Dakota Run

by David Robbins

  “In God, sir?” Captain Miller laughed. “Everyone knows there isn’t any God.”

  The Doktor seemed to suddenly grow in stature, to loom over the terrified officer. “You still don’t see it, do you? You know there isn’t any God. I realized a long, long time ago, when I was four years old, that the concept of a Supreme Being was inconsistent with observable reality. So you know it and I know it. But what about the ignorant masses? What about them?”

  “The masses, sir? They know it’s illegal to believe in God.”

  The Doktor’s eyes resembled blazing coals in an inferno. “And we both know they never break laws, right, Captain?”

  Captain Miller lost all moisture in his mouth.

  “Laws, Captain,” the Doktor declared, “maintain order in any society only so long as that society possesses the necessary military force to compel compliance. That’s why the ideal state is the police state. Every aspect of daily existence for the masses, from the moment they stumble from bed in the morning until their final fleeting thoughts before retiring, must be stringently controlled. Every nuance in their culture must be censored and constructively channeled along acceptable lines. Everything, from the food they ingest to the thoughts in their heads, must be only what is allowed, only what conforms to dictated doctrine. And all of this manipulation must be performed in such a manner, using whatever deception is required, as to present the illusion to the masses of freedom.

  The secret to successfully governing the masses is not to let them know they are being controlled, and to convince them all laws are beneficial and enacted for the good of all the people. Do you understand this elementary civics lesson?”

  “Yes, Doktor,” Captain Miller promptly replied.

  “Good. Now follow me on this next part. If dominating the masses depends on their doing only what we want them to do and thinking only what we want them to think, what transpires when an alien concept is thrust into the social stream?”

  “Sir?”

  “For instance, our culture teaches there is no God. We inculate the precepts of atheistic humanism upon our citizens, because we rightly recognize the validity of humanism and the inferiority of other philosophical and religious beliefs. We instruct our people this life is all they get. There is no afterlife, no heaven and certainly no hell. Simply seventy short years and oblivion, eternal nothingness. We arouse them to fear the idea of dying, to view death with the utmost dread. By doing so, we inspire in them an urge to comply with our every edict because they know to do otherwise is to hasten their leap into the void. Have you followed me to this point?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. So what happens when a new idea enters the collective social consciousness? What will occur when the people begin believing in an afterlife? If they believe they will survive this life in the flesh, then they will not fear death any longer. And if they don’t dread dying, why should they listen to us? If they believe they are endowed with an immortal soul, let us say, and if they exercise faith in the promise of an everlasting life, they might come to view the thousands and thousands of laws our society has enacted as unnecessary, or even evil. For example, if they don’t fear dying, they won’t consider the consequences of a firing squad much of a deterrent for breaking our laws, will they?”

  “No, Doktor.”

  “Then hopefully you can begin to appreciate the threat this Family poses. Samuel can’t.” The Doktor frowned. “I have an important matter to attend to, Captain. Relay my response to Samuel and return with his reply. That is all.”

  “Yes, sir,” Captain Miller said. He saluted, wheeled, and gratefully departed, mulling the Doktor’s words. For all his vaunted intellect, the Doktor was worried about nothing, making a mountain out of a molehill.

  The Army, under Samuel’s direction, was the ruling class in the Civilized Zone, and the military commanders dominated the people with an iron fist. Samuel would crush any rebellion before the rebels knew what hit them. So why worry about some jerks who believed in God?

  The Doktor watched the officer leave. He frowned and shook his head.

  The juvenile imbecile, like that foppish Samuel, failed to comprehend the gravity of the situation. The Family must be eliminated, and the sooner the better.

  “Blithering twit,” the Doktor muttered, still furious with Samuel for refusing his request to send a battalion to destroy the Home and capture the Family.

  Not at this time, Samuel had wired!

  Can’t spare the men!

  Preparing for an offensive against the Cavalry and the Legion while the two sides remain separated!

  The unmitigated stupidity of the man!

