Thief River Falls Run

by David Robbins

  The thousands of nuclear explosions had forced huge amounts of dust and ash into the atmosphere. Volcanic activity had abruptly increased, becoming widespread. A dark cloud had choked the sky for over five years, eventually dispersing. Now, a century later, the conditions were nearly similar to before the Big Blast, except for periodic clouds of volcanic residue.

  Another repercussion of the thermonuclear conflict was the reduction of the ozone layer. The nitrogen oxides created by the mushroom clouds ate at the ozone, causing solar ultraviolet levels to rise tremendously. For a decade after the war, anyone who ventured outdoors without adequate protective clothing had suffered a prompt, blistering sunburn. Certain plant strains had been completely eliminated.

  All of these memories filtered through Blade’s mind as he gazed up at the sky.

  A rustling of tree leaves drew his attention to his right. He twisted, studying the tree, an oak with wide, sweeping branches. The rustling had stopped.

  Blade looked over his shoulder. He was out of sight of the concrete building, standing near the park. The undergrowth was dense and prolific.

  His senses suddenly shrieked a warning, trying to alert him that something was amiss.

  But what?

  Blade gripped the Commando in both hands and approached the edge of the park.

  Was it a mutate?

  Blade crouched near a clump of tall grass, scanning the shadows, prepared.

  He thought.

  A huge, gnarled, brown hand unexpectedly parted the grass, exposing a face filled with malevolent intent.

  Blade caught a brief glimpse of two large brown eyes, of a large, crooked nose, almost beaklike, of a gaping mouth filled with pointed teeth, and his nose was overwhelmed by an obnoxious stench, just as the thing pounced.

  Blade’s attacker was a gigantic, lumbering brute. It slammed into Blade, sending him sprawling, the Commando flying to one side. The thing bellowed and jumped, aiming both heels at Blade’s head.

  Blade instinctively rolled, avoiding the crushing blow. He automatically noted his assailant was only wearing a buckskin loincloth, that its thick body was burned black and pitted and scarred over every inch.

  The thing roared and leaped, catching Blade around the neck in an iron grip. Its fingers closed in an inexorable vise.

  Blade felt his body being lifted off the ground, his feet dangling and helpless. He tried to focus, to gather his wits. Concentrating, he brought his hands up, smashing them against the thing’s ears.

  The brute ignored the blow.

  Blade swung his arms again, his thumbs extended, plunging them into the short, squat neck.

  The brute gurgled, but the choking hold did not slacken.

  Blade tried another move, feeling his chest beginning to ache, his wind cut off, his lungs craving air. He held his hands in the Crane style of offense and stabbed them directly into the leering brown eyes.

  The giant roared and released Blade, covering its eyes.

  Blade drew his right Bowie, his motion practiced and fluid as he imbedded the blade in the brute’s chest to the hilt.

  The thing uncovered its eyes and gaped at the knife sticking in its chest. It looked up at Blade. And grinned.

  Blade, astonished, didn’t see the blow that sent him reeling to the ground. He felt blood filling his mouth and he rose to his knees, trying to regain his footing before it attacked him again.

  Too late.

  The brute clamped the neck choke on him again, twisting its fingers, this time attempting to snap the spinal column.

  Blade’s vision spun.

  Think, damn you, he told himself. Think! The worst reaction right now would be mindless panic. He couldn’t rise, the thing was holding him down. Even his strength was as nothing compared to this giant. He gripped his left Bowie. Out of the corner of his left eye he could see one huge, naked foot. It was the only possible target. He swung the knife backward and down, and he knew he had connected, knew the blade had sliced through the foot and stuck in the ground.

  The brute shrieked and released Blade. It hopped up and down on one foot, trying to grab the Bowie and pull it free.

  Blade sagged to the ground, wheezing, gasping for air. He tried to reach for the dagger on his right leg, but his fingers abruptly went weak, drooping.

  Dear Spirit, no! He had to defend himself or he was as good as dead!

