Thief River Falls Run

by David Robbins

  No vents!

  Blade smiled, relieved. The rats would need to dig their way in. Before going upstairs, he opened the cap on the generator tank and checked the fluid level. The tank was still three-fourths full. Good.

  “Hey, Blade!” Bertha yelled down the stairs.

  Quickly, Blade replaced the cap and ran up the steps, closing the door behind him.

  Bertha was sitting on her mattress, holding the Henry in her lap.

  “Geronimo wants you,” she said as Blade emerged from the basement.

  Blade joined Geronimo by the doorway.

  “Saw something,” Geronimo stated. He was staring at the park on the other side of the street.

  “What was it?” Blade scanned the vegetation.

  “Don’t know. A glimpse of something big and brown. Do you want me to investigate?”

  Blade thoughtfully chewed his lower lip. “No. Might be another one like the thing that attacked me.”

  “What if it steps into the open?”

  “Kill it,” Blade directed.

  Geronimo nodded.

  Blade walked to the table and sat down. Big brown brutes outside, hordes of rats inside. More Watchers might return at any time. Blade frowned. He had wanted to stay put until Bertha was recovered from her ordeal, until she was fit enough to travel without hardship. That option was becoming untenable. Too many threats faced them if they remained in Thief River Falls. The mission came first. Getting to the Twin Cities was their paramount concern, eclipsing all other considerations. Besides, the faster this trip went, the sooner they’d see the Home again.

  Hickok and Joshua were walking by the table, their arms laden with supplies.

  “I thought you said you’d give us a hand,” Hickok reminded him.

  “Have something to attend to first,” Blade replied. He stood and walked behind the bar. The whiskey bottles were standing under the counter on a shelf located on the left side of the bar. He grabbed one of the bottles by the neck.

  “What have you got there?” Bertha asked him as he came around the bar and sat down on the floor next to her mattress.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?” He displayed the bottle.

  “Lordy!” Her eyes widened. “Prime drinkin’ whiskey! Can’t hardly believe it! That stuff sure is hard to come by in the Twins.” She reached for the bottle.

  Blade hesitated. “You sure this stuff is good for you in your condition?”

  “I ain’t having a baby, honey.” She impatiently took the bottle.

  “Would you like something to eat?” Blade inquired.

  “I never drink on a full stomach.” She grinned, looking at him expectantly, then frowning when he didn’t laugh. “Don’t you get it? I never drink on a full stomach.”

  “I distinctly heard your statement,” Blade responded. “Why? Does it have some special significance?”

  “Ain’t you ever drank whiskey before?” Bertha unscrewed a black plastic cap.

  “No.”

  “No?” She gawked, unbelieving.

  “No. Why?”

  Bertha laughed. “Here. I’ll let you go first. Take a deep swig.”

  Blade held the bottle in his right hand. “A deep swig?”

  “The deeper, the better.” Bertha grinned. “This stuff will set your hair on fire.”

  “Why would I want to set my hair on fire?”

  “Just drink the damn whiskey,” she urged him.

  Blade shrugged, tipped the bottle, and swallowed as much as he possibly could in one gulp.

  “That’s it!”

  Blade placed the bottle on the floor, wondering what in the world she was grinning about, considering her a bit strange, when the whiskey hit him. A tremendous burning sensation exploded in his stomach, his throat tingling, his mouth puckering. He screwed up his face and glared at the bottle.

  Bertha was laughing hysterically, slapping her hands on her thighs.

  “Oh, beautiful! Just beautiful!”

  Blade began coughing uncontrollably, his eyes watering.

  “Blade, you’re something else!”

  Hickok and Joshua walked over.

  “What the blazes is going on here?” Hickok demanded.

  “I’m making a man out of your friend here,” Bertha was still giggling.

  “You’re what?”

  Bertha picked up the whiskey bottle. “Here. Try this. You’ll see what I mean.”

  Hickok raised the bottle to his nose and sniffed.

