Twin Cities Run

by David Robbins

  Chapter Two

  “Wow!” Bertha declared excitedly. “I just can’t believe I’m really here!”

  Blade had braked the SEAL at the edge of the cleared field bordering the western wall of the Home, the wall containing the only means of entering and exiting the compound, a drawbridge.

  “You better believe it, Black Beauty,” Hickok assured her. “This is our Home.”

  Blade was driving, Geronimo sitting in the other bucket seat in the front of the SEAL. Hickok, Bertha, and Joshua were seated in the back seat. A large space in the rear of the vehicle was devoted to storing their provisions. At the moment, it was filled to the roof with the items they had confiscated from the Watchers in Thief River Falls.

  “The Home is so big!” Bertha marveled. “It’s even bigger than I imagined it would be.”

  “Our Home embraces thirty acres,” Joshua explained to her. “It’s completely enclosed within a twenty-foot-high brick wall. We keep the area outside the walls, about one hundred and fifty yards all around the Home, free of trees and brush and boulders, anything an enemy could utilize in an assault. Notice the top of the wall.” Joshua pointed with his right hand. “That’s barbed wire.” He sighed. “We certainly exemplify the concept of spiritual love, don’t we?”

  “Give me a break, Josh!” Hickok responded. “If the Home wasn’t as well protected as it is, the Family wouldn’t have survived this long after the Big Blast.”

  “I suppose you’re correct,” Joshua reluctantly agreed. “Anyway,” he continued, “we receive our water from a stream. It enters the property under the northwest corner of the wall, and flows out under the southeastern corner. By digging a trench along the inner base of the wall, the Family has constructed a moat, another line of defense in case of an attack.”

  “What’s it like inside?” Bertha inquired as Blade drove toward the drawbridge, which was closed.

  “The eastern half is devoted to agriculture and preserved in a natural state,” Joshua elaborated. “In the center are the cabins for the married couples, and the western section has our six main buildings, six concrete blocks arranged in a triangular fashion. You’ll see them in a moment.”

  The drawbridge was being lowered as they approached.

  “You dummies can’t know what a place like this means,” Bertha said in a low voice. “A place where a person can be safe, where no one is trying to kill you. It’s incredible!”

  “After the experiences we had in Fox and Thief River Falls,” Blade stated over his right shoulder, “I think we have some idea of what you’re talking about.”

  “It’s really that bad in the Twin Cities?” Hickok asked Bertha.

  She looked at him and nodded. “You have no idea, White Meat. You have no idea.”

  The drawbridge was fully extended, and Blade turned onto it and wheeled the SEAL into the Home.

  “Look at all of them!” Bertha cried out.

  The Family was gathered for their homecoming, having been appraised of their return by one of the Warrior guards on the wall.

  Blade smiled when he spotted Jenny, his intended, and Plato, the Family Leader, standing side by side. Next to Plato stood his wife, Nadine.

  “Lordy! They’re all starin’ at us!” Bertha slid closer to Hickok. “There must be sixty or seventy of them!”

  The gunman chuckled. “Don’t worry, gorgeous. They won’t bite you!”

  Blade stopped the green transport, the mammoth tires flinging dirt and dust into the air at his abrupt braking. He flung his door open and jumped down.

  “Blade!” Jenny yelled, and then she was in his arms.

  Blade embraced her, emotionally overwhelmed by his affection. He had come so close to buying the farm in Thief River Falls, and now he was holding her, touching her, and delighting in the sight of her blonde hair and blue eyes.

  It all seemed too good to be true!

  “You’re back!” Jenny declared. She squeezed him and felt him flinch.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping back, searching his face. “You’ve been hurt!”

  “Just a few scatches,” Blade told her. “It’s no big deal.”

  Plato, his long gray hair and beard whipping in the gusty breeze, approached and took Blade’s right hand. “It is good to see you, but we didn’t expect you back so soon.”

  “He’s been hurt,” Jenny said, her lovely face reflecting her anxiety.

  “Actually,” Blade corrected her, “we’re all pretty beat up. Hickok and Bertha should see the Healers right away.”

