Liberty Run

by David Robbins

  The driver and the other Russian exchanged glances. “You will need to come with us,” the driver said.

  “Like hell I will!” Nick rejoined belligerently.

  “You must come with us, comrade,” the driver persisted.

  “Why?” Nick inquired.

  The driver and the second soldier walked toward the old man. They believed he was intoxicated, harmless, and in one respect they were correct. But in another, they were wrong.

  “Please,” the driver said, “do not resist! Public drunkenness is not permitted.”

  Nick straightened. “What about dyin’?”

  The driver detected a movement to his left, and he spun, going for the automatic pistol on his right hip. His fingers were closing on the grips when other fingers clamped onto his neck. Powerful fingers, with a grip of steel. He caught a glimpse of a giant in uniform, and then he was bodily lifted from the sidewalk.

  The second trooper saw the giant spring on the driver, and he went for his own gun.

  Sundance sprang from the shadows, his arms swinging the FN barrel up and around, ramming the barrel into the second soldier’s throat. The soldier gagged, doubling over, and Sundance smashed the barrel against his head twice in swift succession. The soldier gasped and fell to his knees.

  Sundance drew back his right leg, then planted his right foot on the tip of the soldier’s chin. The soldier flipped onto his back, blood spurting from his crushed teeth, oblivious to the world. Sundance glanced at Blade.

  The head Warrior, his Commando slung over his left shoulder, was holding the driver’s neck in his right hand and the driver’s midsection in his left, while supporting the trooper in the air above his head. The Russian was kicking and wheezing, his brown eyes bulging. Blade suddenly brought his massive arms straight down, and the driver’s head produced a sickening crunching sound as it struck the sidewalk.

  “Nice job,” Nick complimented them.

  Blade glanced at the mouth of an alley 20 yards off. “Let’s stash them in there,” he suggested. Suiting action to words, he stooped over and gripped the driver by the collar. “Hurry.”

  The two Warriors hastily deposited the soldiers in the alley, secreting the Russians behind a row of trash cans.

  “That should do it,” Blade said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Blade and Sundance jogged to the idling jeep. As Blade was about to slide in, he stopped and looked around. “Where’s Nick?”

  Sundance swiveled. “I don’t see him,” he said.

  “Damn!” Blade spat in annoyance. What the hell had happened to the Freeb? “We can’t wait!” He eased into the jeep.

  “Move it, dummy!” declared a voice from the rear.

  Blade twisted.

  Nick was hunched over in the narrow back seat. “You’d best take off! We’ve been lucky so far! I didn’t see anyone lookin’ out their window. Haul ass before we’re spotted!”

  Sundance climbed into the jeep.

  “We can’t take you with us,” Blade said to Nick.

  “What’s with you?” Nick demanded. “One second you’re actin’ like you’re goin’ to piss your pants because you can’t find me, the next you’re bootin’ me out on my can.”

  “I told you before,” Blade reminded the Freeb. “We agreed you could come with us as far as Norristown and that was it.”

  Nick leaned forward. “I didn’t agree to nothin! And I haven’t had this much fun in years! I’m comin’ with you, unless you up and toss me out.

  And you’d best get your ass in gear. Someone’s liable to peep out at us at any moment. And that Commie on the gate might be wonderin’ what happened to this jeep.”

  Blade glanced at Sundance.

  “Bring him,” Sundance recommended. “He might come in handy.”

  Blade, annoyed, executed a tight U-turn and drove to the wide avenue.

  True to Nick’s prediction, the gate guard was standing near the northwest corner, gazing in their direction. Blade waved at the guard, hoping his features were invisible in the dark interior of the jeep.

  “That’s a nice touch,” Nick commented. “He’ll think you’re his buddy.”

  Blade took a right.

  “Don’t forget to stop at the red light,” Nick stated.

  Blade braked at the first intersection.

  “So where are we goin’?” Nick asked.

  Blade sighed. “Philadelphia.”

  “Philly?” Nick chuckled. “I know Philly like the back of my hand.”

  “I thought you would,” Sundance interjected, grinning.

  “What’s in Philly?” Nick inquired.

