After breakfast, at the table, Geronimo complimented the Triad leader.
“That was a neat trick last night,” he said. “Where’d you learn to start a generator?”
“Lucky guess,” Blade replied. “I remembered Plato telling us about the fossil fuels the engines ran on before the Big Blast. When I saw the tank, and the container, I put two and two together.”
Hickok yawned loudly. “Let’s get this meeting over with. I need some more sleep.”
“Poor baby,” Geronimo ribbed him. “Serves you right for staying up most of the night.”
“Bertha was asking more and more questions. Never saw such a curious woman. Wouldn’t let me leave. I came down after she fell asleep. You sure she’ll be all right?” He faced Joshua.
“She has suffered extensive surface damage,” Joshua explained. “The beatings were severe. Fortunately, her vital organs were not injured. A few days rest, and plenty of nourishment, and she should be as good as new.”
“Which brings us to this meeting.” Blade got their attention. “We can use her. She knows the Twin Cities. She could make our job there a lot easier. Last night she told me she might not want to go back. Do we force her to against her will?”
“Definitely not,” Joshua responded.
Geronimo shook his head.
“If the gal doesn’t want to come with us, pard,” Hickok said harshly, “she doesn’t go with us.”
“You’re getting attached to her,” Blade stated frankly.
“Bull!” Hickok said in denial. “She’s a good kid. She needs a friend, is all.”
Blade suppressed a grin. “I didn’t intend to force her to accompany us. I wanted to be sure how each of you felt. How long do you think we should stay in Thief River Falls? Until she is fully recovered? Until she’s fit enough to travel, if she does elect to come with us?”
“I don’t want to abandon her until she can take care of herself,” Hickok said, expressing his opinion.
Blade tapped his finger on the table, pondering. “Agreed. We won’t leave her until she’s fit. I don’t like the delay it’s costing us, but we don’t have any choice.” His eyes ranged over each of them. “We do have a more serious problem to evaluate. Bertha told us about the Twin Cities last night. I couldn’t understand everything, but enough to gather our trip there is going to be extremely dangerous. Several warring factions are fighting for control of the city, and we could find ourselves caught in the conflict. I’m not very optimistic about finding the equipment Plato needs either. Still, we’ve got to try.”
“What about the Watchers?” Hickok asked. “We’re bound to run into more of them.”
“I know. We’ll try to avoid them where possible. From what Bertha said, they’re covering all the roads and highways out of the Twin Cities, exactly the same way they’ve covered the only highway heading south from the Home. Any ideas on who these Watchers are and where they come from?”
No one responded.
“I know.” Blade shook his head. “We need more information. I did reach several conclusions concerning them. One, they have their base south of here.”
“What makes you say that?” Geronimo asked.
“The Watcher named Joe made a reference to the fact that Sammy, the one they take their orders from, is located south of here a ways, as he put it.”
“He could easily have been lying,” Geronimo pointed out.
“True,” Blade admitted. “I don’t doubt that much of what he told us was a smoke screen, but the statement concerning the location was ambiguous enough to be partially true.” He paused. “My other conclusion is that the Watchers are containers.”
“Come again?” Hickok’s brow furrowed.
“Look at their pattern. Bertha says they surround the Twin Cities, preventing anyone from leaving. They also blocked the only major highway leading south from Home. Their policy seems to be one of containment, to prevent inhabited areas from spreading.” Blade frowned. “One last item.
Last night I remembered the leader of the Trolls saying they had a pact with the Watchers.”
“What?” Hickok queried, startled, sitting up in his chair.
“I had no idea who he was talking about at the time,” Blade explained.
He looked at Joshua. “Any information you can supply?”
Joshua appeared taken off guard by the question. “What would I know?”
“You’re one of the Family Empaths,” Blade stated. “Plato has great confidence in your ability. Have you picked up anything, anything at all?”
Joshua lowered his eyes. “No.”
“Keep trying,” Blade ordered. “Do whatever it is you do, but get me something I can use.”
“Get me a live Watcher,” Joshua recommended.
“What?”
