Thief River Falls Run

by David Robbins

  Give yourselves a week to mend, and we’ll be heading for the Twin Cities again. What do you think?” he asked them, glancing around the room.

  “Do you need to ask?” Bertha beamed. “I want to reach this Home of yours so bad I can taste it!”

  “Whatever you think is best,” Geronimo concurred. “You’re the leader.”

  “I think we should continue to the Twins,” Hickok protested. “You were hot for the Twin Cities before I was bashed on the noggin. Now you up and change your mind. I get the impression you’re changing your mind because of me, and I won’t stand for it, pard.”

  “I admit I want the Healers to examine you,” Blade said, sighing, “but you’re not the only one hurt.” He nodded at Bertha. “What if that arm of hers becomes infected? I just went through such a thing, and it can be real rough. Joshua’s medicine bag doesn’t contain everything we need to treat a severe infection. Do you want to risk her life because of your pride?”

  Hickok glanced at Bertha.

  “Oh, please, babe!” she pleaded. “I want to see your Home.”

  “Well…” Hickok shrugged. “If you put it that way,” he said to Blade.

  Blade smiled, pleased with his persuasiveness. He legitimately was concerned about Hickok’s and Bertha’s injuries. The Family could use the confiscated supplies and the generator. It was also true a week or two delay would not adversely affect their mission. But, secretly, he nourished an ulterior motive for wanting to return to the Home. He’d felt uneasy leaving with an unidentified power-monger loose in the Family. Plato’s assurances to the contrary, no one could guarantee this aspiring despot wouldn’t attempt to wrest control of the Family while the Alpha Triad was away. An additional week or two would provide Blade with the time he needed to work on Plato and discover the identity of the traitor.

  “If everyone sees the logic,” Blade stated, “we’ll get a good night’s sleep and take off at first light.”

  “I certainly have a lot to tell my parents,” Joshua mentioned. “And I can utilize my time in productive worship to reestablish my spiritual equilibrium.”

  “How long before dark?” Blade asked Geronimo.

  Geronimo gazed at the sun. The blazing orb was perched above the western horizon. “Not long,” he replied. “I’ll take the first watch, if you want.”

  “Okay.” Blade pondered a moment. “Before you do, how about going up on the roof again and scanning the countryside? Make sure our sleep won’t be interrupted by unwelcome visitors.”

  Geronimo took the stairs two at a stride.

  “You think there are more Watchers around?” Hickok asked.

  “You told us those two said they were on patrol,” Blade reminded the gunman. “What if other patrols are still out? What if they come back while we’re here?”

  “Maybe we should move to another building?” Joshua suggested.

  “This one is concrete,” Blade noted. “It’s in the best shape. The walls are thick, and would provide a sturdy defense against snipers. We’ve also got the generator. We’ll remain here.”

  “What about that transmitter they mentioned?” Hickok inquired.

  “It must be hidden somewhere.” Blade looked around the room. “I’ll spend every spare moment tonight trying to find it.”

  “If we can find it,” Hickok reasoned, “we can eavesdrop on the Watchers.”

  “What about the rats?” Joshua questioned.

  “We’ll take the chance,” Blade answered. “It’s only for one night.”

  Hickok eased his body onto his blanket, lying on his back. The cement floor under his blanket was hard and uncomfortable, and intense pain racked his cranium. “I reckon I’m going to nap a spell,” he declared. “This head of mine is acting up.” He grinned at Bertha and closed his eyes.

  “Here,” Bertha said. “Use my mattress. It’s softer.” She stood and stepped aside.

  “You sure?” Hickok opened his eyes.

  “No problem, White Meat.”

  “And what are you going to do?” Hickok pushed himself up on his elbows.

  “I ain’t tired,” Bertha stated. “I’ll just talk with Blade and Joshua while you get your rest.”

  “Suit yourself.” Hickok shifted onto the mattress and sighed, placing his left arm over his face to block the light. His head was pounding, the temples throbbing.

  Bertha walked to the table and sat next to Blade. “You’ve been straight with me,” she said quietly.