  “That’s why you’ve returned?” Plato inquired.

  “Sorry,” Blade said. “I know you wanted us to get to the Twin Cities as fast as we could. We reached Thief River Falls and all hell broke loose.”

  Plato’s stooped, frail frame turned toward C Block, the Family infirmary. “You can provide the essential details after the Healers have examined you. You…” He paused, eyeing Blade quizzically. “Did you say Bertha?”

  Blade grinned and pointed.

  “Well, I’ll be…” Plato began, at a loss for words.

  “It’s a black woman!” Jenny exclaimed.

  “Half and half,” Blade amended. “One of her parents was white.”

  The Family was clustered about the SEAL, many trying to peer in the windows for a glimpse of Bertha. The SEAL’s bulletproof plastic body was tinted to prevent anyone outside from viewing the interior, but several members of the Family were able to see Bertha through the open door Blade had exited from.

  Inside the transport, Bertha was clinging to Hickok. “Why are they all lookin’ at me like that? Tell them to cut it out!”

  Hickok was grinning. “You can’t blame them. You’re the first black woman they’ve ever seen, and you’re pretty to boot.”

  “I don’t like people staring at me,” Bertha snapped.

  “The Family had a black couple in the early days after the war,” Geronimo informed her. He was still sitting in the front seat. Joshua was already outside, embracing his parents, Solomon and Ruth.

  “Unfortunately, they perished before they could bear any children,” Geronimo continued. “Kurt Carpenter, the man responsible for constructing the Home and picking the couples who joined him here right before the Big Blast, left a diary. In it, he says he tried to select people of different ethnic backgrounds. My own parents were Indian. They passed on when I was younger.”

  “Is that man Chinese?” Bertha asked, indicating a small, wiry man carrying a long, black scabbard. “And what’s that he’s got in his hands?”

  Geronimo smiled. “That’s Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, and the thing he’s holding is his katana. He’s a Warrior, like us. And, yes, he does have some Chinese blood. He’s the head of Beta Triad.”

  “You mean,” Bertha asked in clarification, “like Blade is the head of you guys, of the Alpha Triad?”

  Geronimo nodded. “The Family has four Warrior Triads, and we’re hoping to add another soon. Blade not only heads Alpha Triad, he’s also in charge of all the Warriors.”

  “I sure do wish they’d stop staring,” Bertha nervously reiterated.

  “Well, we can’t sit in here all night,” Hickok stated as he reached for the door, extending his right hand.

  “No!” Bertha clutched Hickok’s arm. “Give me time to…” Her hands closed on a hard object, apparently fastened to Hickok’s right wrist, hidden under the sleeve of his buckskins. “What’s this thing?” she asked, beginning to pull the sleeve up.

  Hickok extracted his arm from her grip, grinning. “It’s a Mitchell’s Derringer, a two-shot .38. One of my backup guns. I also have a four shot C.O.P., in .357 caliber, strapped to my left calf.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Bertha said.

  “We learn something new every day,” Hickok philosophized.

  “Smart butt!” Bertha retorted.

  “Quit stalling, Black Beauty,” Hickok directed. “Open the door. The sun is almost below the horizon. We’re losing the light.”

 
“I don’t know…” Bertha hedged.

  “Never took you for a wimp,” Hickok joked, and quickly opened the door before she could stop him.

  The Family members backed away, respectfully providing room near the door.

  Bertha took a deep breath. “Here goes nothin’!”

  “Would you rather be back in the Twin Cities?” Hickok inquired.

  Bertha vigorously shook her head. “You got a point.” She climbed from the transport and faced the crowd with a wide smile. “Hi, there, people!”

  she greeted them. “You’re probably wondering why I called you all together!”

  No one laughed.

  Hickok jumped down and stood at Bertha’s side.

  “I’m in big trouble here,” Bertha whispered confidentially.

  Plato moved through the throng and reached the gunman and his newfound friend. “Salutations, sister.” He offered his hand in friendship.

