Yellowstone Run

by David Robbins

  Harmon straightened and placed his right hand on the Martin resting on his thighs. “Yeah, I remember. So what?”

  Grinning triumphantly. Blade pointed at Priscilla Wendling. “There’s all the proof I need.”

  The scavenger snorted. “Big frigging deal. What are you going to do about it?”

  “By the authority vested in me by the Freedom Federation, I could take all of you into custody.”

  Harmon smirked. “You could try.”

  “We’re not going to bother,” Blade informed him.

  “You’re not?” Harmon stated sarcastically. “Why? Afraid of the odds?”

  “No,” Blade said slowly, giving the scavenger ample opportunity to comprehend his meaning before he even uttered the words, his level gaze boring into the man’s eyes, a smirk curling his mouth. “We’re going to kill you.”

  For a moment no one moved. The scavengers all tensed, waiting for their leader to react, and react he did.

  “You bastard!” Harmon roared, and tried to bring his rifle into play.

  Blade was ready. He simply elevated the Commando barrel and squeezed the trigger, feeling a supreme degree of grim satisfaction as the heavy slugs ripped into Harmon’s torso, stitching the big man from the navel to the neck. The impact catapulted Harmon from his saddle and he crashed onto the ground.

  Hickok, Geronimo, Achilles, and Eagle Feather cut loose as the rest of the scavengers snapped off shots.

  A few of the horses whinnied as they were accidentally hit. Other mounts were bucking or trying to flee, terrified by the gunfire, making it impossible for their riders to get a bead on the men on the rim.

  Blade dove, firing as he did, and saw another scavenger tumble to the turf. He rolled to the right, striving to present as difficult a target as he could, and glimpsed Geronimo likewise hitting the dirt. Bullets smacked into the earth within inches of his head. He halted on his stomach and aimed at a thin man on a roan, who looked in his direction just as he sent a half-dozen rounds into the scavenger’s chest.

  Five of the band suddenly took the offensive. They goaded their animals upward, shooting as they charged, several of them uttering frenzied whoops and inarticulate yells.

  Blade sighted on the scavenger in the lead and felt the Commando’s recoil when the machine gun blasted.

  Screeching, the rider fell to the slope and was kicked in the head by one of the other horses.

  The brunette had wheeled her mount and fled toward the river.

  Blade saw one of the scavengers coming toward him from the left, and he twisted to shoot before the rider did. He heard the booming of Achilles’ Bullpup, and the scavenger’s face erupted in a gory spray of flesh and blood.

  The man toppled from his mount.

  Human bodies and three dead or dying horses now littered the slope.

  Only four of the band were still alive, and two of them were endeavoring to turn their panicked animals and escape.

  Hickok suddenly raced toward the four scavengers, his rifle discarded, a Colt Python in each hand. The revolvers spoke twice. In an uncanny, consummately lethal display of ambidextrous precision, he shot all four.

  As always, he went for the head. As always, four men fell with slugs in their brains.

  A heavy silence descended on the hill.

  “What a bunch of wimps,” Hickok remarked, and twirled the Pythons into their holsters.

  “We were lucky,” Geronimo said, rising slowly, his eyes roving over the sprawled forms, checking for signs of life.

  “Luck had nothin’ to do with it,” Hickok observed. “It was skill. They couldn’t shoot straight worth beans.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Achilles declared.

  Everyone swung toward the man in the red cloak, who was kneeling alongside Priscilla Wendling.

  “How bad is she?” Blade asked, hurrying over to them.

  The Mormon woman was flat on her back, her face distorted in pain, a growing red stain on her right shoulder. “They nailed me good,” she said hoarsely.

  “Check her,” Blade told Achilles, then pivoted. “Hickok, Geronimo, make sure the scavengers are all dead.”

  “And if we find one alive?” the gunman asked.

  “You know what to do.”

  Hickok grinned. “My pleasure, pard.”

  “I’ll put the horses out of their misery,” Geronimo said.