  “Thanks, but no thanks.” He gave the bottle to Bertha.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised.

  “That stuff smells awful,” Hickok said. “I have this policy against drinking anything that smells like horse piss.”

  Bertha shook her head. “You boys sure are weird! Any man in the Twins would kill for a drink of this.”

  “We’re not from the Twins,” Hickok stated.

  “That, White Meat, is what makes you so beautiful.” She beamed up at him.

  Blade had stopped sputtering and wheezing.

  “What’d you think?” Bertha smiled.

  “Terrible!” Blade exclaimed, his voice a ragged whisper. “But I think it killed the pain in my throat.”

  Bertha gulped several mouthfuls. “This stuff will sure enough kill whatever ails you,” she agreed.

  “Are you finished with the supplies?” Blade faced Hickok.

  “Almost.”

  “Would you get it done as quickly as you can? I need to talk with Bertha. Alone,” he emphasized.

  Hickok stared from one to the other. “Whatever you say, pard.” He strolled off, Joshua in tow.

  Bertha swigged some more whiskey. “What do you want to talk with me about?”

  “The Twins.”

  Bertha frowned. “I told you last night, Blade. I ain’t goin’ back there. Not for any reason.”

  “What if I can give you a good reason?”

  “Fat chance.”

  “How would you like to come live with us at our home?”

  Bertha paused, the bottle touching her lips. “Say what?”

  Blade smiled. “I asked if you would like to live with us?”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Completely.”

  “You mean I could?” She set the bottle on the floor.

  “Would you like to?”

  “White Meat told me all about this Home of yours,” Bertha said softly.

  “Sounds too good to be true. You just can’t imagine how bad it is in the Twins. The Home almost sounds like heaven.”

  “Then you’d like to come back there with us?”

  “What’s the catch?” she eyed him warily.

  “Catch?”

  “Don’t play innocent with me! White Meat also told me that you’re one clever son of a bitch. What’s your angle?”

  Blade stared gravely into her eyes. “Be our guide when we reach Twin Cities, help us, and we’ll take you back to the Home when we return.”

  “You mean if you return,” she said, disgusted. “I knew it! I knew there’d be a catch!”

  Blade remained silent.

  “Tell me, Blade.” She grinned craftily. “What’s to stop me from going to the Home on my own? From what I’ve learned, the folks there are real nice. Nicer than you anyway. I bet they’d take me right in, no questions asked.”

  “They probably would,” Blade agreed. “The question, though, is whether you could find the Home on your own. Do you think you could without a map? And remember, the country around the Home is literally swarming with mutates. How do you expect to get by them? It’d be awful rough going for one person.”

  “I could do it,” Bertha said, her tone lacking conviction.

  “Then forget I brought the subject up.” Blade made a move to rise.

  “Wait!” she said hastily. “Don’t be in such a hurry. I’m thinking it over.”

  “Listen, Bertha.” Blade held her eyes with his own. “I’m not trying to pressure you…”

  “D
on’t jive me, honky!”

  “…because in the final analysis the decision is all yours. You don’t have to come with us to the Twins. Stay here in Thief River Falls and we’ll pick you up on our way back to the Home.”

  “If you make it back!” she snorted.

  “My point exactly. Which is why we need you. We have a better chance of making it with you to aid us. You can still stay here if you like. We’ll leave you ample food and ammunition. But what happens if the Watchers pay this place a visit? They must make periodic supply runs from wherever their headquarters is located. What about the rats? Do you really want to stay here alone?”

  Bertha glanced around the room, her brow knit in thought. “Nope,” she answered at last. “I guess I don’t.”

  “You really don’t have that many options,” Blade stressed. “I appreciate how you feel about the Twins, and I know you detest the thought of going back, but it really is your safest bet.”

  “Maybe White Meat would stay here with me until you get back.” She grasped at one last straw.

  “Hickok is a Warrior. He would never desert his Triad.”

  “You think so?”

  “Do you want to ask him?”

  Hickok and Joshua were descending the stairs with yet another load of provisions.

