is a fluke. Hardly none of us ever escape the Doktor’s clutches! There’s no way to get this damn collar off!”
Hickok shook his head.
“I’ll force you to shoot,” Ferret stated, crouching. “If you don’t, I’ll rip you to shreds!”
Hickok stared at the collar, noting the precision of the polished metal.
It was a circular band encircling the neck, with a rectangular blue indicator light in the center of the throat. It wasn’t lit. Yet. If it did light up, it meant the Doktor had engaged the circuits.
“Do it!” Ferret begged.
“Maybe I should just let this Doktor fry you,” Hickok said, “after what you’ve done to my friends.”
“I had to do it!” Ferret snapped, frustrated. “It wasn’t anything personal. Gremlin understood that.”
“I still don’t see why I should oblige you,” Hickok commented.
The approaching voices were not more than a dozen yards away, on the other side of some nearby trees.
Ferret glanced at Gremlin, relieved they’d failed in their mission, then at Ox, feeling slightly sorry for the hulking dolt. Any moment he would join Ox in death. What was the Doktor waiting for? Surely he was monitoring an assignment as important as this one had been to him. The Doktor relished revenge, he savored killing and slaughter, the way some people craved sweets. Ferret just knew a tremendous jolt of electricity would zap him at any second, and he couldn’t stand the suspense.
He lunged at the gunfighter.
Hickok’s response was instantaneous. The left Colt Python boomed and the impact of the hollow-point bullet slammed Ferret backwards several yards. He landed on his back, clutching at his neck.
Ferret twitched a few times, then lay still.
Hickok sighed and slid his left Python into its holster. “I did warn you, didn’t I, runt?” he asked the prone form.
Six Family members burst onto the scene, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi in the lead, his katana drawn and ready. He was accompanied by Yama and Teucer, his Triad brothers, and Plato, Jenny, and Joshua.
“Everything all right?” Rikki inquired, scanning the clearing.
“Everything’s under control,” Hickok replied.
“What was that shooting we just heard?” Plato asked him.
Hickok pointed at Ferret. “The runt there had a vitamin deficiency.”
Plato’s eyebrows knitted. “He had a what?”
“A vitamin deficiency,” Hickok reiterated. “Said he needed more lead in his system.”
Jenny was already at Blade’s side, cradling his head in her lap. “He’s been hurt!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t fret none,” Hickok advised her. “That blue monstrosity hit him on the head. The thing was lucky it didn’t break its hand.”
“This isn’t funny!” Jenny retorted. “We must get them both to the infirmary right now!”
Plato nodded and motioned at Rikki.
Rikki replaced his katana in its scabbard and, with the assistance of Yama, lifted Blade from the ground, Rikki carrying him by the ankles and Yama carefully supporting his broad shoulders. Teucer and Joshua did likewise with Gremlin.
“Don’t trip!” Jenny cautioned them as they departed. She walked ahead, guiding them around obstacles.
Plato watched them go, then faced Hickok. “Did they almost get you too?” He nodded at the two bodies.
“Nope,” Hickok said. “It was a piece of cake. Despite their looks, they weren’t much more than a couple of amateurs.”
“It appears you shot the big one to pieces,” Plato commented, mentally counting the five holes in the blue creature.
“I can’t abide it when someone drools in public,” Hickok remarked.
“Shows a pitiful lack of etiquette.”
“What about the hairy one?” Plato asked, moving toward it.
“It depends on my aim,” Hickok said. He crossed to the furball, knelt, and felt its left wrist for a pulse. At first he couldn’t locate any, but then he detected a faint, rhythmic beating. “This one is still kicking.”
“You didn’t kill him as well?” Plato inquired, sounding surprised.
“Nope. I kind of liked the cute way he twitched his little nose,” Hickok answered, grinning.
Plato searched for wounds, but none were visible. He looked at Hickok.
“How?”
Hickok reached over and tapped the metal collar the creature wore.
“I don’t under…” Plato began, then he saw it. Hickok’s shot had struck a rectangular component in the middle of the throat. The skin under the collar was broken, but the rectangular part had absorbed the impact of the slug and prevented it from penetrating the neck. “We must get this one to the infirmary. If he lives, he may provide valuable information concerning the Doktor and the Civilized Zone.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Hickok confirmed.
Plato chuckled. Despite Hickok’s reputation as a rash hothead, he frequently displayed logical reasoning of a superior caliber.
Superior caliber?
Plato grinned at his own pun.
“What’s so funny?” Hickok asked. He drew his right Colt and began replacing the empty shells.
“Oh, nothing,” Plato replied. “If you will lend a hand, we can transport this creature to the infirmary.”
Hickok stared at Plato while continuing his reloading. “Just hold your horses, old-timer. I have something to say to you, and it’s best I say it now, with no one else around.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Because you’re going to be one mighty ticked hombre after I tell you,” Hickok predicted.
Plato smiled. “Well, go ahead, then. Tick me.”