  The Doktor pounded the equipment in front of him with his right fist.

  If he didn’t detest the machinations of governmental office, if he didn’t loathe the thousand and one nitpicking details requiring daily attention and despise the whining syncophants invariably present at all levels of a governing regime, he’d wrest control of the Civilized Zone from Samuel and attend to the Family personally. Possibly later. Right now he had a critical matter to oversee. He stared at the backs of his hands, noting the deep wrinkles and the spreading lines, twice as many as were there the day before. Time was of the essence.

  But first…

  He bent over the console and turned on the speaker, listening, waiting to learn the outcome of the confrontation.

  There was only static.

  What had transpired? He glanced at a cabinet to his right and spotted the blinking blue light. Three rows of bulbs below the blue light was a flashing red light.

  So!

  The Doktor switched the speaker off and straightened. The Family could wait a while longer.

  There were more important things to do.

  He looked around the room and saw one of his assistants, a young woman with serpentine features, yellow skin, and narrow lavender eyes.

  She stood before a table containing a rack of flasks and vials, examining a test tube, most of her body concealed by a white smock.

  “Clarissa!” the Doktor called. “It’s time!”

  Clarissa looked up, her forehead furrowed, her oily black bangs hanging over her right eyebrow.

  “That’s right,” the Doktor affirmed. “It’s time again.”

  Clarissa placed the test tube on the table. “Which sex this time Doktor?” she inquired.

  The Doktor reflected a moment. “Bring me a girl this time. Not more than six months old, either. One of the Flatheads should suffice nicely.”

  Clarissa nodded and moved toward a far door.

  “And don’t forget the scalpel and the blood vat,” the Doktor reminded her.

  “Certainly, Doktor,” Clarissa replied over her shoulder.

  The Doktor grinned. In a few days he would be as good as new, and then he would travel to Denver and have a long talk with that cretin Samuel.

  Sooner or later, one way or another, the Family was going to be erased from the face of the earth.

  The Doktor almost laughed at the prospect.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Geronimo! Wake up! You dozed off!”

  He felt her hand gently slapping his left cheek and he opened his eyes, his mind sluggish, his senses groggy.

  “How’s your head feel?” Cynthia questioned.

  “A little better than last night,” Gernonimo informed her.

  “You up to a little action?” Kilrane interjected.

  Geronimo glanced around, slightly dazed, wondering if he’d sustained a concussion in the fall into the pit. Kilrane was squatting against the opposite wall. They were still at the rear of the crevice, as far from the ant tunnel as they could get. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.

  “A little reconnaissance,” Kilrane answered, nodding toward the tunnel.

  “It’s daylight and I haven’t heard one pass by in a long time.”

  “Maybe they’re nocturnal,” Geronimo deduced, “and they hole up during the day. They were awful active last night.�
�� He gazed at the tunnel, surprised at how clear everything appeared. The bright sunlight outside the crater was flooding the tunnel and providing sufficient illumination for their eyes, long since adjusted to the murky visibility, to discern every nook and cranny in the crevice and the lighter shade of the tunnel beyond.

  “Then now is our best bet to make a break for it,” Kilrane declared. He flattened and slowly crawled along the crevice floor, making for the ant tunnel.

  Geronimo promptly followed, the Marlin in his right hand, collecting his thoughts.

  “I just hope you’re right,” Cynthia whispered, falling in behind Geronimo.

  Kilrane cautiously edged nearer the opening, slowly easing his body over the lumps of dirt and stones on the floor. He reached the rift and stopped, waiting for the others. The crevice widened at its junction with the tunnel, enabling the trio to huddle side by side.

  Geronimo glanced at the other two, then inched his face to the lip of the crevice and peered out.

  The ant tunnel brightened to his right, indicating the hole to the outside was in that direction. The industrious ants had carved a passageway about ten feet in diameter, its sides and ceiling smooth and unbroken, the floor littered with a jumble of indistinguishable debris except for a few prominent, pale white bones. The crevice started five feet from the tunnel floor and continued up to the ceiling.

