The Kalispell Run

by David Robbins

  Moles were cautiously emerging from the woods. One of them, the apparent leader, held a rifle barrel to Wally’s head.

  Six. Seven. Nine. Ten counting the guy shoving Wally. Hickok took a step to his left, away from Sherry.

  One of the Moles fired his rifle, the slug narrowly missing the gunfighter’s moccasins.

  “I warned you not to move,” the tall leader reiterated. “Do it again and we’ll finish you off right here and now, no matter what Wolfe wants.”

  “My compliments to Wolfe,” Hickok said, grinning.

  “This shows real finesse. I didn’t think he had it in him.”

  “Shut your face!” the tall Mole ordered. “We could care less what you think. Drop your weapons. Now!”

  “Sorry, Hickok,” Wally apologized. “They caught me by surprise.” His hands were raised over his head and he was unarmed.

  “Quiet!” the leader snapped, ramming his rifle barrel into Wally’s lower back.

  Wally grimaced and doubled over, clutching his back.

  Perfect! Now he had a better shot. Hickok slowly inched his body sideways.

  The tall Mole was glaring at Wally. “You speak when you’re spoken to, and not before!”

  Six of the Moles sported rifles, the rest handguns. They encircled their prisoners, but only five of the ten actually had their guns aimed at the three in the middle of the clearing.

  Doubly perfect! Hickok almost laughed. The Moles were confident in their superior numbers, and some of them manifested an air of nonchalance, evidently convinced there wouldn’t be any resistance.

  Were they in for a surprise!

  “Drop your guns!” the leader angrily demanded. “I won’t say it again!” he threatened.

  Sherry released the Henry and it fell to the ground.

  Shane dropped his rifle and reached for his pistol.

  “When I move,” Hickok whispered, “you two hit the dirt.”

  Shane held the pistol in his right hand.

  “Toss it,” Hickok said out of the corner of his mouth.

  Shane, puzzled, looked at Hickok.

  “I’m waiting!” the tall Mole barked.

  “Toss it!” Hickok hissed. “Up!”

  Shane glanced at Sherry, shrugged, and obeyed. He flipped the pistol into the air.

  It was the moment Hickok needed.

  The Moles, taken unawares by this unforeseen maneuver, automatically fixed their attention on the pistol, watching the weapon fly end over end upward. For an instant, their collective gaze was distracted from their intended captives.

  In a blur of motion, Hickok drew his Colt Pythons, thankful the night was dark, limiting their reaction time. In the three seconds it took the Moles to wake up to the ruse played on them, the Family’s pre-eminent gunman fired four times.

  Hickok’s first shot took out the tall Mole, the leader of the ambush, catching him in the forehead and flipping him backward.

  The second shot downed the Mole on the leader’s right.

  Hickok continued his turn, going for the head as he invariably did, felling two more Moles.

  Sherry dived for the Henry as the Moles opened fire. Something buzzed near her head as she grabbed the 44-40, quickly sighted, and pulled the trigger. The big gun boomed, jarring her shoulder. One of the Moles was flung four feet to the ground.

  Shane experienced a stinging sensation in his left arm and knew he’d been creased. He used his right hand to snatch the pistol as it descended, whirling and firing three times at the nearest foe.

  The blasting of the gunfire attained a staggering intensity, becoming a thunderous din, deafening to the ear, shattering the serenity of the night and startling all the wildlife for a mile in every direction.

  Then abrupt silence.

  The perimeter of the clearing was littered with bodies contorted in the throes of violent death. An acrid, burning odor filled the air.

  Hickok, his Pythons held at waist level, searched the Moles for any indication of life.

  There was none.

  “Anyone hit?” Hickok asked, reluctant to glance at Sherry for fear she was a casualty of the conflict.

  “I’m in one piece.” Her voice floated up to him, and relief washed over him like a cold bath on a hot day. She rose, staring in amazement at the Moles. “We did it! I don’t believe it!”

  “I was hit,” Shane announced. “Looks like a nick, is all.”

  Wally was still doubled over, his hands on his back, his mouth slack.

  “You can stand now, pard,” Hickok said. “I want to thank you for your assistance.”

  Wally slowly straightened. “Any time,” he mumbled, dazed.

  “Better get your guns and skedaddle,” Hickok advised. “More Moles are bound to show up.”

  Wally absently retrieved his firearms and walked to the edge of the woods. “I’ll never forget you!” he said, and was gone.

  “Still think you can make a pact with Wolfe?” Sherry queried.

  “Won’t hurt to try,” Hickok replied, scanning the trees. “We’d better vamoose. Can you wait a spell for the rest of those kisses?”

  Sherry pouted at him. “When do I get them?”

  “As soon as we return to the Home,” Hickok assured her.

  “Can we run?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Family held it wildest celebration in anyone’s memory.