  “It’s only fair I be straight with you.”

  “About what?” Blade inquired.

  “About the Home,” Bertha responded.

  “What about it?”

  Bertha leaned closer to Blade to prevent anyone else from overhearing.

  “Listen, Blade. If I reach this Home of yours, I ain’t ever leaving it. Not ever. Bertha’s no dummy. I know a good deal when I see one. If you boys decide later to book to the Twins, you’re on your own. I won’t go back.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Blade remarked.

  “I won’t go back!” she stressed, her voice rising.

  “Is something wrong?” Joshua approached the table.

  “Nope.” Bertha shook her head, smiling. “For the first time in a long time, everything is all right.”

  “I don’t understand,” Joshua admitted.

  “Drop it,” Bertha advised.

  They all heard a loud thump from upstairs, then the sound of someone running.

  “Uh-oh!” Bertha said, glancing at the ceiling. “Here we go again!”

  Geronimo appeared, moving rapidly down the stairs. “We’ve got company!” he informed them.

  “What?” Blade rose, holding his Commando.

  “A convoy,” Geronimo stated, making for the doorway.

  “A what?” Joshua asked.

  “What’s going on?” Hickok was standing, his right palm pressed against his temple.

  “Four jeeps and a truck,” Geronimo explained. “Saw them coming in from the south. Filled with men in green uniforms.”

  Blade joined Geronimo at the door. “Must be more Watchers,” he deduced. “We better make tracks before they arrive.”

  “We’re too late!” Bertha pointed.

  Outside, the sun was gone, the last light replaced by the darkening onset of evening. Across the square, on the other side of the park, headlights appeared.

  “Listen to those motors!” Joshua remarked. Compared to the raucous noise the jeeps and trucks were producing, the SEAL’s prototype engine made a subdued whining sound.

  “Do we get out of here?” Hickok said.

  “No time,” Blade replied. He noticed a switch near Joshua’s right shoulder. “Kill the overheads,” he ordered.

  Joshua flicked the switch down, plunging the interior of the building into gloomy shadow.

  “Think they know we’re here?” Bertha asked apprehensively.

  “If they didn’t before,” Blade stated, “they do now.”

  The lead vehicle, a military jeep, screeched to a stop as it rounded the park and its headlights illuminated the SEAL. The rest of the convoy immediately braked. Voices could be heard, commands barked. Figures darted toward the concrete building.

  “They’re coming this way,” Joshua said, declaring the obvious.

  “Quick! The door!” Blade grabbed the door and swung it almost closed, leaving sufficient space to peer out. “There aren’t any windows down here,” he said. “Geronimo, get upstairs and keep a watch from one of the rooms. Don’t let them see you.”

  “Why don’t I use the roof?” Geronimo suggested.

  “Go for it,” Blade directed. “There aren’t any other doors to this building, so they’ll need to come in through this one.” He spoke his thoughts aloud. “That gives us a certain advantage.”

  “Did you lock the SEAL?” Hickok asked.

  The shapes outside were converging on the transport.

  “No!” Blade remembered. “Damn! Stay here!” he told the others, and he was
out the door, running for the SEAL, exposed as he covered the dozen steps in front of the building. True night hadn’t descended yet, and the twilight revealed eight armed men, all attired in green military uniforms, coming toward the SEAL.

  “Waste him!” someone shouted, and the air came alive with the crackle of automatic rifle fire and the buzz of the bullets as they narrowly missed Blade.

  “Blade!” Joshua shouted, about to rush outside when a strong hand gripped his left arm and shoved him aside.

  Blade felt a slug tear into his right side and he twisted, almost going down, but he regained his footing and stumbled against the transport. He reached for the door as two men appeared, one coming around each end of the SEAL, their guns leveled, their fingers on their triggers.

  Hickok suddenly entered the fray, looming tall at the top of the steps, his Pythons already in his hands. The Colts fired, and the two men near Blade collapsed in unison, one of them clutching his head as he fell.