  “Go ahead,” Blade said, then abruptly realized one of their own was unaccounted for and turned to the north.

  Eagle Feather stood eight yards away, his Winchester at his side, his posture slightly stooped. He stared at the grass with a peculiar expression.

  “Are you all right?” Blade inquired, moving toward the Flathead.

  “I don’t know,” Eagle Feather answered, and shifted so the giant could see the bullet hole in his left thigh. “They nailed me too.”

  “Sit down,” Blade instructed him. “We’ll dress the wound.”

  Grimacing and grunting, the Flathead lowered himself to the turf with the Warrior’s assistance. “Just patch me up the best you can. I can’t afford to let this slow me down. I must find Morning Dew, Little Mountain, and Black Elk.”

  “We’ll hunt for them in the morning,” Blade said. “For now, take off your pants.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  Eagle Feather nodded at Priscilla Wendling. “I can’t take my pants off.”

  “Why not?”

  “She might see me.”

  “So?”

  “I have nothing to cover my privates.”

  “The shy type, huh?” Blade joked to put Eagle Feather at ease, and straightened: He walked to the spot where he had left his vest and the damp T-shirt and picked up both. Which one should he lend to Eagle Feather? He opted for the T-shirt. There was no way he’d ever wear the vest again if another man used it to cover his genitals. “Here we go,” he stated, returning. “Use this. It’s a little wet.” He tossed the T-shirt to the Flathead.

  “Thank you.”

  Three shots sounded from the slope.

  Blade stepped to the edge and saw Geronimo standing over a black stallion. He could tell by the stocky Warrior’s countenance that Geronimo did not enjoy disposing of the animals.

  Hickok was prodding one of the fallen scavengers with his left toe. “Hey, this cow chip is still kickin’,” he announced. His right Colt materialized in his hand and he thumbed the hammer. The revolver cracked, and the scavenger’s head seemed to bounce up and down. “Not any more,” the gunfighter said.

  Leaning the Commando against his right leg, Blade donned the torn vest and gazed out over the valley. Far off, on the other side of the Lamar River, riding to the southeast, was the brunette. He wondered what she would do now that she was by herself.

  “Blade!” Achilles called.

  The giant turned and walked to Priscilla’s side. “What’s the verdict?”

  “See for yourself,” Achilles replied, the Amazon in his right hand.

  Blade squatted, noting the woman’s brown shirt had been cut open at the shoulder, revealing a neat, crimson-rimmed bullet hole an inch below the collarbone. “Is the slug still in there?”

  “I found an exit hole,” Achilles reported. “None of her major arteries or veins have been severed.”

  “Then we’ll get a fire going and cauterize the wound,” Blade proposed.

  “We’ll do her and Eagle Feather both.”

  “Cauterize,” Priscilla repeated timidly. “Will it hurt? I have a very low threshold for pain.”

  “Would you rather develop an infection and die from gangrene?”

  “No.”

  “Then we’ll cauterize the bullet hole. And yes, it’ll hurt like crazy.”

  Priscilla looked into his eyes. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”

  “Not where lives are concerned.”

  “I should thank you for saving me from Harmon.”

  “No problem. Exterminating scavengers is our special
ty,” Blade said, and grinned. “Were any members of the band missing, out on a raid or whatever?”

  “No,” Priscilla replied. “You got all of them.”

  “No, we didn’t,” Blade corrected her. “Another woman got away. Who was she?”

  “That would be Milly Odum. She was captured by those scum when she was only ten, and she’s been with them ever since.”

  “Did she take part in the killing?”

  “Milly? No way. Harmon made her the band’s slave. She had to do anything any of the men told her, even sleep with a different bastard every night.”

  “The poor woman,” Achilles interjected.

  “Maybe we should round up one of the horses and send someone after her,” Blade suggested.

  “Milly would just run away from you,” Priscilla said. “She doesn’t trust a soul, or she didn’t until she met me. The trauma turned her into a frightened rabbit. She’s afraid of her own shadow.”

  “We can’t leave her out there alone.”

