The Fox Run

Chapter Nine

“If you fall behind,” the huge, bearded Troll angrily announced, “you die!” He motioned for the women who had stumbled to stand.

Jenny assisted Mary in rising. “You’ve got to be more careful,” Jenny warned her. “These fiends will kill us without any hesitation at the slightest provocation.”

“I’m sorry,” Mary nodded. “I’m just so tired.”

“Aren’t we all,” Jenny agreed.

“Cut the chatter!” one of the Trolls commanded. “Move!”

The women silently obeyed, Jenny in the lead. The Trolls had tied the women together using one long rope, looping it around each woman’s neck. The biggest Troll, the one with the beard, the evident leader of this foray, held one end of the rope in his brawny left hand. In his right he held a machete; around his waist he wore a cartridge belt and a revolver. Eight other Trolls flanked him, four on each side, covering the string of captured women. Behind the row of women, constantly scanning the rear for any indication of pursuit, walked seven more Trolls.

Jenny’s feet were killing her. How long had they been walking? She estimated it was well into the afternoon of the day following their abduction, and all eight Family women were extremely fatigued. They had been on the move all night and all day. The Trolls were wary, expecting the Family to swiftly retaliate. The leader, in particular, seemed disappointed when pursuit failed to materialize. Jenny had to admit her own disappointment. Where were their rescuers? Why hadn’t anyone shown up yet? If the Warriors had started on the trail immediately after the attack on the Home, they certainly would have caught up to the Trolls by now.

Where were they?

“Can’t we stop?” Mary whispered. “I don’t think I can go much further.”

Jenny glanced over her shoulder. Mary, a young Tiller, was behind her.

In order came Daffodil, Saphire, Angela, Lea, Ursa, and Joan. All of the women, Jenny noticed, were relatively young, in their twenties or thirties.

The Trolls hadn’t bothered with the older women. What was the reason?

As if she couldn’t guess.

Joan, the blonde at the end of the tether, tripped and sprawled on her hands and knees. All of the women stopped.

“Get up, bitch!” one of the Trolls grabbed her by her long hair and yanked her erect.

Jenny was worried. Joan was their secret weapon, their knight in disguise. The Family was guarded by four Warrior Triads, each Triad containing three Warriors. Out of the twelve Warriors, only one was a woman. Only one woman in recent years had expressed an interest in becoming a Warrior. That woman, a decade ago at her Naming, had selected the name of the heroine she had read so much about in the history books in the Family library. Joan of Arc, the fabled warrior woman.

The Troll was still gripping Joan by the hair. She was sporting a large cut on her forehead and her left eyebrow was swollen, the eye puffy.

Despite her injuries, ignoring the pain, she suddenly swept her right elbow back and up, catching the Troll on the nose, breaking it, blood spraying from his nostrils.

The Troll released Joan, bawling in commingled discomfort and fury.

“You bitch! You damn bitch!” He was carrying a metal club, a section of steel several feet long. “I’ll kill you for this!” He raised the club over his head.

There was the sound of a gun being cocked.

All eyes turned to the mountainous Troll, the leader. He was pointing his revolver at the one with the busted nose. “You won’t kill her, will you, Buck? Not if you know what’s good for you.”

Buck wavered, wanting to crush Joan’s face in, but afraid of the consequences. “You saw what she did! She broke my nose, Saxon. Can’t I kill her? Please?”

The giant Saxon shook his head. “I have other plans for her. For all of them.”

“But the bitch broke my nose!” Buck vehemently protested.

“That she did!” Saxon agreed, and started laughing.

The other Trolls took up the merriment.

“Bested by a woman!” one of them said, grinning.

“Maybe next time he’ll pick on someone his own size!” another sarcastically commented.

Buck, stung, lowered his club and glared at Joan.

“Saxon,” Jenny faced the colossus, “we need a rest. Can’t you spare just a little time?”

Saxon thoughtfully stroked his bushy beard. “I guess we can at that. Doesn’t seem to be anyone after us. That surprises me.”

Me too, Jenny mentally agreed.

They were moving across a field choked with bushes and rife with weeds.

Ahead, a mile off, was the edge of a forest. The sun was beating down, the heat oppressive, almost unbearably so for the month of June. The sky was tinged with a touch of gray.

The global nuclear blasts had propelled massive quantities of dust and pulverized rubble into the atmosphere, turning the sky dark, reducing the amount of sunlight reaching the surface. The planet had experienced a marked increase in volcanic activity after the war, many of the volcanoes still active. The records revealed that for over five years this cloud had literally clogged the sky, before it had begun to settle and disperse.

Gradually, the color of the sky had changed from a dark gray to a light gray and, finally, to a shade of blue in certain areas. Within a decade, much of the cloud was gone. The dramatic rise in volcanic eruptions, however, continued to spew ash and dust into the atmosphere, and at least twice a year the sky over the Home would change to a darker gray as the air became filled with volcanic residue. This effect seldom lasted longer than six hours, borne away by the winds. Plato predicted the eruptions would terminate within fifty years.

