Youngblood

by H. Peter Alesso

  WHACK!

  He was caught!

  The next thing he knew, he was on his back being tied up and dragged away by several pairs of hands. They took him to a room just off the side of the spaceport.

  The guard asked, “Who are you? Which camp did you escape from?”

  Youngblood had no wish to answer questions and merely shook his head.

  One guard sat there grimly scowling. Another was smiling.

  Smug bastard.

  The biggest guard looked around vacantly until his eyes focused on the figure in front of him.

  “Who are you?”

  “Nobody,” Youngblood said, sitting upright despite the discomfort written over his face.

  The guard was not past 30 and had a powerful build.

  Gesturing at Youngblood’s head, the guard asked, “Still aching?”

  “Yes.” His disheveled clothes rustled against his chair.

  “Why were you sneaking about the bunker?”

  Youngblood’s eyebrows furrowed, and his lips curled, but he said, “I’m on holiday. Just looking around.”

  Surprise registered on guard’s face, quickly followed by skepticism. “You don’t really expect me to believe that. You’re either a runaway or a spy.”

  Youngblood’s face was set and hard.

  The guard relaxed his face into an expression of insolent amusement. “Will you admit you’re a spy?”

  “I’m nobody.”

  At least Kira and Pyro got away.

  The thought was a small but satisfying victory.

  The guard’s dark eyes widened. “I don’t think I like the way you said that. How can I trust what you say? Maybe you need a lesson?”

  Anger shone in Youngblood eyes.

  Another guard said, “I doubt that will do any good.”

  Jerking his head around, the guard spoke harshly, “Where were you going?”

  The cat-and-mouse game continued for a while. The guard’s eyes remained glued to him but the interrogation proceeded without significant results.

  Finally, the guard had enough and punched Youngblood in the mouth. He couldn’t conceal his contempt and thrust Youngblood into a dank, dark prison cell.

  Youngblood could think of nothing but his own bitter disappointment at getting caught and his misery of being confined. He fretted and clenched his fist. He took hold of himself and examined his surroundings. The walls were thick, and the bars strong. Sentries walked their posts outside the cell and beyond.

  Once the misery of imprisonment had sunken in, he longed for his freedom and a chance to fight. He dreaded the thought that he would soon be in Jarod’s hands. The uncertainties were distressing. He did not want to be taken to Jarod and shot; he wanted to resist, but there was no recourse. He was in the confines of a man who was callous and malicious, and he could grow old in these cells before there was any chance of escape.

  He spent several hours thinking of Kira, remembering their time together and what she meant to him. He could recall details of her laugh and speech and smile. Only a day ago, he had been fully confident and ready to tackle anything. Now he was helpless and imprisoned.

  The cell was still dark when he woke at the noise outside his cell. There was a glimmer of light from several lanterns hanging in the hall, but they were turned low.

  Who’s there?

  Chapter 22

  Mansion on a Mountain

  A majestic mansion was located on the summit of one of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Its panoramic views and proximity to several exceptional ski slopes had been prime attractions when it was first built. It was a spectacular natural asset. The many deaths caused by an avalanche or falls into the treacherous ravines failed to stop the more adventurous skiers. The old Mammoth runs offered lifts and trails with 45 inches at its base and 180 inches at the 11,000-foot-high summit. The surfaces of most runs were skiable corn snow, kept nice and crisp by the deep snowpack. The only places that were full-blown heavy slush were on the wide flat runs. With a year-round average temperature of 20º C, it was the ideal place for a daredevil skier like Jarod.

  Jarod gazed up at the impressive mountain range and let the chill air penetrate his warm clothing. He resolutely tugged on his ski gloves and when he his lift reached the advanced level, he pulled his goggles down and stepped into his skis.

  With a broad smile, he thought . . .

  I’m ready.

  He pulled his jacket tightly around him, leaving exposed his weathered veteran skin and his unruly hair. The temperature was 5 C and he was alone at the top of the world. He breathed in the crisp mountain air and felt an awesome sense of power.

  He said aloud, “Wow, what a fantastic day! The snow looks perfect.”

  An expert skier, Jarod shoved his poles hard into the snow and pushed. He propelled himself down the slope. Leaning over his skis, he dropped into a tuck gathering speed as his skies hissed over the surface. While his speed increased, his skis never drifted apart. His hips and knees swiveled in precise sweeping turns, shoulders barely moving.

  The skis whistled over the packed powder as he pulled himself along with his poles picking up more and more speed on the steepening trail. He found his rhythm and felt the adrenaline rush of speed, snow, and slope as he went over the first spine-chilling vertical drop. Concentrating on his maneuvering, he was oblivious to the closeness of steep ravines, or hazards such as boulders or trees.

  A broad grin spread across his face; he was invincible, powerful, in command.

  Jarod maneuvered in broad zigzags as he approached a cluster of trees. He shifted his weight and the edges of his skis bit hard into the slope. He straightened up and turned to avoid several rocky obstacles then zoomed down a 45-degree drop without fear.

