New York Run

by David Robbins

  Sure enough, the light zoomed toward the mine field, streaking for the far side.

  “The fool will never make it,” said the young trooper.

  The trike was bobbing and bouncing as it raced across the field. It swerved from side to side in a weaving pattern.

  “He’ll never make it,” reiterated the young guard, cradling his Dakon II in his arms.

  A sparkling blast rent the air as the trike struck one of the mines. A ball of flame and smoke coalesced for several seconds, then dispersed.

  “What a jerk,” the young trooper said.

  “You stay here,” directed the second soldier. “We’ll take the flashlights and the mine map and go have a look. Call HQ and tell them what happened.”

  “Right away,” the youthful guard replied.

  The young guard walked to the Communications Console while his three friends hastened down the tower steps. He picked up the headset and pressed the appropriate buttons. “Private Casey here,” he said when the sergeant at the ComCenter in the Central Core answered. “Inform Captain Zorn we have a Priority Two. Repeat. Priority Two.” He listened for a moment. “Yes, sir. On their way now.” He glanced at his watch. “ETA five minutes? Yes, sir. Over and out.” He replaced the headset and walked to the east side of the tower, watching through the window as his three companions moved across the field toward the smoldering wreckage of the trike. Their flashlights were proceeding very slowly, as they cautiously advanced while consulting the minefield map to insure they didn’t step on a mine and wind up the way the driver of the trike had.

  “Freeze!”

  Private Casey tensed at the barked command. He started to turn his head.

  “I said freeze!” the harsh voice warned. “One more twitch and you’ll be feedin’ the worms instead of vice versa!”

  “Who are you? What do you want?” Casey asked.

  “I’ll do the talkin’, pipsqueak! Set your piece on the floor, real easy like!”

  Private Casey hesitated. He knew his duty. He should whirl and confront this stranger. But there was something about the man’s deep voice, a steely vibrancy, a “Don’t mess with me or else!” quality he found unnerving. He intuitively sensed he would die instantly if he disobeyed this man, and Casey didn’t want to die. He laid the Dakon II on the floor.

  “That’s real sensible for a Technic,” the stranger said.

  Casey waited, expecting to hear the man cross the tower. Instead, something hard was jammed into his spine.

  “Turn around!” the voice commanded.

  Private Casey complied, discovering a lean blond man in buckskins with a rifle over each shoulder, a revolver under his left arm, and two more revolvers, both pearl-handled silver jobs, in his hands.

  “Where’s the key to the gate?” the blond man demanded.

  “I can’t give it to you,” Casey mustered the courage to say.

  The gunman sighed. “I’m tired, pipsqueak. Real tired. And I don’t have the time to play games.” He cocked the right revolver. “If you don’t tell me where they keep the key to the gate, I’m gonna shoot you in the nuts.”

  Casey swallowed, and a prickly sensation erupted over his balls.

  “I ain’t got all night!” the gunman snapped.

  Casey pointed at a desk in the northwest corner. “It’s in the top drawer on the right.”

  “Thanks.” The gunman sidled to the desk and opened the drawer.

  “You’re Hickok, aren’t you?” Casey asked.

  The gunman nodded as he withdrew a large key on a metal ring.

  “I knew it!” Casey said. He didn’t know what to do or say, and he was too excited to remain silent. “Did you really kill the Minister?” he blurted.

  “Yep.”

  “I can’t believe it!” Casey exclaimed, awed.

  “How do I turn off the fence?” Hickok inquired.

  “There’s a circuit breaker in a box to the left of the gate,” Casey revealed.

  “What’s a circuit breaker?” Hickok responded.

  “Look for an orange lever,” Casey said. “Pull it down and you’ll turn off the current.”

  Hickok moved to the window and watched the trio of guards heading for the flaming debris in the mine field.

  “Who was on the trike?” Casey asked.

  “Nobody,” Hickok answered.

  “But trikes don’t run by themselves,” Casey stated.

  “They do if you help ’em along a little,” Hickok said. He motioned toward the stairs. “Let’s go. You first.”

