Madman Run

by David Robbins

  "What's that?" Hickok whispered.

  "Footsteps," Geronimo answered. He rose and joined them, the Winchester at his shoulder.

  Blade peered into the dark woods. Although he knew an unknown creature was bearing down on them, he involuntarily stiffened when he detected movement at the limits of his vision. The thing's bulk was tremendous; a great, hulking mass of a brute almost as wide as it was tall, it appeared to be over ten feet in height.

  "Dear Spirit," Geronimo exclaimed softly.

  Reddish eyes the size of apples glared at them, and a rumbling, sustained growl issued from its throat.

  "If it attacks, go for the head," Hickok recommended.

  "I'd rather run," Geronimo said.

  Blade agreed. An almost palpable aura of evil radiated from the beast, even at that distance, chilling him to the core. He tried to convince himself the sensation was all in his head, but couldn't. The size alone staggered him. Because of his own prodigious build, he'd rarely encountered any menace larger than himself. This thing dwarfed them all. Up close, it would even dwarf him.

  "You guys have the rifles," Hickok said. "Why don't one of you take a shot?"

  "I don't want to make it mad," Geronimo replied.

  "Be serious, pard."

  "I am."

  The creature moved to the east, its red eyes fixed on their camp, plowing through the vegetation as if there weren't any. When it was nearly out of sight it vented a ferocious roar that caused every insect and animal within a mile's radius to fall silent. Then it departed, the thump of its feet receding to the southeast and finally fading away.

  Geronimo expelled a sigh of relief. "That was too close for comfort."

  "Didn't faze me none," Hickok claimed. "I could've taken it down, easy."

  "Dream on," Geronimo said.

  "Piece of cake."

  Blade stared at the last spot he'd seen the thing, troubled by his reaction. Rarely had he known the feeling of genuine fear, but while watching the creature he'd felt just that, a fleeting instant of stark panic.

  He shook his head to clear his mind of his apprehension.

  Hickok glanced at the giant. "Are you okay, pard?"

  "Fine."

  "You sure? You look a bit peaked."

  "I'm fine," Blade repeated sternly. He sat down in the lean-to, relishing the warmth of the flames.

  "Why didn't it come after us?" Geronimo asked.

  "The fire, maybe," Hickok said.

  "A thing that big?"

  "Maybe one of us has bad breath."

  "Speak for yourself."

  Blade swallowed water from the canteen and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Do you want to draw lots to see which one of us pulls the first shift?"

  "I'll take the first watch, if you don't mind," Hickok said.

  "I'll take the second," Geronimo chimed in.

  "Leaving me the third," Blade stated. "Fine by me."

  The gunfighter took a seat, and after a minute Geronimo did likewise.

  "This trip of ours is turnin' into quite an adventure," Hickok remarked.

  Blade chewed on more jerky, engrossed in thought. When he'd expressed an interest in staying overnight, he hadn't foreseen they might have to take on a monster. He'd fought his share of genetic abominations in his time, but never anything as immense as the brute they'd just seen. If they were getting in over their heads, wouldn't the wise course of action entail returning to the Home? Sure, he was a Warrior, but he was new at his trade and had a lot to learn. The same with Hickok. He scanned the forest and realized they were stuck there whether they liked it or not, at least until morning.

  "We should check the tracks that thing made at first light," Geronimo advised. "It might be the creature responsible for those strange three-toed footprints."

  "If that critter comes back, let's offer it some grub and try to train it,"

  Hickok said, smirking. "If it cooperates, we'll have it kick in the castle door."

  The conversation drifted from the monster to a discussion of certain girls at the Home, with Hickok and Geronimo debating their assets and attractiveness for over an hour. Blade rarely spoke. His eyes darted to the woods whenever a noise was heard, and he kept the fire going high.

  "Well," Hickok said at length, "I suppose the two of you will want to turn in soon."

  "I'm beat," Geronimo commented.

  "I'm not," Blade fibbed. "I'll stay up a while yet."

  Hickok laughed. "Don't worry. I won't let the boogeyman slit your throat while you sleep."

  "Not funny," Blade said sternly.