“I am going to leave the Home tomorrow,” Hickok declared.
Plato promptly frowned. “Again? I wasn’t very pleased with you the last time you abruptly departed…”
“I had to go after Shane,” Hickok interrupted. He slid his right Colt back into its holster and drew his left.
“Granted, you did save Shane,” Plato conceded. “But you also promised me afterwards you wouldn’t leave the Home again without informing me first.”
“Which is what I’m doing right now,” Hickok pointed out.
“I don’t like it,” Plato said, sighing. “It’s Geronimo, isn’t it?”
Hickok’s eyes narrowed, reflecting his concern. “My pard’s been gone way too long. He said he’d be back in a week or so. I think he’s in trouble and I’m going to go find him.”
“How?” Plato demanded. “You don’t have the slightest idea where he is.”
“I’ll get the Empaths to home in on him,” Hickok stated, referring to the Family Empaths, six individuals with exceptional psychic abilities.
Several times in the past they had been able to locate others, overdue hunters or lost Family members, at great distances utilizing their psychic capabilities.
&nbs
p; “I should never have given my permission for Geronimo to leave the Home,” Plato said, “and I’d prefer it if you remained here for the time being. We can’t be certain the Watchers won’t attack the Home. More of these things might be sent against us. The Family can’t spare another Warrior.”
“I realize that,” Hickok admitted, his left Python reloaded and replaced.
“But I took an oath to my fellow Warriors, to my Triad, as well as to the Family and the Home. I won’t rest until I know what’s happened to him.”
Plato absently bit his lower lip and shook his head. “I know better than to attempt to persuade you from doing something you have your mind set on, so I won’t waste my breath. But I will make a request of you.”
“Shoot.”
“Will you at least wait one week?”
“I don’t know…” Hickok said reluctantly.
“Just one week,” Plato stressed. “If Geronimo hasn’t returned in that length of time, you’ll have my blessing to go and seek him.”
“Why a week?” Hickok inquired.
“I’m gambling,” Plato revealed. “I’m hoping Geronimo will return to us within a week and your departure won’t be necessary.”
“I reckon another week won’t much matter,” Hickok said. “If my pard is already dead, there’s nothing much I can do about it except find the one responsible and plant a bullet between his eyes.”
Plato studied Hickok. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“You’re one of the best Warriors the Family has,” Plato stated slowly.
“You’ve killed more opponents in the line of duty than all the other Warriors combined, with the notable exception of your peers in Alpha Triad…”
“Yeah? So?” Hickok interjected.
Plato stared into Hickok’s eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of all the killing? I honestly can’t comprehend how you do it. I could never function as a Warrior. Terminating others would bother me too much. Doesn’t it ever bother you?”
A shadow seemed to flit across Hickok’s face. “I don’t give the killing much thought. I know all men and women are my brothers and sisters, spiritually speaking. I know if we have a flicker of faith, as Joshua keeps reminding us, we’ll pass on to the mansions on high. That goes for the ones I blow away too. I don’t get upset about it because I’m not a cold-blooded murderer. I don’t go around shooting folks for the fun of it. Usually, it’s the enemy or me in a fight, and I don’t stop to reflect on whether it’s a sin or not. I mean, look at the Bible. We were taught in school about the great warriors in the Old Testament, about Samson and David and the rest. They killed and they were considered highly spiritual. Besides, after it’s all done with, what’s the use of getting upset? Killing a bad man doesn’t get me any more disturbed than, say, killing a rabid dog or a mutate. That make any sense to you?”
“It makes perfect sense,” Plato admitted.
“Good.” Hickok nodded. “The philosophy is far from original. I first came across it in a book in the Family library, a book on the life and times of James Butler Hickok, or Wild Bill Hickok as he was commonly known in his day and time. He once told a newspaper reporter pretty much the same thing. You know how much I admire the man. Heck, I even adopted his name at my Naming.”
“Yes, I know, Nathan,” Plato said. He glanced at the hairy creature.
“Well, if you will assist me, we’ll carry this one to the infirmary and have the Healers examine him.”
“Don’t strain yourself,” Hickok suggested. “This critter ain’t that heavy.” So saying, he placed his hands under the runt’s arms and heaved, lifting the thing up high enough to drape the body over his left shoulder.
“Are you positive you can manage?” Plato asked.
“Piece of cake,” Hickok responded, rising.
They started back.
“You’ll be happy to know Sherry appears to be fine,” Plato mentioned.
“She was standing when we reached her, rubbing a bruise on her temple. I ordered her to the infirmary.” He paused. “She told us you’d already been by and were after the creatures abducting Blade and Gremlin.”
“I was the first one on the scene,” Hickok explained. “She was just coming around. Didn’t seem like she was hurt very bad. She told me what had happened and I took off after them.”
“You should have awaited assistance,” Plato quibbled.
“Wasn’t time,” Hickok countered.
They covered several hundred yards in silence.
“I hope Gremlin’s wounds aren’t severe,” Plato commented as they rounded a boulder.