  Breathing hard, he glanced over his shoulder but there was no one else as far as he could see. He zig-zagged through the mounds, driving his poles in hard with each knee-pounding bump. He carved a hard S-turn, angled his skis back toward the side and raced for the tree line. The wind buffeted him; a pounding wall of resistance against his increasing speed.

  Finally, he saw an opening through the trees that had hemmed him in. He veered and shot through it. As he straightened his course, he skidded to a stop and relished the thrill of going down the slope. Then he leaned forward and dug his poles in once more, to thrust himself forward again. The wild schuss was nearing an end.

  As the slope leveled out, he saw Fox from the corner of his eye, waiting for him 100 yards ahead scant seconds from the end of the run.

  As his momentum slowed, he felt exhausted. He angled his skis while crossing the finish line and sprayed snow into Fox’s face.

  Jarod’s muscles ached from exertion and his breathing was labored, but he was exhilarated.

  He pulled off his soaked gloves and unzipped his jacket, sweating heavily.

  He hadn’t noticed when it had started to snow, but it was coming down heavily now.

  Stabbing his poles into the ground, he straightened and looked at Fox.

  “Why must you ski on this dangerous slope?” asked Fox, licking his chapped lips and brushing the wet slush off his face. “We have a great deal of business to discuss. I have a proposal you’ll be interested in. Why can’t we relax by the fire in your mansion and talk with a nice warm brandy?”

  Jarod’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you ever feel that you want to see what you’re made of? Don’t you want to test your mettle?”

  Fox’s eyes narrowed. “I am not in doubt about what I’m made of. Shall we go inside?”

  A few minutes later, Fox sat comfortably in a lounge chair in front of a roaring fire in the mansion. Ornate wooden panels and centuries-old chairs adorned the room. Everything was oversized and ostentatious.

  Jarod crossed to his chair and sat, leaning his chin into his palms. “I want you to open the gates of Columbia for me when I arrive with my men to collect the additional taxes.”

  “Yes, of course,” replied Fox. “I’ll have to put up a good front for my peopl
e and complain bitterly about your bad behavior, but don’t worry, you’ll be able to make your collections unmolested.”

  “Anything else happening in Columbia?”

  “I had to stop a protester yesterday.”

  “So?”

  Fox said, “Unfortunately, he died a tragic death while in custody. There may be some repercussions; he was rather a close friend of Ben’s. I’ve got my spies in Jamestown keeping an eye on the troublemakers, Youngblood and Kira. Together with Ben, they can present a problem. They’re getting more security conscious and talking about forming a militia.”

  “I’m not concerned.”

  “It may be talk for now, but I’m afraid you’ll get a hostile reception when you go to Jamestown. Ben will never open the gates to you.”

  “Then he will suffer the consequences,” said Jarod.

  “I don’t like the sound of that. It may lead to a general uprising.”

  “If necessary, I’ll go in and clean out the bastards.”

  “Wrong move,” said Fox. “That kind of suppression will galvanize opposition.”

  “In that case, we may have to resort to assassinating the troublemakers.”

  Fox shook his head.

  Jarod said, “I’m not saying anything needs to happen immediately, but soon.”

  “You really think things are that bad?”

  “If they aren’t amenable to the new tax, I’ll have to motivate them.”

  “Perhaps, burning a few barns or scattering a herd or two, would be adequate?”

  Jarod said, “OK. I’ll start with that, but if they don’t comply, I’ll have to get tough. You heard what Blackheart said.”

  “OK, but we’re overextended now. We don’t have the manpower.”

  “We have enough. My gut feeling is that they may be reluctant and require some hard persuasion, but in the end, we’ll get what we need.”

  Fox said, “I’ll keep my ears open and set up a surveillance network of spies to keep you informed. You should gather your men to deal with trouble spots.”

  “Are you saying we should attack Jamestown or not?”

  “Nothing is certain in military operations, but I maintain serious reservations about proceeding down that path even if we have the current advantage in men and guns.”

  Jarod rubbed his chin and said, “If necessary, I’ve drawn up plans for a two-pronged assault on Jamestown, attacking simultaneously from the east and west. It will crush the opposition in one swift blow.”

  “And if they choose to fight back rather than surrender?”

  “In that case, they’ll face ever-mounting blows until submission is their only choice.”

  “Is that your preference?”

  “We’ve got to continue expanding our strength and growing despite the loss for the supply ship. It’s simply a matter of survival,” reflected Jarod grimly.

  Fox nodded, somberly. He said, “I know your father will welcome you with open arms when you deliver this next shipment. He has nothing but your best interests at heart. You can expect great rewards. You know how generous he can be.”

  “Given those considerations, I must take a firm hand with Jamestown. Sonora will remain passive if Jamestown is dealt with harshly.”

  “Will we suffer significant casualties?”

  “I don’t expect operations to be too extended, and our losses will be manageable. I would expect a fairly short war, if you could even call it that.”

  Fox said, “I’m in favor of a short, decisive war.”

  Chapter 23

  Escape

  Youngblood’s pulse beat faster, as he tumbled off the cot and leaped to his feet. He heard a commotion outside his cell. A guard was shouting.

  There was a thud and the cell door swung open.

  Kira and Pyro stood there.

  “Come on, move it,” said Pyro.

