Thief River Falls Run

by David Robbins

  Hickok hastily rolled down his window and raised his Henry, sighting carefully.

  “You can’t!” Joshua exclaimed.

  “He tried to kill us!” Blade reminded Joshua.

  “Not in the back!” Joshua protested.

  “We have no choice!” Blade declared, watching the other driver speed off. If Hickok didn’t fire soon, even he wouldn’t be able to make the shot.

  “No!” Joshua shouted, flinging himself forward, lunging for Hickok.

  Geronimo reacted instantly, clutching Joshua, restraining him.

  “No!” Joshua struggled to break free. “He’s another human being!”

  “Not any more,” Hickok said softly. He inhaled, held the breath, and squeezed the trigger.

  “No!” Joshua screamed.

  The motorcycle driver had just glanced back to determine his distance from the SEAL. They saw his head buck sideways, his arms jerking upward, his body falling to one side. “Got ya!” Hickok was elated. The driver tumbled to the ground as the motorcycle skidded, out of control, hitting a rut in the highway and flipping end over end for fifty yards before coming to a rest, a tangled, shattered wreck in the middle of the road.

  Blade pulled out. “Good shot,” he said to Hickok.

  Hickok was grinning. “Piece of cake!”

  “You shot him,” Joshua said, stunned, going limp in Geronimo’s arms.

  Hickok glanced at Joshua. “I told you,” he snapped, “you shouldn’t have come.”

  “You just killed a man in cold blood,” Joshua kept on, scarcely believing what he’d just seen.

  “He tried to do the same to me,” Hickok retorted. “What’d you want me to do? Wish him better luck next time?”

  Blade braked and stopped the SEAL next to the driver. He turned off the SEAL and jumped out. Hickok did likewise, training his Henry on the prone form.

  Their attacker was lying on his stomach, a growing pool of blood forming under his head. He was tall, had black hair. Blade slowly rolled the body over. The man was young, maybe twenty-five or thirty. He was dressed in a gray shirt and jeans, neither of which showed any sign of prolonged wear. His hair was worn in a ponytail, tied at the shoulder with a length of string. Hickok’s shot had caught him between the eyes, creating a good-sized hole, oozing blood. The back of his head, where the slug exited, was a total mess.

  “Oh, dear Father!” Joshua and Geronimo had joined them. Joshua’s face was pale, his expression horror-struck. He gaped at the puddle of blood. “Dear Father!” he repeated.

  “Haven’t you ever seen anyone shot before?” Hickok asked. Joshua shook his head.

  “What about that scavenger?” Hickok inquired. The ragtag scavengers had attacked the Home in the middle of the night. Someone had taken a shot at a Warrior sentry on duty on top of the wall. The shot had missed, the Warrior had sounded the alarm, and the Warriors and the unknown assailants had exchanged sporadic gunfire. The Warriors, and the rest of the Family, were left unscathed by the engagement, but the other side had suffered one casualty. A man was found lying behind a tree the next morning, shot through the chest. His clothes were in tatters, his physical condition emaciated. Everyone assumed the Home had been assaulted by a group of scavengers. “And how about the Trolls? Where the blazes were you during that fight? There were bodies all over the place,” Hickok stated brusquely.

  “I did not see any of the bodies,” Joshua replied quietly, beginning to regain his composure.

  “I’ll check the cycle,” Geronimo offered, and jogged off.

  “Why’d he come at us?” Hickok questioned. “I wish I knew,” Blade answered, standing. He ran his left hand through his dark hair, reflecting.

  Why had this joker jumped them? What had he hoped to gain? Where had he obtained the motorcycle? Where was he from? There were a hundred unanswered questions, and he didn’t like not having the answers.

  “Should we bury him?” Joshua asked.

  “What?” Hickok laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t make a habit of burying people who try to kill me.”

  Blade knelt again, searching the dead man’s pockets. In the left front pocket he found a handful of circular metal pieces.

  “What are those?” Hickok leaned closer.

  Blade studied them in the fading light. “I think they’re coins,” he speculated.

  “Money?” Hickok said, shocked. “The guy is carrying money?”