  The tunnel was deserted.

  “Say, Kilrane,” Geronimo said softly. “Why didn’t you try to get out of the hole after we fell in, instead of bringing us deeper into this tunnel?”

  “Didn’t have any choice,” Kilrane replied. “Your horse died in the fall. I might have climbed back out, but there was no way I could tote you too. The sides of the pit are too steep. So we hurried in here. I was hoping I could find a side tunnel and hide for a spell. We lucked out finding this.”

  “Do we make a run for it?” Cynthia inquired nervously.

  “It may only be twenty yards to the crater.”

  Kilrane responded, “but we’d still have to climb out and that would take some doing. What if we’re caught on the sides of the hole and an ant shows up?”

  “Good point,” Geronimo remarked, debating their next move. What should they do? Kilrane was right; if they tried to scale the pit, they’d be exposed and prime prey for the ants. On the other hand, if they didn’t make their bid for freedom while they still had the light, they’d be forced to remain in the crevice another night and increase the likelihood of being discovered by the ants. Neither proposition was particularly appealing.

  “Listen!” Cynthia warned them.

  Geronimo heard the high-pitched twittering coming from the direction of the crater. An ant was returning!

  They froze, holding their breaths.

  Despite being forewarned of their immense size, despite having encountered giants before, Geronimo was stunned when the gargantuan insect passed the crevice opening, unprepared for the sheer, overpowering enormity of the creature.

  The red behemoth passed the crevice at a leisurely pace, its six legs moving in instinctive precision, its elbowed antennae waving in the air as it walked. This particular ant was at least seven feet in height and twelve feet long. Its compound eyes seemed to be focused on the tunnel ahead as it carried a large object in its huge jaws, the object dwarfed by the insect’s five-foot-wide head.

  What was the ant carrying? Geronimo wondered. Whatever it was, the thing was twitching. Where would the ants find food in the Dead Zone? He marveled at the insect’s flawless symmetry, noting the exceptionally elongated head with the massive jaws, the relatively narrow waist between the two large body segments, and the lustrous sheen to the entire form. He recalled his schooling days at the Home and his intensive studies of the flora and fauna of the region. Courses were taught on the mammals, reptiles, amphibians, birds, and insects likely to be encountered in the vicinity of the Home. He remembered receiving instructions concerning ants, but the years since the lesson had tarnished his memory.

  What exactly did he know about ants, anyway?

  They were likely social and lived in colonies in the ground or in dead wood. These colonies were called nests, and Geronimo speculated the mountainous mound spotted earlier was the main nest for this colony. If true, it meant they were trapped in a subsidiary tunnel, which worked in their favor. The ants were apt to increase in number the closer to the mound you went. In one of their secondary tunnels, therefore, there would be fewer ants!

  What else did he recollect about ants?

  Their bodies were comprised of the head, the abdomen, and the thorax, but he forgot which was the abdomen and which the thorax. Many species included different types within the colony: workers, soldiers, and queen ants. The queens would be secreted in an inner chamber in the nest, but the workers and the soldiers would emerge on a regular basis to conduct their business, whether it be foraging for sustenance or fighting an enemy.

  How could you tell a worker from a soldier?

  Geronimo couldn’t recall, and the information might be crucial.

  Worker ants might not be much of a threat, but the deadly soldiers were another matter.

  The ant with the food in its jaws disappeared around a far turn in the tunnel.

  “Whew!” Cynthia whispered in relief. “I thought for a second there the thing saw us.”

  “I don’t see any more coming,” Kilrane observed, staring in the direction of the hole. “Should we make our break for it now?”

  “I see no reason to wait,” Geronimo replied. “Besides, I never expected to end my days on this planet as ant fricassee.”

  “But even if we do make it out,” Cynthia mentioned, “where will we go?

  Without the horses we wouldn’t last very long.”

  “Care to place a bet on how much longer we’d last down here?”

