Dakota Run

by David Robbins

  “This just isn’t my day,” Cynthia said, sadly shaking her head.

  “There still may be a way out,” Geronimo stated, grinning.

  The Palomino rider overheard the statement. “A way out?” he repeated.

  “How?”

  Geronimo indicated the encircling patrol with a toss of his head. “I could always ask you to surrender.”

  The Legion captain cocked the hammer on the Winchester.

  Chapter Four

  The western half of the Home was extensively used by the Family for various purposes. Kurt Carpenter had located the six main structures, the reinforced concrete buildings known as Blocks, in a triangular formation centered in the western section. The Block furthest south was A Block, the Family armory, personally stocked by Carpenter with every conceivable weapon. One hundred yards to the northwest was B Block, the sleeping quarters for single Family members. Another hundred yards in a northwesterly line was C Block, the infirmary. One hundred yards due east of C Block was D Block, serving as the Family’s carpentry shop and all-purpose construction facility. Another hundred yards further was E

  Block, the library Carpenter had filled with hundreds of thousands of volumes on every imaginable subject. In a southwesterly direction, one hundred yards along, was F Block, serving as the work area for the Tillers, the building they used for storing their farm supplies and for preserving and preparing food. Finally, an additional one hundred yards to the southwest was A Block, completing the triangle.

  The large area between the Blocks was the Family’s primary area for socializing. Outdoor meetings were held there, worship services were conducted there, and the children often played their games there. More Family members could be found there at any given time of the day than anywhere else in the Home.

  Dozens of Family members were engaged in varied activities as Blade and Spartacus jogged past them, making for the stairs leading up to the rampart above the drawbridge in the middle of the western wall. The drawbridge was the only means of entering and leaving the Home.

  “We seem to be attracting attention,” Spartacus noted as they neared the wooden steps.

  “It can’t be helped,” Blade replied. While they might be curious, the members of the Family knew better than to interfere with the Warriors when they were performing official duties.

  Blade reached the stairs and glanced up at the rampart above the drawbridge. Plato, the Family’s wizened Leader, was awaiting his arrival, his long gray hair blowing in the wind. He wore a green tunic and pants made by his loving wife, Nadine. Beside Plato stood Joshua, one of the Family Empaths, an individual with exceptional spiritual ability. His shoulder-length brown hair and neatly trimmed beard mached his brown shirt and pants. A large Latin cross, an adornment he was seldom without, hung from his neck.

  Spartacus was standing behind Blade, gazing upward. “I’m sorry to say it, Blade,” he admitted, “but he gives me the creeps.”

  Blade knew whom Spartacus referred to, the thin gray creature looming above them, leaning against the stair railing.

  Gremlin. Blade had brought him back from the trip to Kalispell, Montana. Initially enemies. Blade and Gremlin had become friends after a series of incidents involving troops from the Civilized Zone. Gremlin’s skin was light gray and leathery. His features were hawkish, his nose narrow and pointed, his mouth a narrow slit. A hairless head, combined with mere ringlets of flesh for ears and bizarre eyes with bright red pupils, conspired to produce a decidedly unnerving visual impact. Gremlin was attired in a leather loincloth.

  Blade took the steps three at a time, Spartacus right behind him.

  “Blade!” Gremlin greeted him as he reached the top. “Good to see you, yes? Your trap has worked, no?”

  “So I hear,” Blade replied, moving to the edge of the rampart, carefully avoiding the coiled barbed wire placed on top of the wall.

  “We received the signal,” Plato stated.

  “So Spartacus said.” Blade peered at the cleared field beyond the wall.

  Past the field was the forest. Three hundred yards from the drawbridge rose a sparsely covered hillock. It would be there, he knew.

  “Should we alert the other Warriors?” Spartacus wanted to know.

  Blade mentally debated the question. Geronimo was off somewhere getting his head together. Hickok was in the compound, but he was in one of his blue funks. No sense in calling him. That meant assembling Alpha Triad was impractical. Beta Triad, led by Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, was out on that hillock, about to engage in mortal combat. Gamma Triad was missing a member, leaving Spartacus and Seiko.