  Blade twisted and glared at the Freeb.

  “Fine,” Nick remarked. “I can take a hint. Go straight.”

  The light turned green, and Blade drove straight.

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” Nick said. “I’ll direct you to the turnpike, and we’ll be in Philly before you know it.”

  “How long will it take?” Blade asked.

  “We should be there by dawn,” Nick replied. “Of course, it would help if I knew exactly where you want to go.”

  “I’m not exactly sure,” Blade confessed.

  “Oh, that’s brilliant!” Nick scoffed. “You go to all the trouble of infiltratin’ the Commie lines, you swipe one of their jeeps, and you don’t know where the hell you want to go? What do you boys use for brains?

  Sewage?”

  Blade’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He felt uncomfortable for several reasons. First, he didn’t like having Nick along. But the elderly Freeb had served them well, so far, and he might really know Philadelphia like the back of his hand. Secondly, he felt awkward driving the jeep. He’d used a vehicle with a manual shift before, when he’d driven some of the trucks and jeeps the Family had appropriated during the war with the Doktor and Samuel II. But he usually drove the SEAL, and the vast difference was oddly discomfiting. Finally, a vague, worrisome sensation was nagging at his mind. Something was subliminally bothering him, and he was peeved because he couldn’t isolate and identify the reason.

  “Don’t you have a clue what you’re lookin’ for?” Nick queried.

  “Did you happen to hear about an attack on—” Blade began.

  “Those hairy weirdos in the wooden ships?” Nick exclaimed. “Yeah.

  Everybody was talkin’ about ’em for a while. They had the Commies pretty rattled, I heard.”

  “I’ll bet,” Sundance commented. He gazed out the rear window.

  “So what about ’em?” Nick asked.

  “We want to find them,” Blade said, then elaborated. “We know the Soviets captured twelve of those invaders, those Vikings. We know the Russians are holding them at a detention facility in Philadelphia. And we want to find them.”

  “How’d you learn all this?” Nick inquired.

  “That’ll have to be our secret,” Blade responded.

  “Well, I don’t know as I can be of much help,” Nick said. “I don’t have the slightest idea where the Commies are holdin’ the ones you want.”

  “Do you know where they might be held? Where the detention facilities are located?” Blade probed.

  Nick contemplated for a minute. “I might be of some help, after all. I know the Commies built a big detention place in northwest Philly, in Fairmont Park, right off the Schuykill Expressway. It’s near the Schuykill River.”

  “Then we’ll try there first,” Blade said.

  “I don’t get it,” Nick stated. “What are these Vikings to you guys?”

  “Nothing,” Blade answered.

  “Then why do you want to find them?” Nick asked.

  Sundance twisted in his seat. “You sure are the curious type, aren’t you?”

  Nick shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  Sundance jerked his thumb toward his window. “What was that bridge we just went over?”

  “It goes over the Schuykill River,” Nick revealed.

  “The same river near
the detention facility?” Blade queried.

  “Yep.”

  “Any chance of us following the river into Philadelphia?” Blade inquired.

  “Nope.”

  “Why not?” Blade pressed.

  “Because the roads don’t follow the Schuykill, dummy,” Nick disclosed.

  “Our best bet would be to take the Schuykill Expressway all the way in. It sticks close to the river most of the way.”

  “Can you direct us there?” Blade asked.

  “No problem,” Nick asserted.

  “We do have one problem,” Sundance remarked.

  “Oh? What’s that?” Blade replied.

  “We’re being tailed,” Sundance said.

  Blade glanced in the rearview mirror. A pair of headlights was in their lane, perhaps 500 yards distant.

  “They pulled out of the garrison as we were going over the bridge,” Sundance said. “They didn’t even stop for a red light at the intersection.”

  Nick chuckled. “Sharp eyes you’ve got there, Sundance.”

  Sundance looked at Nick. “I don’t miss much.”

  “We’ve got to lose them,” Blade stated.

  “Whatever we’re going to do,” Sundance declared, “we’d better do quickly.”

  “Why?” Blade asked.

  Sundance was gazing over his left shoulder. “Because they’re gaining on us.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You should get some sleep,” Bertha said.