  "Lighten up, Mikey. I was only kiddin'."

  The giant leaned toward the gunfighter, his flinty eyes mere slits. "This is the last time I'll tell you. Don't ever call me that name again."

  Shock registered on Hickok's face. He glanced at Geronimo, who shrugged, then nodded at Blade. "Sure, big guy, whatever you want. I didn't mean to get your goat."

  "No offense taken," Blade said, although his tone contradicted the statement. He crossed his arms and hunched against the lean-to, glowering into the fire.

  Geronimo spread out on his back and draped his left arm over his eyes.

  For a minute Hickok regarded the giant intently, then he took a position on the east side of the fire where he could see in all directions and not have their makeshift shelter obstruct his view.

  Blade idly gnawed on his lower lip, annoyed at himself for losing his temper over a trifle. He had no reason to jump down the gunfighter's throat, and he attributed his lapse to a bad case of nerves after the incident involving the monster. To cover his chagrin, he thought about other subjects—his dad, his budding friendship with Plato, his feelings for Jenny, and his new duties as a Warrior.

  He appreciated his good fortune in having his dad as the Leader, but he disliked the extra attention directed his way because of it. The Elders all expected great things out of him. Plato claimed he possessed the spark of greatness within. Their compliments, however, fell on skeptical ears. As far as he was concerned, the only exceptional quality he possessed was size, which in itself hardly indicated any outstanding potential. On top of that, his whole goal in life was to serve as a Warrior until he reached retirement age and could sit on the council of Elders. Hardly a career that would result in terrific accomplishments.

  Blade reflected on the comments his friends made about Jenny and recalled her asking him to bind. To say the least, he'd been surprised.

  Sure, they cared for each other. But they were only 16, and in his estimation they weren't mature enough yet to assume the awesome responsibilities of husband and wife. Jenny disagreed. She felt they were mature enough, but since girls invariably matured faster than guys, she was justified in making such a claim. He felt bad about disappointing her, but he wasn't about to say yes until he was certain they were both ready.

  An image of Attila filled his mind—tall, lean, attired in black leather pants and a wolfs hide shirt, hair hanging to the small of his back and lively green eyes. There was a man! Of all the Warriors, of all the people at the Home next to his dad and possibly Plato, Attila impressed Blade the most.

  The head Warrior possessed a carefree attitude that Blade keenly admired. Attila never lost his cool and always took everything in stride.

  Blade wished he could be the same way, wished others would refer to him as a man who lived life to the fullest and never got bent out of shape.

  Instead, everyone who knew him well claimed he was moody, an introvert, in a good frame of mind one minute and troubled the next. Maybe they were right. Ever since the death of his mom he'd been changed inside.

  Blade's eyeslids drooped. He heard Geronimo snoring softly and saw the gunfighter staring at the fire. "Hickok," he said sleepily.

  "Yeah, pard?"

  "Sorry."

  "For what?"

  "For getting on your case."

  "Don't sweat it. We all get cranky now and then."

  "I seldom see you cranky."

 
; Hickok grinned. "That's because I've naturally got a downright sweet disposition."

  "I suppose you do."

  "Why don't you grab some shut-eye, Mi—," Hickok began and caught himself, "—Blade. Geronimo will wake you when it's your turn to tend the fire."

  "Thanks. Don't mind if I do." Blade sank on his side and felt the warmth of the flames on his face. Contented and comfortable, he drifted into dreamland.

  When next his eyes fluttered open, Blade had to think for a minute to recall where he was. He spied Geronimo near the fire now and Hickok lying to the left, sound asleep. Inhaling loudly, he pushed up on his elbows and yawned. "Is it my turn yet?"

  "No," Geronimo replied. "I just took over from motormouth a short while ago."

  "I can pull my stint now if you like."

  "There's no need. Go back to sleep."

  Sighing, Blade settled down again and watched the flickering tongues of orange and red dance and writhe.

  "Say, Geronimo?"

  "Yes?"

  "Would you say I'm moody?"

  "Only during a full moon."

  "I'm serious."

  "Now and then. No more than the rest of us."

  "Hickok is hardly ever moody."