  Blade yanked the door open and sprawled inside, closing the door behind him. He reached over and locked the passenger door, then his own.

  The windows were rolled up. He was protected inside the bulletproof body of the SEAL.

  Hickok dodged into the building, a spray of gunfire biting into the concrete wall near his body, narrowly missing him.

  Abruptly, all went quiet.

  “Whew!” Bertha whispered as they crouched near the doorway. “That was close!”

  “I’m surprised they’re not firing at the SEAL,” Joshua remarked. “Do you think they know it’s bulletproof?”

  “Doubt it,” Hickok replied. “They probably want the SEAL for themselves,” he deduced, “and it wouldn’t be too smart to blast it to shreds.”

  “Think they’re more Watchers?” Joshua asked.

  “You can bet on it, Joshua my man,” Bertha nodded. “I’ve seen their type before. Some of the Watchers wear uniforms, some of them don’t.

  Beats me why.”

  From upstairs, from the roof, came the blast of the Browning. Outside, a chorus of automatic fire retaliated.

  “Geronimo!” Hickok stated. “What the blazes is he doing?”

  “Why don’t you go up and ask him, White Meat?” Bertha advised.

  “Where’s your shotgun?” Hickok inquired, glancing out the door. The Watchers weren’t in his line of view.

  “By my mattress,” Bertha answered.

  “Get it,” Hickok said. “Can you guard this door while I run upstairs?”

  “Can birds fly?” Bertha retorted. She scrambled across the floor, scooped up the Smith and Wesson, and returned.

  “Josh, where’s your Ruger?” Hickok looked at Joshua.

  “I have it on the bar,” Joshua responded distastefully.

  “Good. If one of those Watchers tries to get in here while I’m on the roof,” Hickok told him, “do to them exactly what you did to the brute trying to eat Bertha.”

  “I don’t know if I could,” Joshua confessed.

  “This is no time to wimp out, pard,” Hickok snapped. “You’ve finally found your balls. Don’t lose ’em now!”

  Joshua moved toward the bar.

  “Hold tight, Black Beauty,” Hickok said to Bertha. He pushed off the floor, grabbed his Henry from near the bar, and ran up the stairs, his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the building.

  Geronimo had placed a stepladder he found in one of the rooms under the trap door, situated in the center of the hallway.

  Hickok reached the ladder and carefully climbed to the roof. A cool breeze struck his face as he emerged. The roof was flat, square in shape like the building itself. A foot-high concrete lip ran around the edge of the roof, providing cover for anyone who might need it.

  Geronimo was huddled at the front of the roof.

  “Don’t shoot!” Hickok whispered as he slid forward on his hands and knees. “I know how jumpy you Injuns are!”

  “If I’d known it was you,” Geronimo rejoined as Hickok reached his side, “I definitely would have shot first and asked questions later.”

  “What’s the layout?” Hickok asked. He cautiously peeked over the concrete lip. Only the lead jeep still had its lights on, focused on the SEAL.

  The park and the surrounding streets were impenetrable in the darkness.

  “When they first came in,” Geronimo stated, “I could still see pretty well. There were four Watchers for each jeep, and two more in the cab of the truck. With two dead, that leaves at least sixteen, plus however many were in the back of the truck. Two of the jeeps have machine guns mounted on them. Any idea what type of rifles they’re carrying?”

  “Think so.” Hickok nodded. “They’re packing M-16’s. We’ve got two in our armory, and I’ve fired them a couple of times.”

  “I wonder what they’re up to,” Geronimo said. “They’re so quiet down there. I spotted one a bit ago and tried to get him, but I think I missed.

  These guys are professionals.”

  “They probably won’t try anything tonight,” Hickok thoughtfully speculated. “They know this area, and particularly this building, very well.

  After all, they’ve been using it for who knows how long. A concerted rush on the front door, the only means of entry, would be certain suicide.

  Especially in the dark.” Hickok paused. “I think they’ll wait for daylight, then make their move.”

  “What’s to stop them from tossing a grenade in here in the middle of the night?” Geronimo questioned.