  “Patch me up, and tomorrow I’ll ride over to the camp Harmon set up and talk to her. She’ll come back with me.”

  “We’ll go with you,” Blade stated. “And while we’re there, we’ll look for the body of the guy with the Earring. They didn’t have time to bury it, so it must be somewhere between this hill and the scavenger camp. It’ll draw predators like garbage draws flies.”

  “You mean Silas. He was the one your friend with the fancy revolvers shot.”

  “Hickok is my friend’s name,” Blade disclosed. He stood and started toward Eagle Feather. “Stay with her, Achilles.”

  “Gladly.”

  The giant stared at the Flathead’s bare leg as he approached. Eagle Feather had removed the buckskin leggings and strategically positioned the T-shirt over his loins. “Let me have a look,” Blade said.

  “Be my guest.”

  Kneeling down, Blade carefully examined the hole. From the size, about the width of this thumb, he decided a large-caliber rifle had done the job.

  Blood still flowed copiously, which wasn’t a good sign. “Can you lift your leg a bit?”

  “Certainly,” Eagle Feather responded. He gritted his teeth and painfully elevated his left thigh.

  Blade felt relief at finding the point where the bullet had emerged, just underneath the left buttock. They wouldn’t need to operate to remove the slug. But the continued blood loss worried him. Eagle Feather could very well bleed to death if the flow wasn’t stopped. “Don’t move,” he cautioned.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Smiling, Blade hurried to the rim and observed Geronimo and Hickok attempting to round up the stray mounts. He jogged down the slope toward them. “Forget the horses. Come here.”

  The gunfighter and the Blackfoot took one look and came to meet the giant halfway.

  “What’s up, pard?” Hickok inquired.

  “Eagle Feather will die if we don’t stop the bleeding,” Blade informed them. “And Priscilla needs her wound cauterized. We have to get a fire going right away. Geronimo, you take care of that. Hickok, start to work on that buck. A good meal will have everyone feeling terrific.”

  Hickok nodded at three horses 40 feet away. “They’ll likely wander off if we don’t catch them now.”

  “It can’t be helped. Eagle Feather and Priscilla are more important.”

  “We’re on our way,” Geronimo said, and sprinted off.

  The gunman hesitated.

  “Is something wrong?” Blade asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t rightly know,” Hickok declared, and frowned. He gazed at the plain below. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like that time we were in the Twin Cities and all those blamed Wacks were watchin’ us, only we didn’t know it at first.”

  Blade had learned to trust the gunfighter’s instincts. He scanned their surroundings but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “If there is something out there, I doubt we’ll have to worry until after the sun goes down.”

  Hickok glanced at the sun, which was descending toward the western horizon, and nodded. “I reckon so.” He headed for the summit. “I’d best tell Geronimo to make that a big fire.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  An hour after sunset the air became cool thanks to a stiff breeze from the west, a breeze that fanned the flickering red and orange flames and sent fiery sparks wafting into the atmosphere.

  Blade sat on the south side of the fire, his arms looped around is legs, his chin resting on his knees, and pondered their predicament. The fire and the roast venison had done wonders for Priscilla and Eagle Feather and aided their recovery after the grueling cauterization. Blade had done the honors himself, using a red-hot firebrand on both of them, inserting the thin, glowing stick into their bullet holes as far as it would go, first from the front and then from the rear. Priscilla had tried her best, but the agony had caused her to cry out and swoon. Eagle Feather, to his credit, had refused to scream the first time, although he had broken into a sweat and trembled as if suffering from a grave illness. But when the first attempt had failed to staunch the loss of blood, Blade had reheated the firebrand and tried once more, inserting the stick even farther, and the Flathead had succumbed to the torment and passed out. The second cauterization had been successful.

  The Warrior stared at the two of them, lying to the north of the blazing wood Geronimo had gathered earlier, and nodded. They should both live.