  Bertha gazed at the gunman. “No. Don’t bother him. I’d hate to put the burden on him.”

  “Then you’ll come with us to the Twin Cities?”

  “What choice have I got?” she said quietly, sadly.

  Blade reached out and squeezed her right shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll take real good care of you.”

  “There’s just one thing that bothers me about that.”

  “What?”

  “Who the hell is going to take care of you?”

  Chapter Eight

  Blade called a meeting and informed the rest of Bertha’s decision to accompany them. He explained his motives for leaving Thief River Falls before the day was out.

  “First, we can’t be positive the Watchers won’t return in sufficient force to give us real trouble. Secondly, the rats might decide we’re too tempting a meal to pass up and attack us en masse. Third, there’s a possibility that whatever jumped me earlier has friends waiting outside to ambush us after dark. Finally, we’re under a time constraint to return to our Family.

  I’ve decided we leave before sundown.”

  Blade, Hickok, and Joshua were sitting at the table. Bertha was lying on her mattress. Geronimo stood at the door.

  “What about Bertha?” Hickok protested. “Is she fit enough to travel?”

  “Don’t worry about me none, White Meat,” Bertha chimed in. “I’ll manage.”

  “We’ll clear a space in the rear of the SEAL for her,” Blade detailed.

  “She’ll be comfortable and safer than she would be in here.”

  “What about all of this?” Geronimo pointed at the stack of boxes.

  “We load all of that into the SEAL, along with the generator, and transport it to a building on the western edge of town. Put it on the second floor in a room we can seal and protect from the rats. If the Watchers return and find it missing, I doubt they’d take the time to search every abandoned building in Thief River Falls. It would take them weeks.” Blade gazed at each of them. “Any questions? Disagreements? Now’s the time to let me know.”

  “I would enjoy moving on,” Joshua said. “This place fills me with vivid memories of violent death.”

  “I like it,” Geronimo concurred.

  “I reckon it’s okay by me, pard.” Hickok was staring at Bertha.

  “Good. Joshua, Geronimo, and I will load the SEAL and hide the provisions. Hickok, you stay here and guard Bertha.” Blade stood.

  “Thanks, Blade.” Hickok smiled at his friend and walked over to Bertha.

  “Looks like you got me babysitting you for a spell, Black Beauty.”

  “Will you burp me too?”

  Hickok grinned. “I’ll paddle you if you don’t behave yourself.”

  “Yes, mother.”

  “Get some rest.”

  Bertha closed her eyes. “Funny,” she said in a whisper. “This is the first time in years I’m going to sleep feelin’ safe and protected.”

  “Before you doze off,” Hickok mentioned, “would you answer a question?”

  “What?”

  “Why’re you doing this? Going to the Twin Cities? I thought you’d never go back there.”

  Bertha stared at the ceiling. “I just changed my mind, is all.”

  “Why?” he pressured her.

  “Your friend made me see the light.”

  “Blade? What’d he say?”

  “Not much.”

  “Come on!”

  “Really.”

  Hickok watched Blade heft a box and carry it outside to the SEAL.

  “He’s my best friend, Bertha. If he said something I’m going to regret, I need to know.”

  “He just told it like it is.”

  “All right,” Hickok said gruffly. “Drop the subject.”

  Bertha touched his arm. “Besides, Hickok, you know by now I kind of got a thing for you. You’re the prettiest honky I’ve ever seen.”

  Hickok opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind.

  “I don’t want to let you out of my sight.” Bertha grinned. “Another woman might come along and steal you away.”

  Hickok, uncomfortable, twisted and stared off into the distance. Blast her! Why did she flaunt her affection? Couldn’t she just let events develop naturally? He smiled. The girl sure had a heap of spunk! What was her background like? he wondered. Her description of life in the Twin Cities was terrible! It was amazing she still retained a sense of humor after what she had been through. He thought of the Watchers, grimacing. For what they had done to her, for the indignities and the humiliation and the pain, they would pay! He would see to it personally. Every Watcher he met from this day on would be a dead Watcher shortly after their meeting. Joshua, in a sense, was correct. No one had the right to inflict such abuse on another human being. They would be made to pay. Hickok recalled a portion of the Bible he’d read, something about an eye for an eye. That was his idea of justice. Swift, effective, and personal.