  “Appears so.” Blade handed the coins to Hickok. He reached into the right front pocket of the jeans and found a piece of paper.

  “Now what?” Hickok knelt alongside Blade.

  Blade unfolded the piece of paper. It contained a crude, handwritten map. “We’ll study this later.” He folded the map and placed it in his own right pocket.

  “Hey!” Hickok suddenly remembered something. “Where’s his gun?”

  “I haven’t seen it,” Joshua replied, glancing around.

  Hickok stood and scanned the road and the surrounding area. He spotted a dark object lying in some grass at the side of the highway.

  “There!” He pointed.

  “Where?” Joshua still hadn’t seen it.

  Hickok walked over and picked the weapon up, examining it. “Look at this!” He waved the gun at Blade. “A Ruger Redhawk! A .44-Magnum, six-shot, stainless-steel,” he said in admiration. “Nice piece of hardware. I’ve seen it in the Gun Digest, but we don’t have one at the Home.”

  “What have you got there?” Geronimo returned, carrying a leather pouch.

  “His gun.” Hickok showed the firearm to Geronimo. “What have you got?”

  “The cycle is a complete loss,” Geronimo said to Blade. “I found this lying ten yards from the wreck. Apparently, it fell off the bike. I’ve looked inside. It contains ammunition and a folding knife.” Geronimo paused, smiling. “And this.” He held up a small object in his right hand.

  “What’s that?” Hickok moved closer.

  “A box of matches.”

  “What?” Blade rose and took the box.

  “New box.” Geronimo beamed. “New matches.”

  “Can’t be,” Hickok stated.

  “But it is,” Blade confirmed, frowning. The box the wooden matches came in consisted of blank cardboard, devoid of any identifying marks. “It is.”

  “I thought it’d interest you,” Geronimo admitted.

  “See if these interest you.” Hickok gave the coins to Geronimo.

  “I don’t believe it!” Geronimo exclaimed.

  “This adds an entirely new dimension to our trip,” Blade stated. He was uneasy, disturbed at discovering this stranger so close to the Home. Had the man been waiting for the SEAL?

  “Doesn’t it, though?” Hickok agreed. “I love a good mystery.”

  “What do we do now?” Geronimo inquired of Blade.

  “We stay right where we are.” Blade had already decided. “We’ll spend the night in the SEAL…”

  “Now wait a second, pard,” Hickok said, beginning to protest.

  Blade cut him off with a wave of his hand. “All of us will spend the night in the SEAL. It’s the only cover we have, and this guy might have companions lurking about. It may be cramped, but at least we’ll be alive in the morning. No one will be able to sneak up on us and slit our throats in the dark. Like it or not, it’s the SEAL tonight.”

  Hickok shrugged his shoulder, indicating his acceptance.

  “What about food?” Joshua spoke up. “Should I prepare a meal for us?

  I’m a good cook. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

  “No fire tonight.” Blade shook his head. “We’ve got some venison jerky in the SEAL and other provisions. A cold meal might not be the best, but it’s the safest. Let’s get inside and lock the doors.”

  “What about our departed brother?” Joshua asked, pointing at the motorcycle driver.

  “He ain’t my brother,” Hickok retorted.

  “All men are your spiritual brothers.” Joshua looked Hickok in
the eyes.

  “The Spirit gave each of us life and loves all of us equally. The Spirit is no respecter of persons.”

  “Men are,” Hickok rejoined. “The Spirit may love us all, but men don’t. Some men love you, some don’t.”

  “Love is derived from understanding,” Joshua said. “When we learn to understand one another, we will, in the process, grow to love one another.”

  Hickok sighed. “Can’t you see it yet?” he asked, annoyed.

  “See what?” Joshua asked, perplexed.

  “When someone is trying to kill you, when they have a gun pointed at your head, you don’t have much spare time to develop a mutual understanding. It’s you or them. And I intend to insure that in each and every instance it’s them and not me.” Hickok pointed his Henry at the body. “Case in point.”

  Joshua quietly stared at the deceased driver. He shook his head, turned, and walked back to the SEAL.