  “Where’s Seiko?” Blade asked.

  “He has guard duty on the east wall,” Spartacus answered.

  Blade thoughtfully bit his lower lip. It wouldn’t be wise to recall Seiko from the east wall, leaving their eastern flank exposed. That, he bitterly remembered, was how the Trolls had managed to enter the Home months before. “What about Omega Triad?” Blade queried.

  “They’re asleep,” Spartacus detailed. “They had night watch.”

  “Doesn’t leave us many Warriors to work with, does it?” Blade casually mentioned.

  “Now you can fully appreciate the reason I’ve insisted we add another Triad,” Plato said in his kindly voice. “Three more Warriors are critical if we’re to insure the Family’s safety.”

  “You get no argument here,” Blade reminded him.

  “I can’t believe they’re really out there,” Joshua chimed in, nodding at the hillock. “The Watchers must not know we’re on to them.”

  No, they didn’t. Blade’s mind flashed over his recent experiences during the extended trip to Kalispell, Montana. Plato had sent Alpha Triad, minus Hickok, to ascertain the veracity of a report concerning a hospital in Kalispell. This hospital, so they had been told, had been left unscathed by the scavengers and the looters, its equipment intact and hopefully operative. The Family had needed certain scientific and medical supplies and instruments from the hospital. A particularly severe form of premature senility was affecting some of the older Family members. If the Family couldn’t isolate the source of the senility and then treat it, Plato projected that within several generations no Family member would live past the age of thirty-five.

  While at Kalispell, after being captured and held prisoner, Blade had gleaned considerable information concerning the former United States of America. He had learned that the Government had evacuated thousands upon thousands of people into an area in the Midwest and Rocky Mountain area immediately prior to, and during, the Third World War.

  This occupied expanse had become known as the Civilized Zone, and had been governed by the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare, a man named Samuel Hyde, the only Cabinet member to survive the war.

  Congress and the Supreme Court had been obliterated in a preemptive nuclear strike on Washington D.C. Hyde had declared martial law and become, to all intents and purposes, dictator of the Civilized Zone. When Samuel had passed on, his son had succeeded him, becoming known as Samuel the Second. He now ruled the Civilized Zone with an iron fist, and apparently entertained the notion of reconquering the rest of the former United States. The Civilized Zone now embraced the former states of Nebraska, Kansas, and Colorado, the southern half of Wyoming, eastern Arizona, all of New Mexico, and the northern half of Texas.

  Samuel the Second planned to take control of Montana, North and South Dakota, and Minnesota first because they were the least populated and would offer the least resistance. His troops, the former military forces of the United States, had been entrusted with the task of discovering and monitoring all inhabited centers in the four states slated for reoccupation.

  These troops had become known as the Watchers to the people in the Twin Cities, and some of the Family referred to them by that name as well.

  During his trip to Montana, Blade had discovered that the army of Samuel had already attacked and defeated the Flathead Indians. He had learned that troops were periodically sent to eavesdr
op on the Family.

  They would set up their parabolic microphones and other sensitive detection equipment and position themselves in the woods surrounding the Home, in northwestern Minnesota near what had been Lake Bronson State Park.

  “Shouldn’t you send Rikki the signal?” Plato inquired, intruding on Blade’s reflection.

  Blade sighed. And that’s what Beta Triad was doing on that hillock.

  Before he left, Geronimo had scoured the vicinity of the Home and discovered a small clearing on the hillock used frequently by a dozen or so men. Geronimo was the Family’s best tracker, and he had detected footprints and equipment imprints in the soil. Blade had decided to intermittently post Warriors at the clearing in the hope of capturing some of Samuel’s troops. Now, his plan was about to reach fruition, and he was worried that the Civilized Zone troops might defeat Beta Triad. The troops were well armed, their standard issue including M-16’s and automatic pistols. They were also well trained. Blade appreciated from bitter experience how very deadly they could be. Twice before Alpha Triad had fought the Watchers, and both times the Warriors had narrowly escaped with their lives.