  “Plenty. These guys might believe we have some of their friends as prisoners. They must also think their supplies are stashed upstairs. How could they possibly know we’ve moved all their gear? They can’t. No, I doubt they’ll try anything until morning.”

  A loud animal roar suddenly rent the night.

  “What the blazes…” Hickok muttered.

  “It came from the park,” Geronimo guessed. “Maybe it’s a mutate! It could do our job for us.”

  “Where’s the screaming and the gunfire?” Hickok asked doubtfully.

  “Don’t think so. Don’t like it either.”

  “I wish we knew how Blade is doing,” Geronimo said, glancing down at the transport. “Why did he run out there anyway? I was on my way up here, and I heard the shooting begin. By the time I reached this spot, Blade was getting into the SEAL. Why?”

  “He forgot to lock it,” Hickok explained.

  “Well,” Geronimo reflected aloud, “he should be safe as long as he stays put. Think he’ll try to sneak back in here tonight?”

  “If he’s able.”

  “What’s that mean?” Geronimo asked.

  “I think he was hit,” Hickok stated.

  “You sure?”

  Hickok nodded. “Almost positive. Saw him react like he was struck in the side.”

  “And we can’t see inside,” Geronimo remarked.

  “Sure can’t, pard,” Hickok said.

  “So we have no way of knowing what condition he’s in,” Geronimo reasoned.

  “Sure don’t,” Hickok agreed.

  “For all we know,” Geronimo stated apprehensively, “he could be dead.”

  “Damn!” was Hickok’s only response.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He was fortunate he wasn’t dead, Blade mentally told himself as he gingerly felt his right side, immediately below his rib cage, to ascertain the extent of the damage inflicted by the slug. There appeared to be a long furrow, maybe a quarter inch deep, along his side. There was bleeding, but the wound didn’t demand prompt treatment. Besides, he had other priorities to consider.

  What should he do now?

  The bulletproof transport would shield him, but how long could he afford to remain inside the SEAL? The Watchers were undoubtedly concocting their plans for an assault on the building, most likely at dawn.

  How many were there? What was their firepower? He needed some answers.

  What would the Watchers expect him to do? Make a mad dash for the building? Or sit it o
ut in the SEAL? They would have snipers posted to cover the building side of the transport, to cut him down if he did try to get back. But would they have the park side of the SEAL covered?

  Blade grinned.

  Why should they? The last thing they would anticipate would be for him to attempt to reach the park. They were in the park. They knew he knew he was outnumbered. One man, if he was endowed with any brains, wouldn’t conceive of attacking their superior force. It would be the least likely move for anyone with common sense to make.

  So he would do it.

  Later.

  Blade scanned the area. He could distinguish trees and bushes in the park, thanks to the light from the jeep. Were they intending to keep the headlights trained on the SEAL all night? It would make his task considerably more difficult. If only…

  The headlights flicked off.

  Blade reacted instantly, silently unlocking the door on the park side and rolling onto the ground. He reached up and quietly closed the door, depressing the latch, insuring the SEAL was locked this time.

  He would have just seconds to attain the cover of the park, the seconds it would require for any of the Watchers looking at the SEAL when the headlights went out to adjust to the abrupt darkness around the transport.

  Move!

  Blade ran, his body hunched over, making for the nearest vegetation.

  One thing bothered him, though. What had made that terrific roar he heard earlier? A mutate? What if he blundered across it in the gloom of night?

  Ten yards remained.

  If he reached the trees, he would search for any hidden Watchers and slit their throats, reduce the odds before morning.

  Five yards.

  Almost there! Thank the Spirit!

  The bushes to his left parted, and a tall Watcher, his M-16 cradled in his arms, stepped from concealment. “I tell you,” he whispered to someone else, “I think I saw something near it right after the captain killed the lights.”

  “Get back in here!” the other person hissed.

  “I need to be sure,” the Watcher countered, taking a step. “I can’t see clearly from in…” He stopped, his senses registering another presence. He began to bring the M-16 around.