  Just minutes before, he had no hope of freedom, now it was here. It was time for action.

  “I’m moving it. Better to take a chance at escaping than rotting in prison,” said Youngblood.

  He got up and ran to the door just in time to see another guard coming toward them while pulling out a gun.

  Youngblood looked straight into the eyes of the monster-sized man with fists as big as anvils, but he was shaking with excitement and mad with fury. Then he did something very brave but very stupid. He lunged directly at the man and pushed his gun aside. He hit him with all his might and the right cross connected with the man’s jaw.

  The giant staggered back a step, howling in anger.

  Youngblood struck again and again, but this giant wasn’t going down. He hit Youngblood with one punch that threw him to the ground and nearly knocked him out.

  As the guard bent to strike again, Pyro came up behind him and thumped him over the head with a rock.

  The guard went down in a heap and lay unconscious on the ground.

  “Is he . . . dead?” asked Kira.

  “I don’t think so,” said Pyro dropping the bloody rock.

  Kira ran to Youngblood and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  “Fine. Let’s get out of here,” said Youngblood, picking up the guard’s gun.

  As they ran through the maze of passages, Kira said, “They weren’t just chasing us.”

  “Huh?”

  “Yesterday, when they chased us. They weren’t just chasing us because they saw us. They were guarding something when we stumbled right onto them. That’s why they were in a panic to catch us.”

  “We’ll worry about that later—keep running.”

  They ran.

  All they wanted to do was put as much distance between them and the prison as possible.

  They remained in the shadows. Peering over his shoulder, Youngblood wondered whether anyone else was nearby.

  His eyes tried to pierce the darkness.

  How much longer until we’re discovered?

  She said, “The tram is just on the next intersection. There’s a security guard there.”

  They pressed forward, swiftly shifting their gazes from one dark area to another.

  They twisted around a corner and through yet another passage, then scrambled out of the newer section of the structure and waited for their eyes to adjust to the midnight dark.

  Tightening his grip on his handgun, Youngblood looked around.

  Now they are in front as well as behind.

  He raised his handgun, but before he could get a shot, the guards disappeared back into a side passage.

  He remained tense for what seemed a long time.

  Where are they?

  In his mind’s eye, he recalled the tunnel diagram with all the extraneous shafts and routes. He had to shake the doubt from his thoughts and go ahead resolutely.

  “Kira, stay close,” was all he could say. “Keep low.”

  A few random noises caught his attention, then silence.

  “Look, a door to the mine shaft! That’s our way!” whispered Youngblood. “Quick now.”

  A bullet spat from behind them as they rushed forward.

  The door opened into a low ceiling stone-flagged ventilation shaft. A tall, thin man with a rifle was standing guard, but they surprised him, and Youngblood quickly overpowered him.

  They climbed a ladder to the surface and found the night was black when they popped out of the ventilation shaft. The wind shrieked at them at gale strength as they climbed the cliff face. In the blackness, it was impossible to guess the best route up the precipice. Kira was faintly visible to him as he reached higher to the ledge. There was a roar as a landslide started off to one side.

  “Look out,” she cried.

  The roar quickly subsided, and they resumed their climb, going hand over hand until they reached an outcrop where they stopped and rested for several minutes. Youngblood wondered vaguely how much farther the top was, but the darkness prevented him from seeing it. He heard ghostly sounds as the mountain grumbled and the wind whistled by.
/>
  Youngblood craned over his shoulder to get a glimpse of what was behind them, but there was only darkness. The starlight served as their only guide.

  “Is that a light?” he said.

  “A fire, but far away.”

  Another rockslide dusted them with pebbles and small stones as they clung as close to the cliff face as possible.

  The path was divided by a boulder offering little footing to get around it. Youngblood thanked his lucky stars that they were together to lend each other a helping hand. Working together, they ascended once more.

  “This way. Watch your handholds.”

  “Give me your hand.” He pulled her up the rest of the way.

  Breathing hard, he vowed to himself that he would not take a break until Kira asked for one. Soon he regretted his vow as the pain in his chest grew stronger. But Kira was a mountain goat, and they climbed for several more minutes before they reached their goal. They had reached the final ledge. The worst was behind them.

  Youngblood said, “We’re safe now. They’re not following us over these mountains in the dark.”

  Pyro asked, “Now what? We have to walk all the way back to Jamestown?”

  “It’s better than the alternative,” said Kira.

  Chapter 24

  Unforgivable

  “We have to make final preparations to defend Jamestown against a major ground assault,” said Ben, his voice calm and reassuring, as he met with his militia captains in the Branch Water Saloon for a council of war.

  “Our scouts have reported that Jarod has gathered two large groups of men. One of several hundred men is a few miles from the west gate. A similar group is east of the river. I expect them to make a simultaneous two-prong attack driving toward the center of town, probably just before dawn.”

  Youngblood considered the poorly trained and armed militia that would face this onslaught.

  Ben said, “William you will defend the west gate with 50 militiamen.”

  William said, “My 50 men and women have only a dozen guns. The rest have bows and knives. That’s not a lot of firepower compared to what Jarod will send against me.”