  The thing had managed to grip the handle of the Bowie and yank. Blood spurted as the blade pulled loose. The brute held the knife up and appeared to study it for a moment, then it tossed the Bowie aside.

  Growling, it pulled the other Bowie from its immense chest and flung the knife to the ground. Blade took hold of the dagger and braced himself. If the Bowie knives couldn’t affect this giant, what good would a dagger do?

  The brute bent down, its long, hairy arms reaching for its intended victim.

  Blade rammed his dagger into the creature’s throat and twisted, gratified when blood gushed over his arm.

  The thing gurgled and gasped, pulling away from Blade. Now was his chance!

  Blade leaped to his feet, scooping up one of his Bowies. He swung the big knife, slicing the brute’s midriff.

  The creature had pressed its hands against its neck, striving to stem the flow of crimson. It roared as the Bowie bit into its stomach again and attempted to grab its assailant.

  Blade dropped and stepped back, trying to pinpoint the brute’s must vulnerable point. He heard footsteps behind him.

  “I heard all the commotion,” Geronimo announced. “Let me finish this thing for you.”

  “Be my guest.”

  The monstrosity came at them as Geronimo fired, voicing his war whoop. The shot struck the thing in the chest, blowing the flesh apart.

  Incredibly, the giant staggered, but recovered and took two steps forward.

  The Browning roared twice more, the ruptured chest spattering blood and flesh everywhere. This time, the brute went down, toppling like a felled tree.

  “Are you seriously injured?” Geronimo asked Blade, concern carved on his face.

  “I don’t think so,” Blade replied, breathing deeply.

  “You look a mess.”

  “Thanks.”

  Geronimo walked over to the thing, staring in amazement. “What is this? It’s not a mutate. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Beats me.” Blade shrugged. He retrieved his weapons.

  “Think there could be more of them?” Geronimo nervously asked.

  Blade stopped, searching the nearby trees and grass. “Could be. I say we get back to the others.”

  “Looks like they had the idea first.” Geronimo grinned, pointing.

  Hickok and Joshua were running toward them, Hickok with his Pythons in his hands, Joshua holding a shotgun.

  “What the hell is going on?” Hickok demanded as they ran up.

  Blade nodded at the brute.

  “What the blazes…?” Hickok began, fascinated by the hulk lying on the ground.

  “Not another one!” Joshua exclaimed. He stood behind Hickok, and his view was obstructed.

  “Not human anyway.” Hickok stepped to one side so Joshua could see clearly.

  “What is it?” Joshua wanted to know.

  “You tell us,” Geronimo countered.

  They silently studied the creature, a dozen questions filling their minds.

  “What do we do with it?” Joshua eventually inquired.

  “Nothing,” Blade answered. His neck was throbbing and a headache was starting to form.

  “We don’t bury it?” Joshua gasped at the shredded chest.

  Hickok looked at Joshua and frowned. “Be serious.”

  “I should know better by now,” Joshua admitted.

  “Where’s your Henry?” Geronimo asked Hickok.

  “Left it with Bertha when we heard the shots. She was still antsy over the rat deal. Thought she’d feel safer if she had the Henry.”

  “Where’d you get that?” Blade inquired of
Joshua, indicating the pump shotgun.

  “Hickok gave it to me,” Joshua said sheepishly.

  “I took it from the guy Geronimo shot yesterday,” Hickok informed Blade, “the one we first saw on the roof. It’s a Smith and Wesson Model 3000 Pump. You told him to get a gun. He doesn’t have any firing experience, and if he should decide to let loose…”

  “I will not kill a brother or sister,” Joshua interrupted.

  “…even if it’s just to warn us,” Hickok continued as if Joshua hadn’t spoken, “then the shotgun should suffice. A lot of firepower, but you don’t need to be able to hit a knothole at fifty yards to be effective with it.”

  “Any ammo for it?” Blade asked.

