“I think you’re nuts,” Tyson remarked.
Rikki disregarded the comment. “You must all leave now. Napoleon or one of the others may be watching us, and they might become suspicious if we spend too much time here. Remember,” he warned them, “not a word to anyone else. This is strictly between ourselves. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Tyson said.
“Okay,” said Cindy.
“Fine,” Jenny stated.
They rose and departed, each walking off in a different direction.
“You did not agree,” Rikki commented, glancing at Plato.
“Was it necessary? You know I wouldn’t tell another soul.”
“Why are you so sad?” Rikki probed. “You know what must be done.”
Plato sighed and gazed into the distance, his features mirroring his melancholy. “The knowing doesn’t make the doing any easier to take. Do you realize the implications? If Napoleon is so dissatisfied with the status quo, there may be others. If not now, then later.”
“I don’t see how you can prevent it,” Rikki observed.
“But don’t you see?” Plato stared at the Warrior. “Perhaps the fault isn’t in Napoleon, perhaps it’s in our system. Kurt Carpenter meticulously established the Family organization and set forth our rules and regulations. His legacy has sufficed for one hundred years, maintaining harmony in the Family and ensuring our success as a functional unit. But what if there is a flaw in our system? What if we failed Napoleon in some way? Maybe we overlooked some aspect of his education or personal development. Maybe there is something we can do to prevent another Napoleon from arising in the future.”
Rikki, touched by the Leader’s distress, tried to reassure Plato with a broad smile. “There is nothing you could have done. Look at the Trolls.
Some people can not be helped, no matter what you do. It was inevitable, I suppose, someone would come along to challenge the Family order. You should view it as a tribute to our Founder the challenge was a century in coming. It shows how well Carpenter did, the wisdom the man possessed.”
Plato grinned slightly. “Looking at the positive side.”
“Just as one of my teachers always advocated,” Rikki said.
The Family school was taught by the Elders, and Plato was responsible for several of the classes.
“Will you come tell me when it’s over?” Plato requested.
“Of course.”
“I think I’ll retire to my cabin,” Plato remarked, slowly, painfully, rising to his feet. “Nadine will be worried if I stay out too late.”
“I will follow shortly,” Rikki promised. “You needn’t fear for your safety. I will be outside, guarding you tonight. But lock your doors, just as an added precaution.”
Plato fondly glanced at Rikki. “Thank you. I know I’m in good hands. Blade thinks very highly of your skill.”
“He told me, you know.”
Plato, about to leave, stopped in midturn. “What?”
“Blade told me about a power-monger in the Family. He didn’t know who it was, because you hadn’t told him.”
“But I instructed him to keep the information to himself,” Plato said, surprised. “And he told you?”
“He wanted someone aware of the situation,” Rikki explained. “He needed me to keep an eye on things until he returned.”
Plato absently nodded and walked away. Blade had deliberately disobeyed him! Incredible! It had never happened before. And yet, it made sense, didn’t it? Blade was thinking of the welfare of the Family. Just as a future Leader should.
A sharp cramp rocked his left side and he stopped, waiting for the pain to subside.
His body was falling apart at the seams, and his mind apparently wasn’t faring much better. He’d jeopardized the entire Family because of an emotional reluctance to harm one Family member. What had happened to his judgment?
It was time to seriously consider retirement.
The spasm eased and Plato resumed his trek.
If Alpha Triad failed to return with the equipment they needed to isolate the cause of the senility, he would relinquish his command to Blade. Oh, the Family would need to vote their acceptance, but never in the Family’s history had they refused to accept a Leader’s chosen successor.
How much longer did he have?
Plato shuffled homeward, troubled by the question, one he’d avoided until now. The premature senility was a progressive disease, exhibiting distinct stages, and he knew he was entering the advanced state of senility.
It was just a matter of time.
And the irony of it all!
After all those years of being alone, without his beloved Nadine!
And now, she was home, rescued by Alpha Triad from the Trolls.
Together again, at last, for a few fleeting months before he passed on to the other side.
Plato paused and glanced up at the darkening sky, spotting several pinpoints of light, the first visible stars.
The Family records revealed Family members were living shorter and shorter lives with each passing generation. Not every member experienced a reduced lifespan and suffered the attendant premature senility, but in the past two decades the number had increased dramatically.
Why?
Why? Why? Why? Why?
For the umpteenth time, Plato mentally screamed at the heavens, berating their fate. To have survived the Big Blast, to have perservered for a century despite the constant threat from clouds and mutates and other hostile forces, only to be gradually eliminated from the face of the earth by a mysterious disease, was positively frustrating, not to mention a profoundly inequitable destiny.
There had to be an answer! Some element the Healers had overlooked as they struggled to ascertain the cause of the senility. But what?
Plato felt his eyes moisten. It couldn’t end like this! It simply couldn’t!
His precious Family, snuffed out with a whimper from the pages of mortal history.
Everything depended on Alpha Triad. This time, they had to return with the scientific and medical items the Healers needed. Time was running out.
Please, O Spirit, he silently prayed, protect your children, Blade and Geronimo, and see them safely back to the Home.