  Private Casey led off. “Are… are you going to kill me?”

  “I’m not in the habit of gunnin’ pipsqueaks,” Hickok declared. “But don’t push me or I might make an exception in your case.”

  They reached the steps to the ground. “How did you do it?” Casey queried as he descended.

  “Wasn’t too hard,” Hickok said. “A bozo by the name of Spencer told me how the trikes run. To pick up speed, you have to turn a thingumajig on the handlebars. And to shift, your foot presses on a thingamabob. Hope I’m not bein’ too technical for you.”

  “I know how to drive a trike,” Casey told him.

  “Then you’ll appreciate how I did it,” Hickok remarked. “I fired her up, with the shift in neutral, and turned the accelerator to where I wanted it.

  Then I tied it in place with Spencer’s shoelaces. Those grips have deep ridges in ’em, so it was real easy to keep it from slippin’ too much. After that, I kicked the buggy into gear and—presto!—the decoy I needed.”

  “Pretty clever,” Private Casey admitted.

  Hickok sighed. “Where’s Geronimo when I need him?”

  “Geronimo?” Casey said, puzzled.

  “A pard of mine,” Hickok stated. “Believe it or not, I don’t get complimented on my smarts too much. I wish he’d been here to hear it.”

  “Wasn’t one of the other Warriors captured with you named Geronimo?” Casey asked.

  Hickok stopped. “Yeah. Have you heard anything about him or my other buddy, Blade?”

  “You know they went to New York City?”

  “So I was told.”

  Private Casey shifted uneasily. “I don’t know how to tell you this.” He stared at the pearl-handled revolvers.

  “Give it to me straight,” Hickok directed.

  “It’s not official,” Casey said anxiously.

  “Spill the beans!” Hickok ordered.

  “We lost contact with them,” Casey disclosed. “Now remember,” he quickly added, “it’s just some scuttlebutt I picked up. It hasn’t been confirmed.”

  Hickok’s features were obscured by the shadows. They were standing near the fence, the gate illumined by a spotlight on top of the guard tower.

  “Turn off the current,” he said gruffly.

  “I thought you were going to do it,” Casey said.

  “I can’t. You see, I’ve got me this new motto I live by,” the gunman declared.

  “New motto?”

  “Never, ever trust a lyin’ skunk of a Technic!” Hickok stated harshly.

  Private Casey gulped.

  “Now kill the blasted fence!” Hickok commanded.

  Casey immediately complied.

  “Now the gate.” Hickok tossed the key to the trooper.

  Private Casey unlocked the gate and shoved it open.

  Hickok strode up to the soldier and glared at him, nose to nose. “You’ve got two ways of playin’ this, pipsqueak. You can run upstairs after I leave, and blab what happened to the bigwigs. Or you can play it safe and keep your mouth shut. It’s up to you.”

  “If I report this, I’ll be court-martialed,” Casey predicted. “I’ll wind up in prison or in front of a firing squad.”

  “So keep your big mouth closed,” Hickok advised. “No one will ever know I was here except for us. They’ll all reckon I was blown sky-high in the mine field. I left the varmint who owned the trike tied up back at a worm farm. He’ll get loose soon and tell the authorities
I stole it from him.

  They’ll put two and two together.”

  “I really am going to live!” Private Casey exclaimed.

  “I told you I wouldn’t kill you.”

  “But they said you’re a cold-blooded murderer,” Casey remarked.

  “A lot of folks think that way,” Hickok conceded. He thought of the boy lying in the pool of blood. “But they don’t know about my other new motto.

  Never, ever kill unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “I like that motto,” Casey remarked.

  Hickok grinned. “You’re all right, pipsqueak.” He started through the gate, then paused. “Say, will they know you cut the juice to the fence?”

  Private Casey nodded. “It’ll register on the monitor in the Central Core.”

  “If they ask, tell ’em you don’t know a thing,” Hickok suggested.

  “Lie?”

  “Can you come up with a better way to save your hide?” Hickok asked.

  Casey considered for a moment. “Nope.”