  Hickok nodded. “Yep. Found a dozen spare rounds, all slugs, in the Watcher’s pockets. Probably more in that storage room we found upstairs.”

  “Good.” Blade surveyed the nearby foliage. “We’ll head back. If there is another one of these things lurking about,” he kicked the dead brute, “we’ll fare better if we stay in groups. So from now on, we only go outside in pairs. No one goes outdoors alone. Is that clearly understood?”

  “You bet, pard,” Hickok replied.

  “Absolutely,” Geronimo answered.

  Joshua nodded his understanding.

  “Okay. Let’s head back. Keep on your toes.”

  They cautiously returned to their temporary headquarters. Blade took the point, alert for any unusual sounds or movements. His neck was beginning to swell and his throat felt dry. Some water would taste wonderful! He speculated on his attacker. What had the thing been? It appeared to be more human than animal, but it acted bestial in every other respect. Where did it come from? Was it an isolated freak of nature, or just one of a species? Why hadn’t they ever seen one near the Home?

  Thank the Spirit they hadn’t! The mutates were bad enough, without having to worry about this new threat.

  They rounded a turn and saw the SEAL ahead.

  “Everything looks all right,” Hickok commented.

  The muted blast of the Henry, three times, galvanized them into immediate action.

  “Bertha!” Hickok exclaimed, running for the concrete building.

  “Geronimo,” Blade ordered as he ran, following on Hickok’s heels, “stay outside with Joshua! Watch the SEAL!”

  Blade followed Hickok into the building and up the stairs. As they reached the second floor the Henry boomed again.

  “Take that, sucker!” they heard Bertha yell as they burst into her room.

  Four dead rats were clustered around the vent opening in the wall.

  “Got ’em.” Bertha beamed at Hickok and Blade. “They thought they was gonna make a meal of me, but I showed them!”

  Blade walked to the vent and knelt, listening. From the dark depths below came scratching sounds. “There’s more down there.”

  “Of course,” Bertha said. “Rats travel in packs. Just ’cause we’ve killed some of ’em won’t stop ’em. They’ll be back for their supper.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hickok stated. “Why are they attacking us? Did they bother you once the whole time you were in this room before we arrived?”

  Bertha thought a second. “Nope. Sure didn’t.”

  “Then why are they suddenly concentrating here?” Hickok asked.

  “Beats me, White Meat.”

  Blade stood. “Bertha, what attracts rats?”

  “Food mostly. Any kind of food. They’ll eat practically anything. Grain.

  Fruit. Meat. They like garbage. Dead bodies are real popular too.”

  “Dead bodies?” Blade repeated, jarred by an idea.

  “Yeah. Dead bodies will attract them rats like nothing else will. Bring ’em in from miles and miles around.”

  “Dead bodies,” Blade said again, comprehension dawning.

  Blade faced Bertha. “Didn’t you say the rats live underground?”

  “Yeah. In the sewers and other tunnels.”

  Blade glanced at Hickok. “And where did Geronimo tell us he dropped the dead Watchers?”

  “I know!” Hickok exclaimed. “Down some opening in the middle of the street!”

  “What? You dropped those bodies down to the rats? You fed the rats?”

  Bertha asked, astonished.

  “We weren’t aware the rats were down there,” Blade explained.

  “How could anyone be so stupid?” Bertha made a clicking sound.

  “Honkies never stop amazing me.”

  “So the bodies drew in all the rats under Thief River Falls,” Blade reasoned. “Rats that would normally be scattered in miles and miles of tunnels are converging on this area, drawn by the dead Watchers.”

  “Who have probably been eaten by now,” Bertha mentioned.

  “So the rats are spreading out, searching for other food in this immediate area, searching for…” Blade paused.

  “For us!” Bertha finished for him.

  “Damn!” Hickok glared at the dead rats.

  “How many rats can there be?” Blade asked.

  “Beats me, sugar.” Bertha shrugged. “Like I told you, under the Twins there’s millions and millions of ’em. Under a town this size, who knows?