  He’d allowed them to rest for half an hour after the operation, until the venison had been cooked, then aroused them to partake of the succulent meat. Now they were both conversing with Achilles, who seemed to have attached himself to the Mormon woman. From the way Priscilla kept touching his arm and leaning close to him, she reciprocated fully. Blade grinned at the sight. He’d have to take Achilles aside after they returned to the Home and talk to the “true gentleman” about conducting a romance while on duty.

  Novices!

  Blade leaned back and looked at Hickok, who sat on his right, then rotated his head until he spied Geronimo, who was on guard duty and walking the perimeter.

  The full moon had risen 40 minutes ago.

  “Tomorrow we’ll see if we can catch any of the horses and begin sweeping the area for sign of the Bear People,” Blade said conversationally.

  “The who?” Priscilla asked.

  “Mutations. They abducted Eagle Feather’s wife and two sons. The reason we’re in Yellowstone is to find them and eliminate them,” Blade explained.

  “What do they look like?”

  “No one knows for sure.”

  “I caught a glimpse of them,” the Flathead disclosed. “I only know they are big and hairy and very, very clever.”

  “I wonder if they were involved in the disappearance of two of Harmon’s men,” Priscilla remarked.

  Blade peered at her through the flames. “Two of his men vanished?”

  “Yep. About a week ago. We never found a trace of them, but we did discover one of their horses. It had been partially eaten.”

  “Were any strange tracks found at the scene?” Blade asked.

  “Not that I know of.”

  Could there be a connection? Blade wondered. The Bear People might have been responsible for the disappearance of the pair of scavengers, but a wild beast could just as well have done the job. He speculated on whether he had miscalculated. Maybe the creatures had already passed through the Lamar Valley and were now somewhere in central or southern Wyoming. If he’d—

  “Blade! Hickok!” Geronimo suddenly shouted.

  The giant leaped to his feet, grabbing the Commando as he stood. “Stay put,” he directed the others, then nodded at the gunman and together they ran to their friend.

  Geronimo was standing on the southeast side of the summit, the FNC cradled loosely, staring at something in the distance.

  “What is it, pard?” Hickok asked.

  “Did you hear something?” Blade added.

  �
��I see something,” Geronimo informed them. “A fire, to be precise.” He lifted his right hand and pointed.

  Blade spied the campfire before Geronimo’s arm was extended. A solitary beacon of light in a virtual sea of shadowy landscape, the roaring blaze appeared to be three times the size of their own. He estimated the fire to be situated in the general vicinity of the slain buffalo. “It must be the other woman, Milly Odum,” he commented.

  “What the blazes is she tryin’ to do?” Hickok questioned. “Set the countryside on fire?”

  “She’s probably scared being all by herself,” Geronimo guessed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she keeps mat fire going all night.”

  “How about if I mosey on down there and try and persuade her to join us?” Hickok proposed. “She shouldn’t be all by her lonesome in a wilderness like this.”

  “You’d have to cover over three miles,” Blade noted.

  “So? I’m not afraid of the dark,” Hickok responded. “Besides, with the full moon and all, it’s not that bad.”

  Blade debated for a moment. “No, we’ll all go in the morning. Priscilla told me that Odum will take off if we try to get near her, and we don’t want her roaming around at night.”

  “Suit yourself,” Hickok said with a shrug.

  “One of us will relieve you in a few hours,” Blade said to Geronimo. He turned and took a few strides, then froze when his ears registered the far off sound.

  A scream.

  A primal, wavering, almost eerie scream, the unmistakable cry of a terrified woman, faint yet compelling in its intensity.

  “Dear Spirit!” Geronimo exclaimed. . “I knew it,” Hickok declared. “One of us should get down there, pronto.”

  Blade stepped to the crest and stared at the campfire. He thought he saw indistinct forms pass in front of the flames, but he couldn’t be certain.

  “I’ll go.”

  “Why you?” Hickok asked.

  “Because rightfully it’s my job. I’m the representative of the entire Federation in my capacity as the head of the Force,” Blade said, feeling a twinge of guilt. If that woman had been a Family member, he would have gone after her. “I should have tried to contact her earlier. You were right.”