  “I’m too excited to sleep!” Libby stated happily.

  “Me, too,” Cole added.

  They were seated at the wooden table in the cabin, a lantern in the center of the tabletop diffusing a soft yellow light throughout the room.

  The rest of the Claws were asleep, curled up on blankets on the floor.

  “Do you really think they’ll take us?” Libby queried in a low voice.

  “They took me, didn’t they?” Bertha replied.

  “Believe me, girl. The Family are the nicest bunch of folks you’d ever want to meet. We may have to cram the SEAL to the max, but Blade will agree to take you to the Home. I promise you.”

  “This Blade you’ve been telling us about,” Cole said. “What’s he like?”

  “He’s a righteous dude,” Bertha stated. “One of my best friends. He’s got more muscles than anyone else I know. And he’s tricky.”

  “Tricky?” Cole repeated.

  “I don’t know how else to describe him,” Bertha said. “He doesn’t look like the brainy type, but he fools you. Just when you think you’ve got him figured out, he catches you off guard. I guess clever is the word for Blade.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Cole said.

  Libby scanned the sleeping Claws. “But will there be enough room in this SEAL of yours for all of us?”

  Bertha surveyed the children. “I don’t know,” she acknowledged. “We might need to throw out some of our supplies. But we’ll find a way. Trust me.”

  Libby stared at Bertha. “I haven’t trusted anyone for years.”

  Bertha frowned. “How do you make a go of it? Where do you find your food?”

  “We do a lot of hunting and fishing,” Cole detailed. “And we steal whatever we can get our hands on. We raid the nearby houses. Scrounge here and there.”

  Bertha nodded at a row of eight AK-47’s leaning against the wall near the front door. “Where’d you get all the hardware?”

  “Hunters,” Cole answered.

  Bertha whistled. “You Claws must be real good if you wasted that many Hunters.”

  “We get lots of practice,” Cole stated. “They send in about a Hunter a month.” He paused. “Funny.”

  “What is?” Bertha asked.

  “The Hunters,” Cole said. “Why do the fucking Russians only send in a Hunter at a time? Why not send in an army, and clean up Valley Forge in one day? And why do the Hunters only kill one Packrat, then split?”

  “What?” Bertha leaned on her elbows on the table.

  “That’s what they do,” Cole clarified. “They rack one Packrat, then leave. Four months ago Milly and Tommy were out picking berries. A damn Hunter popped up and blasted Tommy. Then he walked over to Milly, tickled her under the chin, and left.”

  “Why would he do that?” Bertha queried in surprise.

  “Cole has an idea,” Libby said.

  “What is it?” Bertha prompted Cole.

  The Claw leader gazed fondly at the slumbering Claws. “I think the Russians are using us as some kind of training exercise for their soldiers. I don’t think they want to wipe us out. I think they’re playing games with us, killing us off one at a time. Hell! They know we’re here! And they don’t usually let rebels keep on living. I know! They butchered my father and mother because my parents hated their guts!”

  Bertha considered the theory. In a perverse sort of way, it made sense.

  The Russians knew the orphaned, homeless kids were flocking to Valley Forge, yet did nothing to stop the influx. Cole had said earlier that the Russians used disguises, even befriended some of the Packrats before slaughtering them. Why else would the Soviets go to so much trouble, unless the soldiers, probably their top commandoes, were honing their deadly skills on the lives of the Packrats? She stared at Cole with new respect.

  “If we can get them out of here,” Cole said, motioning toward the Claws, “I’ll be the happiest man alive.”

  Bertha almost laughed at his use of the word “man.” She stopped herself, though. Cole’s parents, as Plato would say, had passed on to the higher mansions. Rather than submit to the Soviets, Cole had opted to resist. And now he was responsible for the lives of 15 others, for insuring they didn’t starve to death and weren’t killed by the Hunters, the mutants, or other Packrats. Perhaps he did qualify as a man, after all. “How many other Packrat gangs are there in Valley Forge?” she asked him.

  “Four I know of,” Cole replied. “Maybe a few more. We each have our own turf to protect. The Bobcats are the closest to us, to the south a ways.