Please!
Chapter Seventeen
As Lieutenant Angier dove for his M-16, Blade reached overhead and grabbed the boat hook.
Angier swept the M-16 up and around, his finger tightening on the trigger. He caught a motion out of the corner of his left eye, and agony exploded inside his head.
Blade swung the handle of the boat hook a second time, slamming it against the Watcher’s ruptured left ear. Blood flowed down Angier’s neck as the soldier slumped to his knees, then slid to the wooden planks. The M-16 slipped from his hands.
Perfect!
Blade retrieved the rifle and crouched beside the door-way. The coast seemed clear. The other Watchers were probably concentrating on the road, and Gremlin was fast asleep. If his luck held, he’d be able to sneak along the shoreline and return to Kalispell. Geronimo must be worried silly by now.
The bushes and trees nearest the boathouse were shrouded in the shadows of twilight.
Just the cover he needed.
Blade cautiously stepped from the boathouse and moved to his left, bearing north.
Just as a Watcher rounded the corner of a building twenty yards away, carrying a cup of juice and a tin of hash, bringing supper to Lieutenant Angier.
Damn!
Blade heard the man shout “Stop!” then the Watcher hastily dropped the food and clutched at his M-16, slung over his right shoulder.
Not now!
Blade raised the M-16 and fired, the slugs ripping into the Watcher’s midsection and throwing him to the ground.
Another Watcher came into view from behind a tree, his rifle already pressed against his left shoulder, and he sighted on the giant Warrior and squeezed the trigger.
Blade flattened and rolled toward the doorway to the boathouse. He he
ard the bullets striking the boathouse wall and splinters stung his face.
Yet another Watcher joined the fray, opening up from a stand of bushes thirty yards to the northeast.
Blade crawled inside the boathouse, keeping low, as more and more slugs tore through the walls. He twisted, peered around the door jamb, and aimed at the Watcher alongside the tree. The M-16 burped, and the soldier crumpled.
The firing outside intensified, and the interior of the boathouse was filled with the buzzing of the slugs and the cracking and shattering of the wood.
All of them must be out there, Blade deduced.
Let’s see.
Angier was out cold. He’d killed the one with the food and the one by the tree. There were six, originally.
That meant three to go.
And Gremlin, of course.
But how to do it? The Watchers had him pinned down, and their guns covered the only exit from the boathouse. If he attempted to dash into the underbrush, he’d be cut down before he got ten yards. They could wait him out, if need be. They had food, he didn’t. He did have plenty of water, though, an entire lake at his…
Water?
The lake!
Blade grinned as he snaked to the edge of the wooden planks and glanced down. There was another exit from the boathouse, and one the Watchers couldn’t possibly cover unless they had a boat. Which they didn’t.
He hoped.
Blade eased over the edge and slid into the water, tentatively feeling for bottom with his feet. He touched small rocks and slowly stood, the water level coming to his waist.
The Watchers were still intent on whittling the boat-house to its foundation, chip by chip.
Blade moved deeper, the water rising to his chest as he reached the end of the boathouse and glanced around the corner.
No sign of anyone. Or anything.
He lowered his muscular body until only his head remained above the surface of the lake, holding the M-16 parallel to the surface and an inch in front of his nose. If the Watchers kept their attention on the boat-house, he’d be able to follow the shore until he was beyond their range.
The chorus of M-16’s was continuing to perforate the boathouse.
Blade moved quickly now, knowing he would be at a tremendous disadvantage if they caught him in Flathead Lake. His body tensed as he crossed a stretch of open water, angling for a line of trees near the shore.
So far, so good.
He alertly scanned the trees as he approached the shoreline, the water level dropping to his waist, then his knees, and finally to his ankles as he hurried from the lake and ran to the trees.
The Watchers had stopped shooting at the boathouse.
Blade leaned against a trunk and assessed his situation. He was about twenty-five yards from the boat-house, north of the Watchers and hidden from their view by the trees. He could head for Kalispell again.
Only one thing bothered him.
Where the hell was Gremlin?
Surely the creature had heard the commotion. No one could sleep through all that racket. So where was he? With the Watchers outside the boathouse? Where?
Blade shook his head, watery droplets flying in every direction. Did it matter? There was no way Gremlin could stop him now.
Good riddance.
Blade cautiously weaved between the trees as he traveled away from the vicinity of the boathouse. The brief twilight was gone, replaced by the encroachment of nightfall. Must be careful, he warned himself. He could easily trip and sprain something, or worse. The vegetation was dense and clung to his damp clothing as he passed. He swerved to his left, struck by an idea. The shore near the lake was clear of growth; he could make better time.
Flathead Lake was reflecting the stars, the waves lapping at his heels, as Blade ran northward, eating up the distance.
How long would it take him to reach Kalispell? He wasn’t sure of the distance involved. The last sign he could recall was for a small town called Bigfork, and mileage wasn’t printed on the sign. If he could maintain a steady pace, he knew he’d arrive in Kalispell by morning.
Something padded on the shore behind him.
Blade whirled, leveling the M-16, his eyes striving to pierce the darkness.