“My particular emphatic talent involves receiving impressions from objects and people, living people. I tried to imprint information from the bodies of the Watchers you killed, but I wasn’t successful. Curious paradox. I can receive impressions from animate beings and inanimate objects, but not from inanimate beings. Interesting.”
Hickok lazily stretched. “Any other items on our agenda this morning?”
“We’ve covered the essential points,” Blade said. “We’ll stay put until Bertha decides to come with us, if she does. Each of us will pull six-hour guard shifts, including you, Joshua. I realize you’re not a Warrior, but everyone must participate.”
“I understand,” Joshua remarked.
“Hickok will provide you with one of the confiscated arms,” Blade instructed.
“I will not bear arms,” Joshua indignantly asserted.
“You will carry a gun on guard duty.”
“It is against my personal philosophy to use a firearm.” Joshua refused to budge.
“Using it is up to you,” Blade countered. “But you will carry one, and that is final. If we’re attacked, and you decide not to fire, at least shout a warning to alert us.”
Joshua started to speak, then thought better of it.
“Geronimo,” Blade went on, “you’ll pull the first shift, so sleepyhead here,” he nodded at Hickok, “can catch up on his beauty rest. The Spirit knows he needs it!”
“Thanks, pard,” Hickok grumbled.
“When six hours are up, wake Hickok. Joshua, you’re after Hickok. I’ll pull the final shift. Any questions?”
“I have one,” Hickok mentioned.
“Shoot.”
Hickok grinned. “You keep mentioning six-hour shifts. How in the blazes are we supposed to know when six hours have gone by? We left our hourglasses back at the Home, and the sundial was just too plain big to tote along.”
Blade removed an item from his right front pocket. “I think this will suffice.”
“I don’t believe it!” Hickok gaped.
“Where’d you get that? I didn’t see it when I stripped the bodies,” Geronimo said.
“Is that a watch?” Joshua asked.
Blade nodded. “That’s what they were called. It was on the guy called Joe. I removed it before you searched their clothes,” he answered Geronimo. “It’s making a sound, like a scratching, and the black pointers are moving, so I assume it’s still working.”
“May I?” Joshua reached over and took the watch. “I remember reading something about these things in the library. These pointers were called hands, I believe. If I recall correctly, this watch is indicating it’s seven in the morning.”
“Thank the Founder for the library,” Geronimo stated.
Blade mentally agreed. Kurt Carpenter had stocked almost five hundred thousand books in E Block, shelf after shelf of the greatest literature mankind had produced, the classics, interspersed with sections devoted to specific topics or themes. One of the largest sections was exclusively devoted to survival skills. Reference books on every conceivable subject were at the Family’s fingertips. Books on military tactics and strategies.
Gardening. Hunting and fishing. Woodworking. Metalsmithin
g. Natural medicine. Weaving and sewing. History books. Geography books. Volumes on religion and philosophy. Dictionaries. Encyclopedias. Fiction for entertainment. Humorous books, like the Peanuts and Garfield cartoon collections. And on and on. Carpenter had tried to envision the challenges the Family would face, and to stock books instructing the Family on how to cope with those obstacles. How-to books were present in abundance.
Carpenter never realized it, but his library would become the Family’s prime source of amusement as well as tutelage. With the demise of electricity, most contemporary diversions faded into oblivion. Not so with the books. Family children were taught to read at an early age, and reading became a primarily Family pursuit. Everyone read. Most read avidly. Photographic books were especially prized, many of the photos of prewar culture and technology evoking awe and wonder. Reading and music were the Family’s recreation. Plato had once mentioned to Blade that he preferred it that way. Blade had inquired as to why. “These pastimes sharpen the intellect. Most of those before the war atrophied the brain,” Plato had said.
“How do you tell what time it is?” Hickok leaned toward Joshua.
Joshua held the watch so Hickok could see. “The big pointer, or hand, tells you the minute. The smaller hand tells you the hour.”
“What’s that third hand do?” Hickok asked. “The thin one.”
Joshua reflected a moment. “I think that tells you about the seconds.”