  Blade, Geronimo, Gremlin, and Star arrived at the Home a day after Hickok, Sherry, and Shane. Their collective homecoming prompted Plato to announce a special holiday. He was particularly elated because, with the generator taken from the Watchers in Thief River Falls and the equipment Geronimo had found in Kalispell, he was confident the Elders would discover the cause of the premature senility and a cure. Gremlin, claiming he knew something about the source of the senility, offered his assistance. The Family, while initially shocked by Gremlin’s appearance, soon accepted him into the fold, especially the younger children. They followed him everywhere, besieging him with constant questions and marveling at his features. Gremlin was thrilled at all the attention.

  Geronimo was treated by the Healers. They pronounced him well enough to participate in the festivities, but advised him to take it easy.

  Jenny smothered Blade with kisses and clung to him throughout the party.

  Shane received a verbal tongue-lashing from his father and the Elders, but after Hickok stood up in his defense, extolling his courage and endurance, they desisted.

  Jane, Shane’s girlfriend, professed her undying devotion for her “hero.”

  The object of her admiration was confounded by his reception. He decided Hickok was right in his assessment of the opposite gender. Women were strange.

  Nadine, Plato’s wife, took Star under her wing.

  Toward midnight, three figures detached themselves from the laughter and the fun, the food and the drink, and walked to C Block, the infirmary, to visit the one Family member not able to attend the jubilee.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, reclining on a cot in a spacious room lit by a dozen candles, looked up as Alpha Triad entered the room.

  “Sorry it took us so long to come see you,” Blade remarked. “You wouldn’t believe how busy we’ve been.”

  “I understand,” Rikki informed him, smiling. “I am pleased you came, but shouldn’t you be with the others?”

  “They won’t miss us for a spell,” Hickok said. “They’re singing and dancing and generally making fools of themselves.”

  “How are you?” Geronimo solicitously inquired, staring at the bandage covering Rikki’s neck.

  “Napoleon came close,” Rikki replied. “They tell me another inch and I would be in the worlds on high.”

  “The Family doesn’t seem upset about Napoleon,” Blade mentioned.

  “They’ve taken the news of his defection in stride.”

  “Once they learned of his plans,” Rikki said, “all sympathy for the rebel died with him.” He pointed at Geronimo’s bandaged shoulder. “How are you do
ing?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Geronimo answered. “It’s not too serious.”

  “Speaking of Chrome Dome,” Hickok interjected, “they tell me you drove your fingers through his eye socket into his brain. Nice touch.”

  “I can’t remember,” Rikki admitted. “It’s all a blur.”

  “Yama and Teucer told us they thought you were dead when they found you,” Geronimo commented, referring to the other Warriors from Rikki’s Beta Triad.

  Blade strolled to the doorway and stared outside. “Listen to them. They’re having the time of their lives.”

  “They deserve it, pard,” Hickok stated. “I bet those Citadel creeps you told us about won’t leave us alone for long.

  “Well be ready for them when they come,” Geronimo vowed.

  “Yeah.” Blade glanced at Hickok. “Plato likes the idea of an alliance with the Moles, if it can be arranged. We still must travel to the Twin Cities again and bring back those people who want to join us.” He paused, reflecting. “At the rate we’re going, we could end up with a genuine confederation on our hands.”

  “Wouldn’t the Watchers be surprised!” Geronimo deduced.

  “All these folks backing our play is well and good,” Hickok declared, “but when it gets right down to it, the only ones I really trust to protect the Family, the only ones we can completely rely on, are the Warriors.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” Geronimo grinned. “The safest, most boring occupation anyone could ask for.”

  Blade, his arms folded across his massive chest, nodded. “Reminds me of something we read in one of the books in the library when we were kids.

  How did it go? Oh, yes. All for one and one for all.”

  “You got it, pard,” Hickok said, walking to the doorway and standing next to Blade. He nodded at Rikki. “I’ll come visit you again tomorrow,” he pledged.

  “I heard about your new… companion,” Rikki stated. “Why don’t you bring her along? I’d like to meet her.”

  “Will do.” Hickok stepped outside onto the front steps.

  “Going somewhere?” Blade casually inquired.

  “You better believe it,” Hickok replied. “I have some serious kissin’ to attend to, and my lips are rarin’ to go.”

  “Need any help?” Geronimo offered, and the others laughed.

  Hickok faced them, perched on the threshold, affectionately gazing at his three closest friends, and patted his Colts. “Thanks for wanting to help, but I can handle this mission by my lonesome. It’ll be a piece of cake. If I run into a mutate, though, I’ll be sure and give a yell.”

  “If you bump into a mutate in the dark,” Geronimo quipped, “the poor thing would probably die of fright.”

  Hickok, grinning, turned, inhaling the cool night air. He strolled toward the joyous gathering, reflecting. All for one, and one for all. It would make a dandy motto for the Warriors. He recalled another saying, a phrase imprinted on a wooden plaque hanging on one of the walls in his parents’ cabin when he was a child, and for the first time he experienced a real appreciation for the words and their meaning.

  There’s no place like Home.

  THE END… FOR NOW