The Kalispell Run

by David Robbins

  Was it in the storage section?

  “Oh, Blade!” Star wailed, coming toward him for comfort, her arms held wide.

  “Watch…!” Blade began, too late.

  All hell broke loose.

  Angier started blazing away at the transport’s windshield, the slugs whining as they ricocheted aside, deflected by the unique iron-like plastic designed by Kurt Carpenter’s scientists.

  Star’s right foot caught on the console between the front bucket seats.

  She tripped, falling forward onto the dash before Blade could reach her.

  Her outstretched left hand brushed against the dashboard, striking one of the four mysterious toggle switches in the center of the dash, the one marked with a large R.

  Blade grabbed Star before she could fall further. He heard a peculiar whirring sound and saw the soldiers pointing at the front of the SEAL, in the direction of the grill. There was fear on their faces.

  What was going on?

  The transport suddenly lurched violently, as if a great force had shoved the vehicle backward.

  Angier, the soldiers, and the jeep literally blew to smithereens, consumed by a mighty explosion and a spectacular fireball extending fifty feet skyward.

  Star, stunned by the spectacle, gaped at Blade.

  “Don’t look at me,” he said, watching the fireball collapse and dissipate.

  “I think you caused it.”

  “Me?” Star asked, her eyes reflecting her astonishment. “How did I do… that?”

  Blade reached over and replaced the toggle switch in its original position. “I think you did it when you bumped this switch labeled R. It’s some type of weapon. If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say the R stood for Rocket, or Rocket Launcher.” He paused, pondering the implications.

  “Kurt Carpenter must have had armament installed in his prototype,” he mused aloud. “It makes sense. Carpenter was thorough in everything he did. But it leaves us with two glaring questions.”

  Star was staring at the four toggle switches. “I did it? I killed the men who killed my mother?”

  Blade used his right hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “You certainly did, sweetheart.”

  Star looked at the smoldering heap of debris where the jeep had stood.

  Her eyes gleamed and she grinned. “Good!” she stated, delighted. “Those men got what they deserved!”

  “Sit here a moment,” Blade directed, placing her in the other bucket seat. He clambored into the rear section, hoping they were there.

  They were.

  His prized Bowies and the Auto-Ordnance Model 27 A-1 were piled in one corner. He picked up the big knives and strapped them around his narrow waist. Hefting the A-1, he climbed up front.

  Star’s eyes were filled with tears again. “I’m sorry for what my mom was going to do to you,” she said softly. “I didn’t want her to do it. I didn’t want her to shoot Geronimo. It wasn’t right. You’re our friends.” She began sniffling.

  “You bet we’re your friends,” Blade assured her. He leaned toward her.

  “Listen, Star. I’m very sorry about what happened to Rainbow. I wish there was time to give her a proper burial, but there isn’t. We must get out of here. The shooting and the explosion might attract other soldiers, or worse. Can you stop crying? Can you be strong? We must get Geronimo and take off. Okay?”

  Star struggled to compose her shattered emotions. “I’ll try my best, Blade.”

  “Good.” He reached for his door, staring thoughtfully at the toggle switches.

  “Is something wrong?” Star inquired, noting his gaze.

  “I was just wondering what the other three toggle switches do,” he replied.

  “Want to test them?” Star offered, reaching for the one marked F.

  “No!” Blade grabbed her hand before she could touch the switch. “We’ll discover the purpose for the F, S, and M after we return to the Home.”

  “You’re taking me back with you?” Star asked hopefully.

  “Of course.”

  “You won’t leave me here?”

  “Why would we do that?” Blade queried her.

  She lowered her head in shame. “After… after what my mom did, I thought…”

  “We’re not going to hold what your mom did against you,” Blade said, cutting her off. “You’re welcome to return with us. It’s up to you.”

  Star glanced up, smiling. “Thank you. I’d like to, very much.”

  “Good. Now stay put. I’m going to get Geronimo.” Blade opened the door. “And don’t touch anything,” he stressed over his left shoulder as he exited the transport, closing the door behind him.