  “My cognomen is Plato. On behalf of my brethren, I cordially welcome you to our humble abode.”

  Bertha took his hand and limply shook it, her eyes widening as she glanced repeatedly from Hickok to the old man. Finally, she released her hold and placed her mouth against Hickok’s left ear. “What did that bozo just say?”

  Hickok, chuckling, put his lips near her right ear. “This bozo is Plato, our Family Leader. He just said hello. I should warn you, he likes to use a lot of fancy words.”

  “I’m in big trouble here,” Bertha quietly repeated. She turned to Plato, beaming. “I’m happy to meet you, gramps.”

  Hickok snickered.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Bertha nervously asked.

  “Nonsense, my girl,” Plato said reassuringly. “Nathan is simply displaying his warped sense of humor.”

  “Who’s Nathan?” Bertha wanted to know.

  Plato indicated Hickok.

  Bertha seemed perplexed. “Nathan? I thought his name was Hickok.

  That’s what they told me it was.”

  “Nathan is how he was known before his Naming,” Plato explained, carefully selecting his words. He’d overheard Bertha’s remarks concerning his vocabulary. “All of us have the option, the choice, of picking our own names when we turn sixteen. Our founder, Kurt Carpenter, initiated, began the practice. You see, Carpenter was worried we’d forget about what it was like before the Third World War. He thought we should stay in touch with our roots by searching the history books in our library and choosing any name we wanted as our own. It’s not mandatory, simply encouraged. The practice cultivates a distinct appreciation of our cultural and historical antecedents,” Plato concluded, forgetting himself.

  “Say what?” Bertha responded, confused.

  “It helps us remember who we are and how we got here,” Plato explained.

  “I got here in this buggy of yours,” Bertha said, her left thumb jerking toward the SEAL.

  “You are welcome,” Plato stated earnestly.

  “You’ll let me stay, won’t you?” Bertha asked apprehensively. “I give you my word I’ll behave myself. I won’t get drunk, and I won’t start fights unless someone else starts one first, and I’ll do any work you want, and I won’t spit on your grass ’cause I know some people get finnicky over spitting, and I’ll kill anyone you want me to, because I’m real good at…”

  Plato held up his right hand, cutting her off. “Slow down, child! You’re among friends. We have one law here, one rule you must follow. Whatever else you do is up to you, within reasonable limits, of course.”

  “Of course,” Bertha agreed. She pondered a moment. “What’s this rule you have?”

  “Love.”

  “Come again?”

  “You must try to love your brothers and your sisters, even as you think they should love you,” Plato said, stating the Family’s cardinal mandate.

  “Wow!” was all Bertha could think to say.

  “After you have eaten and rested, come see me,” Plato directed. “We’ll talk.”

  Bertha nodded, happily watching as the Family Leader walked off.

  “Well,” Hickok prodded her, “what do you think of the Home now that you’re here?”

  Bertha contentedly gazed at the dozens of friendly, open faces staring at her. She sighed and clasped her arms across her chest, slowly swaying.

  “I think I’m in heaven!”

  Chapter Three

  In the quiet hours of early morning, an hour before sunrise, a figure dressed in black, including a mask to conceal his face, hastily crossed the field west of the Home and reached the wall undetected. He took several seconds to listen, gripping the rope and the steel hook in his right hand. A black holster hung on his left hip, containing a special automatic pistol of indeterminate origin. Fastened to his belt above his right hip was a black pouch, filled with the essential items required for his nocturnal mission: the plastic explosive, the detonator, and the timer.

  The saboteur knew a guard, one of the Warriors, patrolled the wall above his head, but the Warrior on duty was well north of his position and wouldn’t return for a minimum of five minutes, allowing ample opportunity for him to scale the wall.

  Moving swiftly, expertly, the man swung the steel hook in an ever-enlarging circle. At the proper instant, maintaining optimum speed and calculating the precise angle, he flung the grappling hook upward and was rewarded for his effort when the hook caught in the barbed wire on top of the wall.