  Probably thousands.”

  “What do we do?” Hickok interjected. “Leave?”

  “Not until we’ve taken the generator and the other supplies and hidden them somewhere safe from the Watchers and the rats,” Blade stated.

  “I hope you’ve got a plan, pard,” Hickok said anxiously. “Being eaten by a rat isn’t my idea of going out in style.”

  “I have a plan,” Blade assured him.

  “Then let’s get to it.”

  Blade stared at Bertha. “Think you’re up to being moved?”

  Bertha surprised both of them by rising swiftly to her feet. “I can move myself, thank you. I’m feeling lots stronger.”

  “Don’t push yourself,” Blade warned. “Just take your blanket downstairs. We’ll bring the mattress down in a bit.”

  “Okay by me.”

  Blade’s plan took an hour to complete. They lugged the mattress downstairs and placed it along the bar. Despite her protests, they insisted Bertha lie down and rest. Blade left Geronimo in the doorway on guard, and directed Joshua and Hickok to carry all of the supplies in the one upstairs room down to the first floor. The supplies would be stacked near the door until they decided where they intended to hide their windfall.

  Blade, meanwhile, found several loose boards behind the bar. He took two and went back to Bertha’s former room. Using three bottles of whiskey, he propped one of the boards over the vent opening. Blade wished he had a hammer and nails, but they hadn’t brought any from the Home and he didn’t know if the Watchers kept any tools. The board would effectively block any light from seeping down the vent, and he suspected the light attracted the rats to potential openings. On tiptoe, he reached up and removed the lightbulb in the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness. He exited, closing the door behind him. There was a thin crack between the bottom of the door and the floor. He pressed the other board against the opening to further prevent light from seeping in.

  Next Blade checked the vents in the other two upstairs rooms. Unlike the open vent in Bertha’s room, the other vents were covered with a sturdy metal grill. Blade doubted the rats could gain access using them.

  That left the basement.

  Blade passed Hickok and Joshua in the hallway. “How’s it coming?”

  “Four or five more trips should do it,” Hickok replied.

  “I’ll help you if I get done first,” Blade offered.

  “Fine.” Hickok stopped at the storeroom doorway. “Say, pard, what the blazes is a peach?”

  “A what?” Blade paused at the head of the stairs.

  “A peach. Found a box of cans labeled fruit. Some cans of apples and others of pears. Six cans of peaches, whatever they are. Ever heard of them?”

  “No.”

  “I believe I saw pictures of
them in one of the books,” Joshua mentioned.

  “Can we have some for the noon meal?” Hickok asked Blade.

  “Don’t see why not.” Blade smiled and headed for the basement.

  The basement door was in a far corner at the end of the bar.

  “Hey, Blade,” Bertha spoke up as Blade passed her. “Was them bottles of whiskey I saw?”

  “That’s what the Watcher called it,” Blade told her.

  “How’s about getting me one when you have time?”

  “You got it.”

  Blade reached the basement door and slowly opened it. There was one dim light in the basement, placed in a dirty socket in the center of the ceiling. The generator was aligned along the north wall.

  Would there be rats down there?

  Blade raised his Commando and inched forward, taking the stairs one hesitant step at a time. If the rats could gain entry to the basement, they might swarm him before he had a chance to fire. Where were the vents?

  A squeaking sound came from his right.

  Blade pivoted, searching.

  Nothing but a brick wall. The sound, apparently, came from behind the wall.

  More squeaking and rustling, from all walls.

  The rats had the basement surrounded!

  Blade stopped. Did the underground tunnels pass by the basement?

  Were the rodents attempting to dig their way in or merely passing by the wall on the other side? He didn’t hear any digging noises.

  The generator was running smoothly, emitting a mild rumbling sound.

  He spotted an open metal box, full of tools, under the tank.

  Was that it? Would the rats shy away from something as alien as the generator? Could they hear or feel the vibrations?

  Blade checked the entire basement.