The cutting off of sunlight had cooled the temperature over the entire world. Growing seasons had been eradicated or drastically curtailed. Only the hardiest crops and vegetation had survived. A century later, in many areas, growing seasons were approximately the length they were before the war, although climatic extremes were heightened. The summers were infernally hotter, the winters were chillingly colder.

“Sit down right where you are,” Saxon ordered. “Take a break.”

About two yards of rope separated each woman, allowing ample room for them to sit without cramping one another. They formed a small circle, shoulder to shoulder, so they could whisper without being overheard.

“How are you feeling?” Jenny asked Joan as soon as they sat down in the grass.

“Not too hot,” Joan admitted, frowning. “I was sleeping in B Block, heard the commotion, and ran outside. Somebody let me have it before I even knew what was going on. My head is killing me.” She brushed some dust off of her faded brown pants and green blouse, patched in over a dozen spots.

“Anyone else hurt?” Jenny inquired.

The rest shook their heads.

“Where are the Warriors?” Lea, one of the Family Weavers, ran her fingers through her disheveled black hair.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” commented Saphire, a brunette.

“I thought they would have caught up with us by now,” Jenny mentioned.

“What’s with you dummies?” Joan demanded, peeved.

“What do you mean?” Daffodil asked.

“You think the Warriors dropped everything and took off after these clowns two seconds after the Home was hit? Be serious. The perimeter had to be secured, the injured tended to, and plans made.” Joan stared at the Trolls, clustered together, talking and laughing. “These bastards are going to pay for what they’ve done!”

“What do you think the Warriors will do?” Lea questioned.

“They’ll send one of the Triads after us,” Joan reasoned.

“Just one?” Ursa wondered.

“You think they’d send all of the Warriors and leave the Family defenseless? No, just one Triad. Probably Alpha.”

“It could be any Triad,” Jenny disagreed.

Joan grinned. “Be serious. Blade won’t want anything to happen to his sweetie.”

“Now who would that be?” Daffodil giggled.

“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Jenny stubbornly retorted.

“If you believe that,” Joan said, smirking, “then you don’t know Blade like I know Blade. He’d follow you to the ends of the earth. Take my word for it. Blade, Hickok, and Geronimo will be on our trail, if they’re not already.”

“Aren’t you and Hickok an item?” Lea asked Joan.

“We’re just good friends,” Joan answered defensively.

“Then why are you blushing?” Lea pressed her point.

“How soon before Alpha catches up with us?” Ursa wanted to know.

Joan shrugged. “No way of telling. Doubt they’d use the horses. On foot, could take them a day or two.”

“What if they use the SEAL thing?” Angela, a mousy woman with wide eyes, interjected.

“Then I wouldn’t have any idea,” Joan acknowledged.

“Why do you think they’re all wearing those bear robes?” Lea asked, gazing at their captors.

“Beats me,” Joan said. “Only an idiot would wear those robes in this heat.”

“What are they going to do with us?” Daffodil inquired in a frightened tone.

“Don’t worry about it,” Joan advised.

“Aren’t you scared?” Daffodil asked.

Joan gave Daffodil’s right shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “This reminds me of a story I heard once about several of the Family who decided to go climb this big cliff…”

“Where was this cliff?” Daffodil, a lean brunette, one of the Family artists, interrupted.

“Let me finish,” Joan said. “They were climbing this big cliff when one of the men slipped and fell. As he passed his friends on the way down they heard him talking to himself.”

“What was he saying?” Lea bit.

“Well, every time he passed someone they heard him say…” Joan paused for effect. “So far, so good!”

Jenny noticed Saxon as looking at them. “I think our rest is almost up.

Joan, you should be in charge. We must try to stick together. Stay hopeful.

Help will come.”

“Here comes the big one,” Daffodil stated.

Saxon strolled over to them. “On your feet. We’re moving out.” He stepped close to Jenny. “I like blondes. Behave yourself, and I’ll claim you after the testing.”

“Testing?” Jenny wanted him to explain.

“You’ll see.” Saxon walked back to the other Trolls.

“You know,” Lea said optimistically, “it doesn’t seem like they intend to hurt us.”

“Oh no, they won’t kill us,” Joan snapped. “It isn’t too much fun raping a dead body.”

The women slowly stood.

“My aching muscles,” Lea complained.

The Trolls assumed their original positions. Saxon picked up the end of their tether.

“Can’t we have some water?” Jenny requested.

“There’s a stream up ahead a ways,” Saxon informed her. “We all get a drink when we reach it.”

Joan had overheard. “If there’s a stream up ahead,” she said, “then why don’t you Trolls jump in it? Bathing more than once a year wouldn’t hurt, you know!”

Saxon’s eyes narrowed. “Everybody knows bathing is bad for you.

Weakens you.” He raised his voice so all the Trolls could hear. “This one sure likes to use her mouth, doesn’t she?”

“So what if I do?” Joan wouldn’t be cowered.

“So if you like using it so much,” Saxon told her, “you’ll get your chance. In the pen.”

“The pen? What’s that?”

“It’s a place where you’ll be able to flap your gums all you want, bitch.”

The Trolls cackled.

“Now move your asses!” Saxon yelled. “Or else!”

So much for Mr. Nice Guy, Jenny reflected. She sadly gazed over her left shoulder.

Where was Blade?