  The man in black hurriedly climbed the rope, effortlessly hauling his powerful frame to the lip of the brick wall. He paused to ascertain the Warrior’s location, then deftly parted the barbed wire and crawled under the sharp barbs.

  The compound below was deserted.

  The saboteur was lying on the wall, only ten feet north of the drawbridge. On each side of the closed drawbridge, crossing over the flowing moat, supported by sturdy beams, wooden steps led from the wall to the ground. The commando ran down the nearest stairs and dropped flat, listening to determine if he’d been detected.

  The Family Home was silent, except for the chirping of the crickets and the singing of the birds.

  The figure in black knew the layout of the Home by rote. The six concrete blocks were spaced one hundred yards apart, forming a perfect triangle, with A Block, as the Family called the southernmost structure, forming one point. Next came B Block, one hundred yards to the northwest. Third, C Block, was another one hundred yards northwest of B Block, and the western tip of the triangle, situated the closest to the drawbridge. D Block was a hundred yards east of C Block, followed by E Block on the eastern point. One hundred yards southwest of E Block was F Block, and the triangle was completed by A Block. The commando also knew the purpose of each of the Blocks. A Block was the armory, B the sleeping quarters for unmarried Family members, C Block, the infirmary, D Block was the construction area and carpentry shop, E was the library, and F Block was used for storing agricultural supplies and preserving and preparing the Family food.

  The saboteur darted across the compound and safely reached the corner of C Block. He entertained the notion of using his explosive on the Blocks, but disregarded the idea. His superiors were quite specific in their orders, and he dared not disobey. Not if he valued his life. No, the Blocks weren’t his target. He was after the SEAL. Cautiously, he peeked around the corner and spotted the vehicle parked in the center of the cleared area between the Blocks. It was exactly where the infrared had revealed it would be.

  Smiling under his mask, the commando jogged toward the transport, keeping his body low, minimizing his profile. This assignment was proceeding smoothly. He’d be able to achieve his objective and depart before these dimwits knew what hit them!

  Someone coughed, and the dark figure dropped and flattened. He could see a Family member coming from the direction of D Block, heading his way. What the hell was someone doing up so early? He held his breath and tensed, hoping the fool would bypass him.

  The early bird continued walking directly toward him.

  He could
not afford to waste precious time. Slowly, he eased the pistol from its holster and sighted on the approaching person, a man. When the unsuspecting victim was fifteen yards distant, he squeezed the trigger and watched as the heavy slug ripped through the man’s chest and knocked him to the turf. The silenced pistol produced a slight whishing noise.

  Satisfied with his shot and positive the Family member was dead, the commando bolstered the pistol and stood. Timing for this venture was critical. He’d been instructed to insure the explosion occurred an hour after sunrise, when the area would be packed with the members of the Family. They invariably congregated here after first light to engage in their morning worship.

  The saboteur casually walked to the SEAL, forcing his nerves to remain calm. No one would realize he wasn’t a Family member until they were right on top of him, and he wasn’t about to let any of them get that close.

  The Warrior on the west wall was gazing at the field and the forest beyond, unaware an intruder was in the compound.

  Grinning, the commando reached the vehicle and crouched next to the front tire on the driver’s side. The tires were huge, the body of the SEAL resting several feet off the ground. He reached into his pouch and removed the packet of plastic explosive.

  “Are you the new chauffeur?” a deep voice behind him asked.

  Instinctively, the saboteur dropped the packet and whirled, going for his automatic. He recognized the wavy hair and massive muscles belonging to the one they called Blade, their chief Warrior, and he marveled at the stealth displayed, the skill necessary to sneak up on him, even as he drew the pistol.

  Blade lunged, grabbing the man in black by the wrists and hauling him to his feet. His shoulders and arms rippling, Blade twisted his opponent’s left wrist. “Drop it, or I’ll snap your wrists!” he barked.

  In response, the commando slammed his right knee into Blade’s groin area.

  Blade grunted, then savagely wrenched on the left wrist he held, bending it back. The pistol fell to the grass, and Blade forcefully smashed his foe into the SEAL. “I want some answers from you, and I want them now!”