  "There's a reason for that."

  "Oh?"

  "Nathan is the only man alive who has a vacuum between his ears."

  "He's sharper than most."

  "True, but if you ever tell him I said so, I'll deny every word."

  Grinning, Blade let his mind lapse into a disjointed state where his thoughts came in spurts. Finally, slumber claimed him.

  What was that strange noise?

  Blade didn't know if he were awake or asleep. He lay there, his eyes shut, and listened, positive something out of the ordinary had brought him around. Cracking his lids, he gazed at Geronimo, who was dozing while sitting upright, then at Hickok, who slept as peacefully as a baby.

  He must have imagined the whole thing.

  Just as Blade closed his eyes he heard the sound again, a peculiar, airy titter. Puzzled, he raised his head a few inches and gazed into the forest, astounded to behold dozens of things—moving about at the very edge of the firelight.

  The vague shapes were thin and tall. They flitted about in the woods, prancing from tree to tree, giggling lightly all the while. Their skin had a pale cast, as if reflecting the moonlight.

  Blade saw one of the things start to approach the camp. He sat up, grabbing the Martin, and shouted, "Geronimo! Look out!"

  In the fleeting interval between the instant the giant uncoiled and his bellowed warning, the creatures in the woods abruptly vanished, seeming to fade to nothingness in the blink of an eye.

  Geronimo leaped to his feet, startled, the Winchester in his hands.

  "What? Where?" he exclaimed, looking in all directions.

  A split second later Hickok came to his feet, both Colts drawn and cocked, bewildered but ready to fight. "What the dickens is going on?" he demanded.

  Flabbergasted, Blade stood and stepped into the open. "Didn't you see them, Geronimo?"

  "See what?"

  "Those things in the trees."

  The Blackfoot surveyed their surroundings again. "I don't see anything."

  "They were there a few seconds ago. Dozens of them."

  "Of what?" Hickok asked.

  "I don't know. They were sort of like wood nympths or fairies," Blade explained, unable to think of a more precise description.

  "Wood nymphs?" Geronimo repeated.

  "Fairies?" Hickok said.

  "Yeah. You know. They were flitting around in the trees and laughing,"

  Blade elaborated.

  Hickok and Geronimo locked eyes, then the gunfighter twirled his Colts into their holsters and chuckled. "We'd better have the dried venison checked when we get back to the Home. They must be adding a new ingredient to it nowadays."

  "Don't you believe me?" Blade asked.

  "You've got to admit your tale is a mite hard to swallow."

  "I saw them, I tell you."

  "We believe you believe you saw them," Geronimo said, "but that doesn't necessarily mean they were really there."

  "I saw them," Blade stressed.

  Hickok made a show of turning in a circle while whistling and calling out, "Oh, little fairies? Where are you? Come out, come out, wherever you are."

  Geronimo cackled.

  "When have I ever lied to you?" Blade demanded, peeved at their attitudes. "One of those things was coming right toward us when I shouted. Somehow, they all vanished."

  "Somehow," Geronimo said. "Like into thin air?"

  "Yes. Exactly."

  "Oh, brother," Hickok mumbled, laying back down. "Monsters with glowing eyes. Flittin' fairies. What I said before still goes. This place is too weird for words."

  "I'd never doubt either of you," Blade said.

  "Now don't get all upset over a bunch of wood nymphs," Hickok responded. "If you say they were there, then I'll go along with it. But let's be realistic. Even if there are a horde of fairies out there, I doubt they pose a danger to us. I can't see Peter Pumpernickel and his gang jumpin' our buns, can you?"

  "That's Pan, dope," Geronimo corrected him.

  "Whatever." Hickok stretched and closed his eyes. "If it's all the same to you, I've got to catch up on my beauty sleep. But be sure and wake me if Leapin' Leroy and his Killer Leprechauns attack."

  Blade scanned the woods again and again, hoping for a glimpse of the creatures to redeem himself. None showed.

  "Why don't you crash?" Geronimo suggested. "I'll keep watch for the nymphs."

  "I'm not sleepy now," Blade said.

  "Why waste the time staying up and waiting for those things to come back?"