  “He’s taking this hard,” Geronimo observed.

  “Serves him right,” Hickok said testily. “He shouldn’t be on this expedition.”

  “Plato had a reason for sending him with us.” Blade joined their conversation. “We should leave him to his own thoughts tonight. I imagine he has a lot to meditate on. Besides, we have enough to keep us busy. Let’s get inside.”

  “And the body?” Geronimo inquired.

  “We leave it for the carrion-eaters,” Blade responded.

  “Joshua will be upset,” Geronimo noted.

  “Unfortunate, but it can’t be helped. I know it’s only noon or so, but I want to stay here the remainder of the afternoon and tonight. Let’s see if anyone shows up. The biker’s ambush was too calculated for my liking. He might have friends.”

  Blade drove the SEAL into a stand of trees and they settled in for the long vigil. The three Warriors remained awake until the early morning hours, discussing the ramifications of the attack. They ate a meal of venison jerky and water, their speculations continuing unabated. Why had they been attacked? Where was their attacker from? His clothing, possession, and the cycle all were relatively new. How was that possible?

  Did it mean that certain cities had been spared in the Big Blast? Were some industries still intact? Had the Family, isolated in a remote corner of the country, fallen out of step with the rest of civilization? Was the Family an outcast commune, out of touch with society? The three talked for hours, finally agreeing further consideration was senseless.

  “We just don’t have enough to go on,” Hickok said, summing up their deliberations.

  “Agreed. Until we do, it’s useless to worry ourselves. What say we get some sleep and start off early?” Blade slouched in his seat, making himself comfortable.

  “Good idea, pard.” Hickok yawned. “I’m a mite bushed.”

  Geronimo leaned back, resting his head on the top of the seat. He too was weary. It had been an eventful day, and only their first on this trip. He glanced at Joshua, pitying him, imagining Joshua’s turmoil. Joshua had not said a single word all night. He had sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands cupped together, his chin resting on his hands, his eyes closed, sorting his thoughts. He had even refused to eat. Geronimo flinched. One of the tomahawk handles was poking him in the side. He shifted position and aligned the handle to alleviate the pressure. The Arminius was snug under his right arm, his Browning behind him in the rear section of the SEAL. Good thing they had brought along the firepower. It appeared they’d be needing their armament, if today was any indication. One day out, one attacker dead. How many bodies would they rack up tomorrow?

  His last thought, before drifting into sleep, was to wonder if any of those bodies would be one of theirs.

  Chapter Five

  Blade woke up to the sensation of a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He opened his eyes, collecting his thoughts. “What is it?” he mumbled. The dead biker was where they had left him.

  “You mentioned you wanted to start at first light,” Joshua said, withdrawing his hand.

  The sun was emerging over the eastern horizon.

  “Thanks.” Blade twisted in his seat, facing Joshua. “We were up so late, I might have overslept. Did you get any sleep?”

  “No.”

  “You should have.”

  “I required time to commune with the Spirit,” Joshua explained. “I wouldn’t have been able to rest, even had I wanted to do so.”

  “Understand,” Blade said, sighing. So much for his great idea. No one else had appeared during the night. “Let’s wake the others.”

  “I’m awake,” Geronimo said quietly, his eyes still closed. “Hickok kept snoring, kept waking me up. If we stay inside the SEAL tonight, can we muzzle him or nail his mouth shut?”

  “I don’t know,” Blade joked. “It’d be too tempting to leave it that way in the morning.”

  “And you’re supposed to be my friends?” Hickok sat up and stretched.

  “Pretty comfortable in here, wasn’t it?”

  “For some of us more than others,” Geronimo stated.

  “We’re getting an early start today, aren’t we?” Hickok stared at the pale gray sky. “Usually you don’t start picking on poor helpless me until the sun’s been up a couple of hours.”

  “You want a fire for breakfast?” Geronimo asked Blade.

  “Not really,” Blade replied. “Unless you do. I’d prefer to take off as soon as possible.”

  “Fine by me,” Hickok said. “Just give us a moment.”

  “For what?”

  Hickok opened the door. “This SEAL might be a mechanical marvel, but someone neglected to install a crucial part.”