  We have run-ins with them all the time.”

  “Why don’t all of you band together?” Bertha inquired. “There’s strength in numbers.”

  “Band together?” Cole said. “I don’t know. No one’s ever thought of it, I guess. Besides, everybody shoots first and asks questions later. If I tried to make the peace with, say, the Bobcats, I’d be shot before I could even open my mouth.”

  “Sounds to me like you Packrats are playin’ into the Soviets’ hands,” Bertha mentioned.

  “There’s nothing I can do about it,” Cole stated. “It’s been this way since before I came here.”

  “How long have you been here?” Bertha asked.

  “Three years,” Cole answered. “I wandered into Valley Forge after splitting from Phoenixville.”

  “How’d you hook up with the Claws?” Bertha probed.

  “They were the first Packrats to find me,” Cole said. “That’s the way it usually works. Strays are taken in by the first group they come across.”

  Bertha shook her head. “I’m telling you! You bozos would do a lot better if you got organized. I used to belong to a gang in the Twin Cities, and I know what I’m talkin’ about.”

  “You were in a gang?” Libby asked.

  “Shhhhh!” Cole abruptly hissed.

  Bertha glanced at the windows. Daylight was still an hour or two away, and the forest outside was shrouded in inky gloom.

  “What is it?” Libby queried nervously.

  Cole turned in his wooden chair and stared at the closed door. “I don’t know. I thought I heard something.”

  “Could one of the other gangs, like the Bobcats, be sneakin’ up on you?” Bertha inquired.

  Libby shook her head. “No one goes out in the woods at night. It’s too dangerous. The Packrats always hole up after dark.”

  “What about the Hunters?” Bertha remarked.

  “Sometimes they come after us at night,” Libby revealed. “
But not often.”

  “Shhhh!” Cole shushed them. He stood and walked to the left window, cautiously standing to the right of the glass and peering out.

  “Anything?” Libby asked in a whisper.

  “No,” Cole whispered back.

  “I’ll go have a look,” Bertha proposed, rising. Her M-16 was propped against her chair. She grabbed it and moved to the doorway.

  “If anyone’s going out there, it’ll be me,” Cole said.

  “I can take care of myself,” Bertha informed him, her left hand on the doorknob. “You stay put and watch your Packrats.”

  “Bertha!” Libby said.

  Bertha hesitated. “What?”

  “Be careful!” Libby advised. “We can’t afford to lose you! Not now!”

  “Nothin’ will happen to me,” Bertha assured her. She opened the door, stepped outside, then closed it.

  A strong wind was blowing in from the west, rustling the leaves on the trees. Above the cabin stars were visible.

  Bertha faced into the wind, enjoying the cool tingle on her skin. She was feeling fatigued, and was glad dawn was not far off. Cole, Libby, and the rest could go with her to the SEAL. She hoped Blade and Sundance were still there.

  A twig snapped.

  Bertha was instantly on guard, warily raising the M-16 and searching the woods for an intruder, human or otherwise. She advanced toward the trees, bypassing the re-covered pit near the front door. The light from the cabin windows provided a faint glow to the edge of the trees. Bertha reached the tree line and stopped, crouching.

  The wind was whipping the limbs, creating a subdued clatter, mixed with the creaking of branches and the swishing of leaves.

  Bertha strained her senses.

  An audible scraping arose from the forest directly ahead.

  Was it two limbs rubbing together? Bertha craned her neck and tilted her head, believing she could hear better.

  Instead, she exposed her neck to the unseen lurker in the woods. A rope suddenly snaked out of the darkness, and a loop settled over her head and neck. Before she could react, Bertha was hauled from her feet and onto her stomach, the loop tightening about her neck, forming a noose, even as whoever was on the other end of the rope gave it a tremendous tug.

  Bertha landed with the M-16 underneath her abdomen. She rolled, expecting her assailant to charge, but her attacker had another idea. The rope was yanked taut, and it felt like her head was being wrenched from her neck. Her breath was cut off, and she gagged as she struggled to her knees and released the M-16, clutching at the noose, her fingers urgently striving to pry the rope loose.