  Would Beta Triad fare any better?

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Where’s the mirror?” Blade asked, extending his right hand.

  “Here you go,” Spartacus answered, placing a circular mirror four inches in diameter in Blade’s palm.

  Blade studied the sun, noting the blazing orb was suspended in the eastern sky. He would need to angle the mirror if Rikki were to observe the signal.

  “I pray the Spirit will protect them,” Joshua stated.

  “They’re Warriors,” Spartacus said proudly. “They can take care of themselves.”

  “If only this constant warfare weren’t necessary,” Joshua went on. “If only we could live on this planet in spiritual harmony.”

  “Dream on, brother!” Spartacus snorted.

  “Are you having second thoughts?” Plato asked Blade, detecting his hesitation.

  Blade glanced at Plato. “It’s not easy giving others orders and knowing it could cause their deaths.”

  “Think of the greater good,” Plato advised. “Think about the benefits to the Family, about the valuable information we could acquire.”

  Blade nodded. There was no avoiding it. He held the mirror at chest height and slanted it to catch the brilliant rays of the sun. Satisfied he had the inclination correct, he slowly passed his left hand over the face of the mirror. Once. A second time.

  That did it.

  The rest was up to Rikki, Teucer, and Yama.

  He recalled a quote from Ecclesiastes: “For every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die.”

  Had he just sealed Beta Triad’s death warrant?

  Chapter Five

  “I must admit,” the captain said in genuine respect, “I was really impressed by the way you handled yourself back there. I’ve never seen one person take on so many mutants at the same time and live to tell about it.”

  They were heading in a southwesterly direction. Geronimo was on the big black. Cynthia was behind the captain on the Palomino. The remainder of the Legion patrol clustered around them. Two Legion riders were a quarter of a mile ahead, serving as point guards.

  “We call them mutates,” Geronimo told the captain, “and as far as the bison and the prairie dogs are concerned, the Great Spirit saw fit to watch over me.”

  The captain eyed his captive. “Who is this ‘we’ you’ve mentioned a couple of times?” His eyes were clear blue, his hair a light brown tinged with gray streaks.

  “Oh, Garfield and Snoopy and myself,” Geronimo replied, grinning.

  “Garfield and Snoopy? Are they skilled fighters like you?” the captain queried.

  “Just ask any pan of lasagna and the Red Baron,” Geronimo said, enjoying the confused expression on the captain’s face. The good captain had no way of knowing about the huge Family library, about the five hundred thousand books stocked by Kurt Carpenter. Survival books.

  Hunting and fishing books. Woodworking, herbal medicine, metal-smithing, gardening, and hundreds of other how-to books. History and geography books. Volumes on military tactics and the martial arts.

  Reference books by the thousands. There was even a section on humorous books, one of Geronimo’s favorites, containing funny books popular before the war, before mankind committed the ultimate ironic joke on itself and erased centuries of progress and striving in a demented blaze of glory. The Family’s library was one of its major sources of entertainment, in addition to preserving the wisdom and knowledge of the ages. Every Family member read avidly, spending countless hours perusing the books for information or pleasure. The photographic books were especially prized, providing as they did an insight into prewar culture.

  “I take it you’re not going to give us any information on who you are and where you came from?” the captain asked him.

  “I might cooperate a bit more if I knew more about you,” Geronimo countered. “For starters, what’s your name?”

  “I’m called Kilrane,” the captain revealed.

  “And he has quite a reputation,” Cynthia interjected.

  “He does?” Geronimo said in a mocking tone. “Strange. I’ve never heard the name before.”

  “He’s Rolf’s right-hand man,” Cynthia continued.

  “Do tell,” Geronimo commented, observing the captain’s amused smile.

  “And he’s fast with his gun,” Cynthia detailed.