  Dear Spirit! What was that awful stench?

  He alertly moved to the front of the SEAL. His right foot bumped something, and he stared at his feet, repulsed. The grisly remnant of an arm, from the elbow to the fingertips, was on the pavement, its skin charred and blistered, strips of burnt uniform still attached. He stepped over the arm and studied the grill.

  Nothing. No indication of the mechanism responsible for destroying the jeep and the soldiers.

  There must be a recessed compartment, Blade reasoned, hidden from casual view until one of the toggle switches was thrown, then covered again after the armament discharged. Perfect for foiling any unwanted inspection.

  One important question remained. Why wasn’t the SEAL’s weaponry mentioned in the Operation’s Manual they had discovered inside the transport after they had excavated the vault housing the vehicle? An answer occurred to him, and although it was sheer speculation and would be impossible to confirm, it seemed logical, even probable.

  Kurt Carpenter, the Home’s Founder and the money behind the development and construction of the SEAL, had deliberately buried the transport in a special chamber. He had been afraid some of the Family members might give in to temptation and steal the SEAL, perhaps to search for loved ones or relatives in distant cities who might have survived the war. Carpenter had hidden the transport before his selected couples arrived at the survival site. Thereafter, knowledge of the SEAL was passed by word of mouth from one Leader to another. It was customary for a Leader to choose a successor shortly after assuming office, and to privately relay the information concerning the transport. Carpenter intended for the SEAL to be used only when absolutely necessary, and it devolved to Plato, a century after Carpenter had secreted the vehicle, to decide that the premature senility was a bona fide emergency demanding the utilization of the SEAL.

  What if, Blade conjectured, there had been a breakdown in communications? What if one of the Leaders had failed to pass on the information about the armament in the transport? He tried to recall. Had any of early Leaders died soon after taking over the reins, perhaps before relaying word on the…

  Where was Geronimo?

  Blade faced the forest, scanning for movement, Geronimo was able to walk. He should have appeared by now. Surely he had seen what happened to the Citadel soldiers? So where…

  “Looking for something, yes?”

  Blade spun to his right, his fingers on the trigger of the Auto-Ordnance.

  Gremlin was calmly standing at the side of the highway, cradling Geronimo in his spindly arms. The creature’s neck and face bore vivid scorch marks, and the center of the neck was bleeding.

  “What have you done to him?” Blade demanded, gliding toward them.

  “Nothing, no,” Gremlin replied. “Found him, yes? Back in the trees.

  Think he’s hurt bad, yes?”

  Blade stopped three feet from the creature. “You expect me to believe you?”

  Gremlin’s expression saddened. “You do what you want, yes?” He lowered Geronimo and deposited him on the road, then wheeled and angrily stalked off, heading north.

  Blade glanced at Geronimo. He was breathing regularly, evidently passed out, possibly from his loss of blood.

  Gremlin was ten feet away.

  “Gremlin! Wait!”

  Gremlin ignored him and continued
walking.

  “Damn your pride, man! I said wait!”

  Gremlin suddenly froze, turning slowly. “What did you call me?” he asked in a low voice.

  “What?” What did it mean? “I said damn your pride, man, wait and talk to me a minute.”

  Gremlin covered the space between them in a rush, and before Blade could prevent him, he clasped Blade’s shoulders in his skinny hands and smiled. “Thank you, Warrior.”

  Blade was astounded by Gremlin’s reaction. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear there were tears in Gremlin’s eyes. “What did I do?”

  “Called me a man, yes? First to do so since… since operation.”

  “You mean to tell me…” Blade could scarcely believe it. “…you are a… man?”

  Gremlin nodded, his face a study in abject sorrow.

  “But how?”

  “Doktor,” Gremlin hissed between clenched teeth.

  “How could he do such a thing? It isn’t possible.”

  Gremlin motioned at his body. “Wish it weren’t, yes? Doktor is wicked, is evil, evil scientist. Chemistry his specialty. Performs vile experiments, yes?”