“You partial to that critter?” Hickok questioned him.
“That critter, as you refer to him,” Plato replied, “has been of incalculable benefit in our research into the premature senility. Gremlin is quite knowledgeable in chemistry.”
“You’re kidding,” Hickok said.
“I do not jest,” Plato retorted stiffly. “Gremlin evidently spent many hours aiding the Doktor in his laboratory at Cheyenne. With his aid, we may be able to isolate the cause of the senility soon. If we are successful, the next step will be to develop a cure.”
Hickok, knowing Plato was one of the half-dozen or so Elders afflicted with the premature senility, stared at the Family Leader. “How you holding up, old-timer?”
Plato grinned. “Quite well, thank you, Nathan. My arthritis is worsening week by week, but except for unaccountable aches and pains at infrequent intervals, I’m relatively fine.”
“We’ll find a cure,” Hickok predicted.
“We must,” Plato stated. “The fate of our Family hangs in the balance.”
“Speaking of our fate,” Hickok remarked, “what are we going to do about the Doktor and his goons.”
“What can we do?” Plato rejoined. “We’re vastly outnumbered and outgunned. There are thousands upon thousands of soldiers in the Army of Samuel. The Doktor, according to Gremlin, has around fifteen hundred creatures in his Genetic Research Division. If they should decide to assault the Home en masse we wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“We’ve licked them every time so far,” Hickok noted.
“True,” Plato conceded, “but in our encounters with the Watchers and the genetic deviates we’ve been extremely lucky. Either we’ve had the element of surprise on our side, or they simply were not prepared to deal with the proficiency of our Warriors.”
“You mean,” Hickok elucidated, “they weren’t expecting us to be as good as we are.”
“Exactly. But our good fortune can’t hold forever.”
“So what are we going to do?” Hickok queried. “Wait for them to attack us in force?”
“What else can we do?” Plato inquired. “Our vastly inferior number precludes any major offensive move on our part.”
“We can’t just sit on our butts!” Hickok mumbled.
“I’m open to any viable suggestions,” Plato said.
“What about sending one of the Warriors to assassinate the Doktor and Samuel?” Hickok recommended.
Plato gazed at the gunman, half expecting he was joking. “Are you serious?”
“Of course.”
“Intriguing concept,” Plato acknowledged, “but hardly feasible. Even if we could actualize the logistics, the results aren’t necessarily guaranteed to achieve our goals.”
“Could you say that again in English?” Hickok wryly requested.
“Even if we did kill Samuel and the Doktor,” Plato elaborated, “it wouldn’t insure our safety.”
“Why not?”
“For all we know, someone else would come along and fill their shoes.
We’d be right back where we started.” Plato shook his head, his gray beard swaying. “No, that isn’t the answer.”
“What is?”
“We must amass sufficient strength to effectively repel the Watchers or successfully invade the Civilized Zone.”
Hickok chuckled. “Now you’re talkin’ my kin
d of language!”
They were abreast of the cabins. A dozen or so Family members were clustered nearby, watching. “Is everything under control?” one of them called to Plato.
The Family Leader waved and smiled. “Everything is fine! Our Warriors have the situation well in hand. Resume your activities.”
They walked a little further.
“So how are we going to ‘amass sufficient strength’?” Hickok asked, grinning, stressing the last three words.
“We may engage in a treaty with the Moles,” Plato said.
Hickok chuckled. He’d encountered the Moles while Blade and Geronimo were in Kalispell, Montana. The Moles lived in a huge earthen mound approximately one hundred miles southeast of the Home. They survived by raiding other communities and stealing whatever they required. He’d offered a pact to the head of the Moles before he’d departed their company. “If you’re waiting to hear from them,” Hickok said to Plato, “I wouldn’t hold my breath!”
“What about the people in the Twin Cities?” Plato asked.
Hickok stopped and scowled at Plato. “What about them?” he demanded, annoyed. “Blade, Geronimo, and I were there months ago. We told those people we’d return in thirty days and look at how long it’s been!
They wanted to join us, to come here and live, if not in the Home then one of the abandoned towns nearby. They wanted to be our friends and we deserted them.”
“We haven’t deserted anyone,” Plato disagreed. “We couldn’t help it if other, more important matters arose. May I remind you we finally retrieved the scientific and medical equipment and supplies we needed in Kalispell?”
“So you’re going to allow Alpha Triad to return to the Twin Cities?”
Hickok pressed him.
“Yes,” Plato stated. “As soon as Geronimo re…”
“That could be weeks!” Hickok snapped. “Who knows how long it will take me to find him if he isn’t back here in a week?”
“It can’t be helped,” Plato said. “Can it?”
“No. I reckon not,” Hickok ruefully concluded.
“In the meantime,” Plato went on, “I have another plan concerning the Doktor and Samuel II.”
“Oh?” Hickok’s interest piqued. “Like what? I thought my assassin idea was a good one.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a spy,” Plato revealed.
Dakota Run Page 15