  “Real fast. Some say he’s the fastest man alive.”

  Geronimo stared at the ivory-handled Mitchell Single Action revolver on Kilrane’s right hip. “Is that right? Are you fast with that thing?”

  Kilrane confidently locked eyes with Geronimo. “That’s what everyone says.”

  “I have a friend by the name of Hickok,” Geronimo mentioned. “Since he’s the fastest man alive, that makes you the second fastest.”

  “You think this friend of yours could beat me?” Kilrane asked, chuckling.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind,” Geronimo informed him.

  “You still haven’t told me your name,” Kilrane stated.

  “Geronimo.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Geronimo. Maybe some day you’ll introduce me to this Hickok,” Kilrane proposed.

  “You mean I’ll live that long?” Geronimo rejoined.

  “How long you live isn’t up to me,” Kilrane explained. “Rolf will make that decision.”

  “And you’re taking us to Rolf now?” Geronimo inquired.

  “You got it,” Kilrane confirmed. “He’s in Pierre right now. That’s where we’re headed.”

  “How long will it take to get there?” Geronimo needed to know.

  “Oh, about four or five days, depending on whether we push the horses or not,” Kilrane replied. “Why?”

  “I’ve been gone too long as it is,” Geronimo said, frowning. “My Family is going to start worrying about me.”

  “Good,” Kilrane said, smiling. “Maybe they’ll send someone looking for you. Maybe this Hickok.”

  Geronimo fell silent, contemplating the mess he was in. Kilrane had made a valid point; Plato probably would send someone after him, most likely Hickok. Why hadn’t he stayed at the Home where he belonged? Why did he leave the others and go off by himself? Now he was endangering not only his life, but the life of whomever Plato would send. Then again, how would they know where to find him? One of the Empaths might be able to home in on him. Otherwise, there was no way they would be able to track him after being gone nearly two weeks.

  “Hey! Why so grim?” Cynthia asked, misinterpreting his expression.

  “They’re not going to kill you, at least not right away.”

  Geronimo smiled reassuringly at her. How could he tell Cynthia about Montana? How could he possibly relate the devastation he’d felt after being betrayed by a Flathead Indian woman? He’d trus
ted that woman, and she’d rewarded his faith in her by trying to kill him. To make matters worse, she’d almost convinced him to abandon the Family and reside with the Flatheads. Were his loyalties that shallow? How could he have fallowed his dedication and love for the Family to be so easily influenced?

  “Rolf might even let you live,” Kilrane was saying. “He’s not as vicious as that bastard Rory.”

  Geronimo studied the captain, assessing him as a man of character, a natural leader, the type others would gladly follow. His men had displayed a remarkable willingness to obey his commands. Kilrane had had one of his men confiscate Geronimo’s weapons while he personally inspected Cynthia’s injured foot. His examination had tended to confirm Geronimo’s opinion; none of the deadly pus had entered Cynthia’s bloodstream.

  Unfortunately, they wouldn’t know for sure for at least three or four days.

  If Cynthia remained symptom-free during that period, then she was safe. If not, then…

  Kilrane had been in a hurry to depart. He’d ordered Geronimo onto the black and hauled Cynthia up behind him on the Palomino. It wasn’t difficult for Geronimo to deduce Kilrane’s motivation for haste. Cynthia’s farm was located in Cavalry territory. Kilrane was concerned some of the Cavalry riders might have heard the gunshots during Geronimo’s battle with the mutations. He evidently wanted to return to the Legion region before his raiding patrol was confronted by a hostile force larger than his own.

  “I take it the two brothers aren’t very fond of one another,” Geronimo said, fishing for information.

  “Fond?” Kilrane laughed bitterly. “They hate each other’s guts!”

  “Rather unusual for brothers, isn’t it?” Geronimo asked.

  Kilrane stared at Geronimo, his face a study in suppressed rage. “What would you do if your own brother raped the woman you loved?”

  Geronimo and Cynthia exchanged surprised glances. This revelation was news to her, too.