  Blade wanted more information on the nefarious Doktor, but a higher priority beckoned. “Gremlin, I want you to tell me more latter. Right now we’ve got to get out of here. Other soldiers might have heard the explosion and come to investigate. Will you give me a hand with Geronimo?”

  Gremlin placed his right hand on Blade’s left forearm in a gesture of friendship. “First, must tell, yes?” He touched his neck with his left hand.

  “You free me, yes?” he said in an awestruck manner. “Can hardly believe it. Freedom.” He visibly sobered. “Wanted to thank you from bottom of heart, yes? You saved Gremlin, no? Gremlin always in your debt.”

  Blade was touched by Gremlin’s evident sincerity. He felt an impulse to explain his original motive wasn’t to free Gremlin, but to kill him, then thought better of it. Why rock the boat when things were finally going his way?

  “Will you give me a hand?” Blade asked, bending over his fellow Warrior.

  Gremlin positioned his hands under Geronimo’s shoulders. “Where do we go from here?”

  We? Blade, about to lift Geronimo’s legs, glanced at Gremlin. “You want to come with me?”

  “Nowhere else to go, yes?” Gremlin replied succinctly.

  “What about the Citadel? Or anywhere else in the Civilized Zone?”

  “Doktor find there, yes? Doktor kill.”

  “You’re welcome to tag along with us,” Blade offered. “I saw a lot of the things we came here for in the back of our transport, so I’m heading for our Home. Do you want to go along?”

  Gremlin nodded, smiling. “Will go with, yes?” He paused, debating.

  “How will your people, the Family, react?”

  Blade carefully raised Geronimo from the ground, assisted by Gremlin.

  “Let me put it this way,” he said as they slowly walked toward the SEAL.

  “They’re in for a big surprise.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Still no sign of any tracks?”

  “Nothing man-made.”

  “I don’t like this. Something isn’t right.” Napoleon placed his hands on his hips and watched Seiko search for prints.

  “Are you sure we’re in the right area?” Spartacus inquired, his right hand on the hilt of his broadsword.

  “This is the spot,” Napoleon confirmed, scanning the nearby woods.

  “Plato told me one of the Omega Warriors on duty above the drawbridge spotted someone out here. He thought it might be another saboteur, possibly one of the Watchers spying on us. That’s why Plato sent us out here.”

  “Then there must be someone around here,” Spartacus stated.

  “Why can’t I find any tracks?” Seiko demanded. “I may not be as skilled a tracker as Geronimo, but I’m still one of the best in the Family.”

  “And one of the most modest,” Spartacus rejoined.

  “We must be a mile west of the Home by now,” Napoleon remarked.

  “We’ll keep going for another mile or so, but if we don’t find any sign by then, we’re turning back.” He motioned for them to follow and led off, going deeper into the forest. In addition to his revolver, he carried a Browning BPS Pump Shotgun.

  They proceeded cautiously, listening for any telltale foreign sounds.

  Napoleon was considering an attractive option. If there really was a Watcher out here, they might be able to capture him. Instead of taking him to the Home, a bargain might be struck. If the Watchers knew the Family leadership would be changing hands, they might be willing to agree to a truce or some form of working partnership. This little foray might be the break he needed to open negotiations with the Watchers.

  “Hold,” Seiko whispered.

  “What is it?” Napoleon asked.

  Seiko was intently scrutinizing the grass near his feet. “I thought I saw…” He shook his head. “No. It couldn’t be. I am mistaken.”

  “Sounds to me like you could use some practice,” Spartacus joked.

  They continued through a dense stand of trees and brush. Birds chirped overhead. All seemed peaceful enough.

  “If you ask me,” Spartacus commented, “we’re on a wild-goose chase.”

  The trees ended at a large clearing.

  Napoleon held his right hand aloft, signaling a halt. “When we get back,” he vowed, “the first thing I’m going to do is find out which of the Omega morons thought he saw someone out here and suggest he get his eyes examined by the Healers.”

  Spartacus, swinging his gaze to their right, suddenly tensed. “It looks like the Omega moron was right.”