  "I can't honestly say."

  Exasperated, Blade went under the lean-to and lay on his stomach. He began to wonder if he'd really seen them himself. His friends had never doubted him before. Maybe, because of everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, his imagination was playing tricks with him. He rested his chin on his forehead and patiently waited for his turn to pull guard duty, determined to stay awake. But after a while, despite his best intentions, he fell asleep for the third time and dreamed of rabid leprechauns in fairy suits swooping out of the sky to rend him limb from limb.

  Chapter Six

  Leapin' Leroy was in the act of impaling him on a silver butter knife when Blade felt someone shaking his shoulder and sat bolt upright. He automatically reached for the Marlin, blinking in confusion, and only relaxed when he saw Geronimo kneeling at his side, regarding him as one might a lunatic.

  "It's just me. Are you okay?"

  "Yeah. Sure." Blade swallowed and gazed at the woods. "Is it my turn?"

  "Yep. Nothing stirred the rest of my shift."

  "Good," Blade said, retrieving the rifle and sliding out. "Get some sleep."

  "I wouldn't mind pulling double duty."

  "I'm fine. But you two clowns are beginning to give me a complex."

  "Sorry. But I've never seen you so rattled before. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing," Blade snapped.

  Shrugging, the Blackfoot placed the Winchester near his chest and lay down. "Wake us at dawn."

  "You got it." Blade stepped to the east side of the fire and squatted, shivering in the brisk night air. He stuck the rifle in the crook of his arm, rubbed his hands together, and feeling his stomach growl, resolved to hunt game for breakfast. Fresh roasted meat might do them all some good.

  Sitting, Blade scrutinized the heavens, marveling at the celestial spectacle. There seemed to be a well-nigh infinite number of stars, a sea of cosmic creation aswarm with fiery beacons radiating light and life to countless worlds. He wished he'd been born before the war, for the sole reason of being able to witness the historic missions to Mars and the establishment of a lunar base in a joint venture of the United States, the Soviet Union and France. It was most unfortunate space exploration ground to a halt after the liberal Russian presiden
t was deposed and the hard-liners regained control. America and Europe devoted all of their attention to producing armaments instead of spaceships.

  The sputtering fire snapped Blade out of his contemplation. He realized they needed more wood. Slinging the Marlin over his right shoulder, he walked into the forest, scouring the ground for fallen limbs. He loaded his arms and returned.

  As Blade bent to set the wood on the ground, a faint rustling arose to his rear. He pretended not to notice, straightened slowly, and whirled.

  The ruse worked.

  One of the things was back, standing near a tree 20 feet away, watching him.

  Instantly Blade took off, not bothering to yell to his companions because they wouldn't believe him anyway. He needed proof, and the only way to obtain it was to capture the creature. His legs pumping, he covered the ground in prodiguious bounds consistent with his size. Only one other person in the entire Family had ever beaten him at a foot race—a martial artist named Rikki-Tikki-Tavi—and he had no doubt he'd catch the nymph.

  As quick as the giant was, the pale being was even quicker. It spun and took off like a frightened deer, moving with astonishing speed and seeming to fly over the terrain.

  Blade breathed easily, adopting a natural rhythm, determined to stay after the thing until he dropped from exhaustion or caught it. In the back of his mind he wondered if the red-eyed monster might still be about, and he wavered for a few strides before reminding himself he was a Warrior and Warriors never let fear get the better of them.

  The pale creature maintained a steady lead, never gaining or losing ground, bearing to the south.

  If not for the full moon, Blade would have found the going extremely difficult. He tripped once on a root but righted himself quickly. Every now and then a limb snatched at his vest or gouged him in the cheek.

  For several minutes the chase continued. The creature angled to the west, seldom looking back, apparently heading for a specific destination.

  Blade lost all track of where he was. He guessed they were passing to the east of the castle. To his annoyance, the thing ran even faster and gained a wider lead. Even Rikki wouldn't be able to overtake it, he realized, but he stubbornly kept running.

  The creature paused to look at its pursuer, then forged ahead, darting into a group of saplings and disappearing.