Nothing.
I must be getting jittery in my old age, he mentally joked, and resumed jogging northward.
The shoreline of Flathead Lake was a narrow band of rocky earth ringing the body of water. The pebbles and stones covering the shore gouged the soles of his moccasins. It would be easier, he reflected, if he crossed over to Highway 35 at first light.
The night was filled with sounds: the rhythmic lapping of the waves onto the shore, the breeze rustling the trees, a fish splashing in the water as it made a graceful arc, a bird twittering nervously in the pines, and footsteps from somewhere to his rear.
Blade dropped to his knees and stared along his back-trail.
There!
A lean form flattening on the ground.
Three guesses who.
Blade rose and ran at full speed, hoping Gremlin would fall for his gambit.
The creature did.
Blade could hear Gremlin pursuing him now, apparently throwing caution to the wind in an effort to overtake him. He could hear the pounding of Gremlin’s feet and the creature’s harsh breathing.
Tuning was critical now.
Blade concentrated on speed, while gauging the space between them.
He had to make his move at the right moment. Too soon, and Gremlin would have time to react and get out of the way. Too late, and the creature would be on him before he could defend himself.
Gremlin’s labored breaths were close on his heels, just yards behind him.
Now!
Blade spun, the M-16 held waist high, and began firing before he completed his turn.
Gremlin, only four yards away, was caught by surprise. Several of the slugs caught him and lifted him off his feet. He fell to one side, landing partially in the cold waters of Flathead Lake.
Blade ceased firing and cautiously approached the creature. He felt a twinge of guilt at killing it. Gremlin wasn’t responsible for his actions.
They were controlled by the Doktor.
Was it really dead?
Blade paused, his moccasins inches from the water, and leaned over for a better look.
Gremlin surged out of the lake in a raging rush, hissing, his clawing hands grasping Blade’s shoulders and pulling him off balance, toppling him forward into Flathead Lake.
Damn!
Blade released the useless M-16 and struggled against Gremlin’s iron grip. Was the thing trying to drown him? The water closed over his head as Gremlin drew him under the surface.
Gremlin’s clammy hands slid from his shoulders to his neck.
Blade thrashed and struck at the creature’s face, to no avail. The water impaired his strength and reduced the effectiveness of his powerful blows.
They tossed and twisted and alternately rose above the surface as they rolled into ever deeper water.
Blade took a deep breath and went under for the fifth time, trying to dislodge Gremlin’s hands from his throat. How could something so skinny be so strong? What could he do to hurt it? Angier’s words came back to him. “If the collar senses someone is trying to take it off, there’s a crackling and a burst of white light and the creature’s head is fried to a crisp.”
It was his only real chance.
Blade kneed Gremlin in the groin, gratified when he doubled over and his hold slackened slightly. In that instant, Blade clasped the collar in both of his brawny hands and exerted his formidable muscles, striving to pry the collar apart.
He was completely unprepared for what transpired next.
His hands and arms began tingling, and before he could release the collar, as Gremlin reached for his arms, there was a loud popping noise and the water in their immediate proximity was illuminated by a brilliant white flash.
Blade jerked as a tremendous shock jolted his body
, propelling him away from Gremlin and toward the beach. His senses swirled as he staggered from the lake, gasping for air, and fell to his hands and knees.
Damn.
So much for his bright ideas.
He passed out on the rock-littered shore.
Chapter Eighteen
“Mommy, I think Geronimo is waking up.”
“Good.”
“Not good! You should have let me finish the creep off!”
Geronimo kept his eyes closed, listening to the conversation. A throbbing headache racked his forehead, and his left side was a pool of agony. He experienced the sensation of moving.
“All in good time.” The voice was Rainbow’s.
“Why not now?” an angry male demanded.
“I told you before,” Rainbow responded impatiently, “we need him for now. He knows this vehicle better than we do. We might need some of his knowledge.”
“But the bastard wasted Spotted Elk and Buffalo Grazing! We should kill him now! He deserves it!” the irate man urged.
“Are you disputing me?” Rainbow asked icily.
“No,” the man hedged. “Of course not. It’s just…” he said, and let the thought trail off.
Geronimo opened his brown eyes and slowly gazed around. He was inside the SEAL, propped in a corner of the back seat, behind the driver.
His shirt was gone. It had been used to construct a crude bandage for his left shoulder. Star was seated beside him, and a tall Flathead sat on the other side of her. Another Indian, the angry speaker, was in the passenger-side bucket seat. Rainbow was behind the wheel.
“He’s awake,” Star announced, smiling at Geronimo. Her features became downcast when he refused to reciprocate.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Rainbow said, greeting him cheerily, glancing into the mirror.
Geronimo heard a scratching sound and twisted his head.
Another Flathead was in the rear section of the transport, lying amidst the equipment salvaged from the Kalispell Regional Hospital. At least they hadn’t tossed it out. Yet.
“How are you feeling?” Rainbow inquired.
Geronimo watched the scenery pass by. From the position of the sun, he knew they were bearing in a southeasterly direction.
The Kalispell Run Page 15