  The others followed the direction of his stare.

  “I knew it,” Seiko said, an edge to his voice.

  Napoleon gawked for a moment, then hastily recovered his composure.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was standing twenty feet away, his katana, still in its scabbard, held low in both hands, near his knees. He wore loose-fitting black clothes similar to Seiko’s.

  “Hi, Rikki,” Napoleon greeted him. “Did Plato send you out here after the man the wall guard saw?”

  Rikki walked toward them. “Plato sent me out here, all right.”

  “I thought so.” Napoleon grinned.

  “After you,” Rikki stated flatly.

  Napoleon moved further into the clearing. “After us?” he pretended to be surprised. “Why? Did he think we couldn’t handle it by ourselves?”

  Rikki stopped ten feet from Gamma Triad. “You know the reason I am here,” he said quietly.

  “I do?”

  “I will not play word games with you, Napoleon,” Rikki declared. “I will give you one chance, and one chance only, to recant and renounce your scheme to take over the Family.”

  Napoleon, forsaking all subterfuge, smiled sardonically. “How damn decent of you.”

  “I do it for Plato,” Rikki clarified.

  “Does the old bastard think offering clemency will change anything?”

  Napoleon angrily asked.

  “He does,” Rikki nodded, then added, “but he doesn’t know how sick you are.”

  “And if I tell yon to kiss my ass?” Napoleon snapped.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi grinned. “Then I will kiss your ass.”

  “You will?”

  Rikki slowly drew the katana, the blade gleaming in the afternoon sun, and dropped the scabbard. “With this.”

  “You’re forgetting one thing, bright boy,” Napoleon mocked him.

  “What is that?”

  Napoleon beamed confidently. “There’s three of us, and only one of you.”

  “Uhhhhhh…” Spartacus interjected, glancing at Napoleon.

  “What is it?” Napoleon prompted him.

  “I have some news I don’t think you’re going to like,” Spartacus informed them.

  “Like what?” Napoleon queried, keeping his eyes on Rikki. What other weapons did Rikki usually inco
rporate in his personal arsenal? Would any of them stand a chance against a shotgun?

  Spartacus took a deep breath, girding his nerves. “There’s only two of you,” he corrected the count, “and one of him.”

  Napoleon whirled on Spartacus, his face reddening. “What?” he bellowed, enraged.

  “You heard me. Count me out,” Spartacus stated firmly. “I want no part of this.” He looked at Rikki. “I won’t help them, but I won’t help you either.

  I owe them that much. We’ve been together too long. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Perfectly,” Rikki responded.

  Napoleon’s lips curled into a snarl. “Why, you yellow bastard!” He began to level the shotgun at Spartacus.

  The broadsword was a blur as Spartacus whipped it from its scabbard.

  He took four quick steps and pressed the tip of the blade against Napoleon’s jugular. “Don’t even twitch,” he threatened the Gamma leader, “or I’ll take your head off!”

  Napoleon’s features were distorted by his unbridled fury. His mouth moved, but nothing came out.

  “Lower the shotgun to the ground,” Spartacus directed. “Slowly! One false move, if you so much as blink, I’ll ram this through your neck!”

  Napoleon complied, easing to a squatting position and setting the Browning on the grass.

  “Now back off,” Spartacus ordered.

  Napoleon rose and backed away about three feet.

  “Far enough,” Spartacus told him. “And don’t touch that revolver!” He looked at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “That’s as even as I can make it.”

  “I thank you,” Rikki said. “This is… unexpected.”

  “You wouldn’t be so surprised if you knew I was the one who informed Plato about Napoleon’s plans,” Spartacus revealed.

  “You? Plato said one of the Family overheard a conversation concerning the rebellion,” Rikki remarked.

  “He made that up,” Spartacus explained. “I told him I didn’t want anyone to know it was me, under any circumstances.” He sighed and stared at Napoleon. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

  “You traitor!” Napoleon roared, taking a menacing step toward Spartacus. “You lousy, stinking traitor! I thought I could trust you! After all the years we’ve spent as a team!”