  “Then as soon as I skedaddle, close the gate and open the circuit. They might believe it was a temporary short.”

  “All of a sudden you’re not as dumb as you act,” Casey said.

  “Thanks. I think.” Hickok walked through the gate, holstered his left Python, and waved. “As a pard of mine might say, may the Great Spirit bless all your endeavors.”

  The night swallowed the gunman.

  Private Casey blinked a few times, wondering if the incident might have been a dream. The killer of the Minister had spared his life! He hastily closed the gate, reset the circuit breaker, and ran up the stairs to the tower. The red light above the headset was blinking. He scooped it up and cleared his throat.

  “Private Casey here… Sorry, sir, I was watching the mine field… Yes, they’re almost to the point… No, the captain hasn’t arrived yet… Turned off the fence? No, sir. Why would I do that?… No, sir, I didn’t notice. I was watching the mine field… Yes, sir, those damn transformers can be a pain in the ass… Of course, sir.”

  Casey replaced the headset, beaming. He’d done it! Now there was just one thing he wanted to know: what the hell was the Great Spirit?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Everything was proceeding according to the Minister’s plan! The Home would soon be history!

  Lieutenant Alicia Farrow smiled, her white teeth a sharp contrast to the inky night. Her luminous watch indicated the time was 15 minutes past midnight. In another 15 minutes the demolition team would come over the west wall, and she must be there to greet them. She had crept from B Block 10 minutes ago, and now was poised at the foot of the stairs leading from the inner bank of the moat to the rampart. The wooden stairs were located a few feet south of the closed drawbridge. She cautiously climbed the steps, scanning the rampart, searching for the Warrior on duty. She knew Omega Triad was scheduled, and she expected to find Ares manning the west wall as was his custom.

  A dark form moved to her right, directly over the drawbridge.

  Farrow squinted. It was a Warrior, patrolling the rampart. But something was wrong. The figure wasn’t tall enough to be Ares. It was definitely a man, which ruled out Helen. And it lacked a hat, eliminating Sundance because he always wore a black sombrero.

  So who the hell was it?

  Farrow reached the top of the stairs and stopped, perplexed. The figure was gone! One instant it had been there, the next it had vanished! Had whoever it was seen her? Was he—

  “Hello, Alicia.”

  Farrow gripped the rail to keep from plunging into the moat. Her senses were swimming. Not. him! It couldn’t be him!

  But it was.

  Yama materialized beside her, his Wilkinson in his right hand. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said softly. “You haven’t spoken a word to me all day.”

  Farrow tried to speak but couldn’t. Her mouth refused to respond.

  “What did I do to upset you?” Yama asked.

  “What are yow doing here?” Farrow exclaimed.

  “I have the night shift,” Yama responded.

  “But Ares is supposed to be here,” Farrow asserted. “Omega Triad has wall duty tonight.”

  “I know,” Yama said. “But Ares isn’t feeling too well. The Review Board cleared him, but he’s still upset. He’s been moping around B Block since it happened. I offered to fill in for him tonight.”

  “Oh no!” Farrow said.

  Yama moved closer. “What’s wrong? Did you want to see Ares?”

  “No,” Farrow replied. “I expected him to be here, is all.”

  “I don’t understand,” Yama stated. “You didn’t want to see Ares, but you expected him to be here?”

  “Yeah,” Farrow said nervously. “I wanted some fresh air, so I climbed up here. I knew Ares was on duty, but I didn’t want to run into him. See?”

  “Hmmmm,” was all Yama said.

  Now what was she going to do? Farrow knew the demolition team would arrive at any minute. And the first thing they would do after scaling the wall would be to snuff Yama. Yama! He was a lowlife, but she still felt affection for him. The prospect of his death was profoundly upsetting.

  “If you’d rather be alone, I’ll leave,” Yama offered.

  “No!” Farrow blurted out. She frantically racked her brain for a solution. If she could get him off the wall! “Care to walk along the moat with me?”

  “You know I can’t leave my post,” Yama said.

  Farrow saw him look from side to side, then stare at her. She squirmed uncomfortably, emotionally distraught.