Hickok sadly shook his head. “I never would have made it,” he dryly commented.
“Made what?” Joshua inquired.
“Made it before the Big Blast. First the SEAL. Now this watch.
Everything back then was so blasted complicated!”
“All it takes is practice,” Geronimo said, disagreeing. “You’ll change your mind once you get the hang of things.”
“Bet me,” Hickok quipped.
“Here.” Joshua gave the watch to Geronimo.
“You have the first shift and you’ll need this.”
Geronimo studied the time. “So if I understand you, I wake up Hickok at one to pull his shift.”
“You got it,” Blade told him and pushed back from the table. “I think I’m going to search some of the other buildings, see what I can find.”
“Probably nothing,” Hickok predicted. “There’s just us and the dead Watchers and that’s it, folks.” The scream, a terrified, penetrating shriek, punctuated Hickok’s statement. “That came from upstairs!” Joshua shouted. Hickok was already in motion, scooping up his Henry from where he had placed it against his chair and bounding up the steps. Blade, Geronimo, and Joshua quickly followed. The petrified cry was just fading when the four men piled into Bertha’s room.
“What is it?” Hickok asked, glancing at the window, which was still closed.
Bertha was sitting up, the blanket clutched in front of her body, covering her to the chin. She was staring, wide-eyed, at an opening at the base of the room’s south wall, a former vent, the cover since removed by a previous tenant.
“Kill it!” she beseeched them, her voice shrill. “Kill the damn thing!”
Perched on its rear legs in the vent opening stood a large rat, its whiskers twitching, defiantly gazing at them.
“It’s just a rat,” Hickok said, amazed. He stared down at Bertha.
“You’re afraid of one measly old rat?”
“Kill it!” She frantically clutched his left leg. “For God’s sake, kill it before it can bring the rest back here!”
“Whatever you say.” Hickok began to bring the Henry up, but stopped when Blade grabbed his arm.
“Not in here,” Blade nodded at the rifle. “Think of our ears.” He was holding his Commando in his left hand, his right slowly sneaking around his back, to the Solingen throwing knifes.
“Oh, get it, please!” Bertha whispered.
The rat dropped to all fours and began to turn, to leave.
Blade crouched, sweeping his right hand forward, gripping the Solingen by the tip of the blade. He threw overhand, the knife turning end over end as it crossed the six feet between them and imbedded itself to the hilt in the rat’s fat, squat body.
The rat reared back, screeching and chittering, clawing at the knife.
The furry body was racked with intense spasms. It squealed one final time, tottered on the edge of the vent, and toppled over, disappearing down the shaft.
“My knife!” Blade lunged for the opening, too late. His fingers clutched empty air. “Damn!” He knelt and peered down the vent. “Can’t see a thing! I’ll never get that knife back.”
Bertha sank to the mattress, trembling.
Hickok dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. “Come on, Black Beauty. It’s dead and gone. You can relax.”
Bertha struggled to sit up, glaring at each of them. “Don’t you fools understand?”
“Understand what?” Hickok answered her.
“About rats.”
“What’s the big deal over one rat? We see them from time to time around our Home, but they’re no problem.”
“This ain’t your Home, White Meat,” she reminded him. “In the cities it’s different. I didn’t think they would be in a small town like this, but I guess I was wrong. You should see them in the Twins!” She shuddered.
“Millions and millions of them. Mostly they keep to themselves in the sewers and underground tunnels, but they come up from time to time, roaming the streets, hunting.”
Blade recalled an earlier statement she had made. “Do the rats eat the Wacks you were telling us about? You said the Wacks use the underground too.”
Bertha was staring at the vent. “They eat each other, far as I know,” she replied absently. “The Wacks got fire, though, and the rats don’t like fire none. They’re terrible, but they can’t hold a candle to the roaches.”
“The roaches?” It was Joshua’s turn to ask, perplexed.
“The cockroaches,” Bertha responded. “More cockroaches than a person could count.”
“Don’t tell me the bugs are dangerous?” Hickok cracked.