  Hickok thought of Joshua. Had Joshua learned anything from the experience of the past two days? Didn’t he know by now that the men and women of the world were drastically different from the Family, that they didn’t cherish the same spiritual and moral values? Hickok felt pity for Joshua. In the confines of the Home, protected by the walls and the Warriors, insulated from the outside world, Joshua could pursue peaceful pastimes, ignoring the grim realities of existence, living love and promoting truth. Now, exposed and vulnerable, Joshua was finding it difficult to cope, to adjust to a system of survival based on a primal urge: kill or be killed. Without the Warriors along, Joshua would have died two days ago. Why had Plato sent him along? What sort of balance could Joshua provide if he bawled his brains out every time they shot an enemy?

  It didn’t make much sense to him, but then those highbrows never did. All that thinking warped the brain. Give him a decent, stand-up shootout any old day. His basic instincts had served him in good stead all these years, and if he continued to trust them, to act on them, his chances of surviving were better than Joshua’s would ever be.

  Memories of Joan filled his mind, unbidden, disturbing, filling him with feelings of guilt and betrayal. After all, it was only a month or so ago she was killed by the Trolls, and here he was experiencing an attraction toward Bertha, a woman he hardly knew. Was his budding affection for Bertha genuine, or was she catching him on the rebound? Was it Bertha’s personality he liked, or her strength, her toughness, so very reminiscent of Joan?

  The sound of the SEAL’s engine turning over shattered his reverie.

  Hickok glanced up.

  Geronimo was standing in the doorway. All of the confiscated supplies had been loaded on the SEAL.

  “We’re taking off
to hide the boxes,” Geronimo said. “We shouldn’t be too long. Watch yourself.”

  “Piece of cake.”

  Geronimo smiled, waved, and ran to the SEAL.

  Hickok walked to the door and watched the transport drive off, Blade behind the wheel. They’d need to return for the generator.

  Outside, in the bright sunlight, the park appeared tranquil and picturesque.

  So what should he do while they were gone?

  Hickok gazed at Bertha. She was sleeping, her breathing deep and measured. The poor girl needed her rest. He’d need to be extra quiet to insure he didn’t disturb her slumber.

  The Henry was lying on the floor next to her mattress.

  Hickok retrieved the long gun and walked outside, squinting in the sun.

  He sat down on the outside steps and relaxed, enjoying the warm sensation spreading through his limbs. It was too cool in the concrete building.

  Maybe he should explore the area? No. Too risky. It would leave Bertha unprotected, helpless.

  So what to do?

  Something to his right made a loud scratching noise.

  Hickok turned his head, scanning. Just the deserted street and dozens of vacant, worn buildings.

  Probably an animal of some sort.

  The scratching came again. Sounded like metal on metal.

  Hickok warily stood, raising the Henry. What now? One of the things Geronimo had shot earlier?

  There it was again!

  Hickok moved cautiously along the cracked sidewalk, listening. He didn’t like this one bit. The instinct he relied upon to alert him to danger was acting up, shrieking in his brain.

  This time he pinpointed the sound. It was emanating from a frame house half a block away.

  Hickok glanced back at the concrete building. No sign of anyone trying to sneak up on him or get inside. Whoever, or whatever, was in front of him, luring him with the noises, wanted him.

  Well, they’d sure as blazes get him!

  His eyes alertly covering every inch of the surrounding vicinity, Hickok, expecting an ambush at any second, reached the walk leading up to the frame house.

  The scratching had ceased.

  To be expected.

  Hickok moved toward the gaping doorway. There was no sign of a door.

  The interior of the house was dark and forbidding. He stopped, debating.