  “Stay here,” Yama directed. He turned and moved to the middle of the rampart.

  What was he doing?

  “What are you doing?”

  Yama didn’t answer. She heard a scratching sound, and a lantern abruptly lit up the central section of the rampart. Yama was next to the lantern, blowing on a match.

  Farrow hurried over to the Warrior. “Why’d you do that?”

  The lantern was suspended from an iron hook imbedded in the lip of the rampart, just below the strands of barbed wire encircling the entire walled compound. Its flickering light played over his silver hair and mustache as he slowly turned to face her. His blue eyes bored into her. “I wanted to see you clearly,” he said.

  “But isn’t it dangerous,” she protested, “having the lantern on this way?

  Anyone out there,” and she waved at the surrounding forest, “could see you.”

  Yama shrugged. “I doubt anyone is out there. Few people would be abroad in the woods at night. It’s too hazardous.”

  Farrow fidgeted, repeatedly glancing at the tree line.

  “Is something wrong?” Yama asked.

  “I’m fine!” Farrow responded, her tone edgy.

  “Come with me,” Yama said. He took her by the left forearm and led her to the left, away from the lantern, to the stairs. He stopped on the upper step, both of them now shrouded in semi-darkness.

  “What are you doing?” Farrow inquired.

  “We’re going to stand here for a while and enjoy the night sky,” Yama told her.

  Farrow tried to pull her arm free. “I’d like to go.”

  “I’d imagine you would,” Yama said, his right hand a vise on her arm.

  “You’re hurting me!” Farrow objected.

  Yama’s right hand clamped tighter. “And how many innocent Family members did you intend to hurt?”

  Farrow’s breath caught in her throat. “I… I… don’t know what you… mean,” she stammered.

  “I think you do,” Yama stated. He released her arm and gazed at the area illuminated by the lantern. “How will they work it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Farrow cried.

  Yama looked at her. “Keep your voice down!” he warned.

  Farrow was chilled by the iciness of his tone. She sensed her world was coming apart at the seams, and she was panic-stricken.

  “Did you take me for a com
plete imbecile?” Yama demanded in a hard whisper.

  “I never—” she started to say.

  “I will admit,” he said in a brittle, incriminating manner, “I was stupid enough to fall for your charade. I actually believed you cared for me! How dumb can I get!”

  But I do! Farrow wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak the words. She was overwhelmed by the stunning realization she’d been wrong all along. He did really and truly like her!

  “—but I couldn’t understand why you were so tormented,” Yama was telling her. “I tried to reason it out. I concocted a hundred and one excuses to justify your behavior.” He made a contemptuous sound. “I allowed myself to think you were troubled because of your affection for me! You didn’t want to commit yourself, knowing you would be returning to your own people! You already had someone special and didn’t want me to know!”

  “I don’t have anyone—” Farrow mumbled, but he ignored her.

  “And then today!” Yama said. “I see you at breakfast, and you won’t even look at me, let alone converse! Why? I asked myself again and again.

  There was no rhyme or reason to the way you acted. I began to wonder if Plato and Rikki were right. They’ve been suspicious of you from the start, although Rikki gave you the benefit of the doubt. Before he left, Blade told us to keep an eye on you. Not to trust you.” He paused, his voice lowering sadly. “Not to trust you! And I went and developed deep affection for you!”

  “But—” she began.

  “And now you show up here! This late at night!” Yama cut her off.

  “Why? I wondered. You were shocked to find me on duty. You wanted Ares to be here. Why? Because you knew I would suspect something was up.

  Ares doesn’t know you as well as I do. He might accept your line about wanting fresh air. But I don’t!”

  Farrow fought back an impulse to burst into tears. “Yama…”

  “Shhhhh!” he cautioned her.

  “Yama…”

  Yama glanced at her, his face creased by lines of misery. “Don’t talk!”

  “They’ll be using infrared goggles,” Farrow informed him. “They can see in the dark.”

  Yama studied her for a second, then took her hand and pulled her down to the third step. He crouched and tugged on her hand. “Get down!”