Bertha gazed at Hickok. “I pity you, White Meat. You got so much to learn. You can stomp a Wack easy enough, if they don’t nail you first. Even the rats can be stabbed or shot or clubbed for as long as you got your strength. But the cockroaches! How you gonna fight a horde of bugs only six inches long and two inches wide?”
“How big?” Blade interjected, doubting he’d heard her correctly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geronimo leave the room.
Bertha raised her hands and held them the proper distance apart. “This long.”
Hickok whistled. “How the blazes do you stand living in the Twin Cities?”
“I can’t stand it,” she answered, “which is why I want out. I don’t never want to go back there. No way.”
“Whatever you decide,” Blade told her. “Just keep in mind we could really use your help. We need a guide, someone who knows their way around the Twin Cities. Someone who could help us find the things we’re looking for.”
Bertha shook her head. “No way, man. I’d have to be stone cold crazy to go back there.”
“Won’t Z be expecting you back?” Hickok asked her.
“Hey, White Meat,” she said, shrugging, “it’s a dog-eat-dog world. Z won’t miss me. If I hadn’t got myself caught by the Watchers, maybe I would have gone back and reported it. But I did get nabbed, and I had a lot of time to think while they was beating me and burning me and poking me, and I made a decision. Bertha, I told myself, if, by some miracle, you get out of this mess, then there ain’t no way, no how, you’re going back to the Twins. I tell you, I’d be crazy to go back there!”
Blade could see the subject distressed her. “Whatever you say,” he stated. “You get your rest. We’ve decided to stay with you until you can take care of yourself. Then we’ll be leaving for the Twin Cities.”
“Can’t you leave it alone?” she pleaded. “Can’t you just go back to this Home you’re from and fo
rget the Twins?”
Blade shook his head. “No. A lot of people, people we love dearly, are relying on us. We must get to the Twins.”
“White Meat told me you got a woman waiting for you,” Bertha said, trying another tack. “Don’t you want to see her again?”
“Of course I do,” Blade replied, an edge to his voice.
“Well, you won’t if you go on the way you are,” Bertha ventured. “None of you will come back from the Twins.”
“We’ll take that chance.” Blade spun and left the room. He hurried downstairs, his anger building. How dare she remind him of Jenny! He walked outside.
Geronimo was holding his Browning, leaning against the front of the SEAL. He noticed Blade’s expression.
“You okay?” Geronimo solicitously inquired.
“Fine,” Blade replied, too quickly, the word a growl in his deep chest.
Geronimo turned away, knowing his friend all too well. Blade was known for a long fuse, but when he blew, watch out! His temper was renowned in the Family. Geronimo grinned, remembering the time Blade took on an entire pack of wild dogs with just his Bowies in his hands, his face flushed with pure rage, determined to hack the canines to pieces! A firm hand fell on his left shoulder, and he turned.
“Sorry,” Blade said simply.
“No problem.”
Blade smiled and strolled off. He headed west, skirting the park, thinking of Jenny. Was she up already? Was she still pining for him?
Would she cry herself to sleep at night until he returned? Dear Spirit, how he missed her! He wanted to get this damn trip over with as fast as humanly possible and return to the Home!
The bright sun on his face brought him up short. He gazed upward, watching several white clouds drifting eastward. The sky was tinged with a shade of gray today, as it sometimes was. Periodically, the entire sky would turn a somber shade of cement gray, the air filled with tiny particles of ash and dust.
Blade’s mind drifted, recollecting the Family records concerning the aftermath of the Third World War. Carpenter had been delightfully surprised the fallout at the Home was minimal. He had expected to see higher concentrations, particularly if the missile silos in North Dakota were hit with ground blasts of ten megatons or more. Fortunately for the fate of the Home, at the time of the Soviet attack on the North Dakota missile fields, the prevailing winds at the forty-thousand-foot altitude, the air currents responsible for the primary distribution of the fallout, had been bearing in a southeasterly direction, not toward the east. So the Family had escaped the brunt of the fallout. It could not, however, avoid other inevitable consequences of a nuclear war.
Thief River Falls Run Page 10