  “Such as?” Blade remembered to throw the red lever.

  Hickok gave Blade a searching look. “Your brain doesn’t function so hot this early, does it? Want me to put a puddle on the floor before you get the idea?”

  “Thanks just the same.”

  Hickok eased his body to the ground.

  Geronimo leaned forward. “Hey, you be careful in those trees.”

  Hickok smiled. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

  “Just wouldn’t want you to get bitten on the ass by a mutate when you pull down your pants. The poor thing might die of blood poisoning.”

  Geronimo smirked.

  Hickok made a show of rolling his eyes upward. “Why do I even bother?” He ambled off.

  “He’s got the right idea,” Geronimo agreed, climbing out.

  Everyone relieved himself, they consumed a meal of bread and water, and the second day’s journey began.

  “Any idea how far the first town will be?” Blade asked Hickok when they were finally under way, as they passed the dead biker.

  “Won’t know until I find out where we are on Highway 59,” the gunman replied.

  They rode in silent expectation. Blade acquired new assurance as he easily avoided ruts and holes in the road. At frequent intervals they would encounter sections of crumpled, buckled roadway, and Blade would make a brief detour along an adjacent field, rejoining the highway when its condition improved.

  “Can I drive some today?” Hickok asked.

  “Please, spare us!” Geronimo threw in. “I want to…” He paused, straining forward. “Look!”

  Blade slowly applied the brakes, bringing the SEAL to a stop. A small, rusted sign stood at the side of the road. It read HALMA.

  They were parked on a small rise. Below, the highway descended to a small town. Or, the remains of one. Even at a distance of a quarter mile, they could tell the buildings were in dilipidated shape.

  “Think it’s inhabited?” Joshua asked.

  “We’ll soon find out.” Blade eased the transport ahead. “Everyone keep alert.”

  Geronimo passed out the long guns, handing Hickok his Henry and placing the Commando Arms Carbine on the console next to Blade. He picked up his Browning, insured it was loaded, and released the safety.

  Joshua was apprehensively watching the proceedings.

  Hickok bent over
and picked up two items from the floor at his feet.

  “Here.” He turned and gave the items to Joshua, who instinctively took them before he fully realized what they were.

  The Ruger Redhawk and the leather pouch.

  “What am I to do with these?” Joshua demanded, offended.

  “Didn’t you learn anything yesterday?” Hickok asked sadly.

  Joshua dropped the gun and the ammunition pouch onto the floor. “I won’t use a gun,” he stated stiffly. “‘Thou shalt not kill,’” he quoted from Scripture.

  “Suit yourself, pard,” Hickok replied, frowning.

  The SEAL was nearing the outskirts of Halma. At close range, they could see all of the buildings had sustained moderate damage. Roofs were blistered, partially gone in many instances. Walls were broken, cracked, and crumbling. Broken windows were everywhere.

  “Think it got caught in the Big Blast?” Hickok speculated.

  “Doubt it.” Blade stopped the SEAL, mentally debating whether to drive into Halma or reconnoiter on foot. He opted for driving in. “Not enough destruction.”

  “Where’d everyone go?” Hickok asked.

  “Who knows?” Blade drove forward, his nerves tense. “The Family records say that the government forced mass evacuations after the War.

  Maybe everyone had to leave.”

  Halma turned out to be completely deserted, all signs denoting it had not been inhabited for a long, long time. They stopped at the southern edge of town, pondering their next stop.

  “What’s the next town?” Blade asked.

  “Hmmm.” Hickok ran his index finger down the map. “Another small one called Karlstad. About five miles or so.”

  “Here we go.” Blade gunned the SEAL.

  Karlstad, situated at the junction of Highway 59 and 11, was another Halma, abandoned, in disrepair, obviously not used for years.

  “Do you detect a trend here?” Hickok asked as they sat in the SEAL, parked in the center of town.

  “Will every place we come to be like this?” Geronimo wondered.

  Blade sighed. “So what’s next?”

  Next turned out to be Strandquist, seven miles south on Highway 59, exactly like Halma and Karlstad.