  Geronimo queried.

  Cynthia shook her head.

  “Still no sign of any ants,” Kilrane commented.

  “May the Great Spirit be with us,” Geronimo said, and slipped over the edge of the crevice.

  The tunnel remained empty.

  Geronimo crouched, the Marlin ready, and motioned for the others to follow him with his left hand.

  Kilrane came next, his lariat in his right hand.

  Cynthia took a deep breath and jumped to the floor of the tunnel.

  “It must have taken considerable effort to get me up to that crack in the wall while unconscious,” Geronimo stated, looking at Kilrane.

  “It was tough,” Kilrane admitted, grinning. “Maybe you should go on a diet in case we ever need to go through this again.”

  “You can barely see the crevice from the crater,” Cynthia interjected. “If we…”

  A distant twittering carried to their ears.

  “An ant!” Cynthia exclaimed.

  “It’s coming from down there,” Geronimo declared, pointing down the tunnel shaft.

  “Do we go for it or climb back up?” Kilrane demanded.

  “Go!” Geronimo suggested, already in motion, running for the exit opening twenty yards off.

  Cynthia and Kilrane were on his heels as they raced along the tunnel and reached the bottom of the pit. The rim of the crater appeared impossibly far off, and the smooth sides presented an almost insurmountable challenge.

  “You two start,” Geronimo directed, waving them on. “I’ll hold the fort until you reach the top.”

  “Why you?” Kilrane argued.

  “You don’t have a rifle,” Geronimo reasoned, “and this baby would stop a charging elephant.”

  “What’s an elephant?” Kilrane inquired.

  “You’ve never heard of an elephant?”

  “No. Why?”

  Geronimo grinned. He kept forgetting others did not enjoy the same access he did to the invaluable wealth of information in the Family library.

  “What’s an elephant?” Kilrane repeated.

  “Just think of it as an ant with a whopper of a nose,” Geronimo said.

/>   “Now get going!”

  Cynthia was already striving to climb the pit, her feet slipping and sliding in the fine, loose dirt.

  “I won’t leave you,” Kilrane balked.

  Geronimo stared into the bigger man’s blue eyes. “I appreciate the thought, but you’ve got to go. I’ll cover for you as long as I can.”

  “I’ve never deserted a friend in my life,” Kilrane said defiantly, “and I’m not about to start now.”

  Geronimo noticed the compliment. “Please, Kilrane. Get Cynthia out of here. For me, as a personal favor.”

  Kilrane glanced at the struggling woman.

  frowned, and nodded. “All right,” he reluctantly growled, “but I’m coming back for you.”

  For a moment, their eyes locked in silent understanding, and then Geronimo swung around, facing the tunnel. Cynthia had been right; he could just distinguish the rift they’d used as their refuge. He heard Kilrane attempting to negotiate the steep sides of the crater, but he steeled himself and locked his eyes on the fissure. If he glanced behind him to ascertain their progress in navigating the hole, his attention would be distracted from the tunnel for an instant, providing the ants with a momentary edge.

  An experienced Warrior never gave an opponent the edge.

  Geronimo’s mind wandered, his thoughts drifting to the Family and the Home. And Hickok. His best friend. It was funny, sometimes, how you never truly valued someone until deprived of his presence. All those years of brotherhood with Hickok, sharing the sweet and the bitter, the laughs and the tears, had resulted in an ingrained bond of affection, a mutual affinity predicated on a thorough understanding of one another. He fondly remembered the time Hickok tried driving the SEAL and nearly succeeded in planting a tree in the driver’s seat. Grinning, he recalled another time when Hickok was caught with his pants down, so to speak, about to take a leak when a mutate popped up.

  Would he ever see Hickok again?

  Or Blade?

  Or Plato?

  Or…

  What was that?

  There was vague movement near the crevice.

  Geronimo dropped to his right knee and sighted along the Marlin. He could still hear Kilrane and Cynthia doing their utmost to reach the lip of the hole.