Armageddon Run

Chapter Three

Catlow, Wyoming. Located on U.S. Highway 85 between the junctions of Highways 18 and 16. Present population: approximately 400. Catlow was one of the many communities which had sprung up after World War III, after the Government had evacuated thousands of people into the area later known as the Civilized Zone. The Constitutional Republic of the United States had deteriorated into a dictatorship controlling most of Wyoming, Colorado, eastern Arizona, New Mexico, Oklahoma, the northern half of a state once called Texas, and most of Montana, as well as the former states of Kansas and Nebraska. Catlow was one of the northernmost settlements in Wyoming, and a garrison of 40 Government troops were stationed there.

All of these facts flitted through Blade’s mind as he viewed the town using binoculars. He was lying on a small rise 200 yards north of the outskirts of Catlow. The town had quieted considerably since darkness had fallen. Lights had come on all over the place, indicating the town had electricity.

How long would it be, he speculated, before the garrison commander became concerned about the 12 missing troopers?

How soon before a patrol was sent out to ascertain why the work detail was overdue?

Blade glanced over his shoulder at the SEAL, parked on the highway below.

The SEAL. Kurt Carpenter’s most important legacy to the Family, a gift costing Carpenter millions. He had wisely foreseen the need for an exceptional vehicle after World War III, knowing conventional cars and trucks would only last as long as fuel was obtainable and parts could be replaced. Consequently, Carpenter had personally financed the research on and construction of the SEAL. The Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle, more commonly referred to by the acronym SEAL.

The SEAL was van-like in its contours, its body composed of a heat-resistant and shatterproof plastic, tinted green to enable those within to see out but preventing anyone outside from looking in. The SEAL’s source of power was the sun; sunlight was collected by two revolutionary solar panels affixed to the roof. The energy was then converted and stored in a bank of six singular batteries, stored in a lead-lined case under the transport. Four huge tires completed the exterior picture.

Almost.

Because, after the automakers had completed this prototype, Carpenter had spent even more money, hiring skilled mercenaries, weapons experts, who had modified the vehicle, installing various armaments.

Blade saw a buckskin-clad figure emerge from the SEAL and climb toward his position. He glanced through the binoculars one more time, then turned to face his friend. “Why didn’t you stay in the SEAL?” he inquired.

“I got tired of hearin’ Orson bellyache, pard,” Hickok said as he knelt alongside Blade. “I reckoned I’d best skedaddle before I was tempted to call him out.”

Blade stared at the vehicle, frowning. “Bringing him along was a mistake,” he stated.

“It wasn’t our idea,” Hickok reminded him. “Plato was the one who said each outfit should send at least one fighter.”

“At least Orson can fight,” Blade commented. “He proved that when we ambushed those twelve earlier.”

“Doesn’t mean a thing,” Hickok disagreed. “We took them by surprise.

The real crunch will come when we’re on the receiving end. Personally, I don’t think Orson will hold up.”

Blade gazed at the starry sky. “We’ll wait a while longer before we make our move.”

“Should we break out the jerky and water?” Hickok asked.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Blade said.

Hickok started to go.

“Wait,” Blade said.

“What is it, pard?”

“I never got around to asking you,” Blade noted. “How did Sherry take to this campaign?” Sherry was Hickok’s wife.

The gunman laughed. “She didn’t want me to come. She said she thought Plato’s plan is too risky, and I had to agree it is a mite on the cockamamie side. She was worried I might get hurt, which is only natural seeing she worships the ground I walk on.”

Blade chuckled. “I’ll bet what she loves the most about you is your humility.”

“How did Jenny take it?” Hickok queried, referring to Blade’s spouse.

“The same as Sherry. Geronimo’s wife probably reacted the same way,” Blade commented.

“Not quite, pard,” Hickok said.

“What do you mean?”

“I was talking to Geronimo a while ago,” Hickok explained. “He claimed Cynthia told him to kick ass and bring back some white scalps.”

“He was pulling your leg.”

“I figured as much,” Hickok said. “That mangy Injun wouldn’t tell me the truth if his life depended on it.”

Blade smiled. “You do the same to him. That’s what you get for having him as one of your best friends.”

“Yeah.” Hickok smiled also. “We know we can count on him when the going gets rough.”

“And Bertha has proven herself in combat,” Blade remarked. “How do you rate Rudabaugh and Lynx?”

“I like Rudabaugh,” Hickok declared. “He’s right handy with those pistols of his, but the poor boy suffers from delusions.”

“Delusions?”

“Yep. He told me he’d like to have a shooting contest. The dummy thinks he might be able to beat me.”

“One of these days,” Blade told him, “you may meet your match.”

Hickok snorted. “Thanks for the vote of confidence! The only way anybody is going to beat me is if they tie my hands behind my back.”

“What do you think of Lynx?” Blade inquired.

“That hombre is downright loco,” Hickok responded.

“Nathan,” Blade said, using the gunfighter’s given name, the name his parents had bestowed, the one he had used for the first sixteen years of his life before he had selected Hickok at his Naming. “Are you sure you’re talking like the real James Butler Hickok would have talked when you try to sound like him?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Blade sighed. “So do you like Lynx or not?”

“There’s no doubt the furry runt can kill,” Hickok said. “He just takes some getting used to, is all. I mean, when you saved Gremlin from the Doktor in Kalispell and brought him back to the Home, he took some getting used to also. But I like him fine. I do know I could count on Lynx to back my play in a pinch, which is more than I can say for that wimp Orson.” He paused. “I wonder how the Doktor does it?” he asked thoughtfully. “How does the madman make critters like Lynx and Gremlin and all the others?”

“Beats me,” Blade confessed. “I think Plato and the Elders are close to understanding the process.”

A twig abruptly snapped behind them, and Hickok reacted instantly, his hands flashing to his Pythons, the revolvers clearing leather faster than the eye could follow. His thumbs were cocking the hammers when he recognized his intended target.

“Damn it, you idiot!” Hickok exclaimed. “I could of blown you away!”

His body was half-twisted in the direction of the newcomer.

“Not the pitiful way you shoot,” a husky feminine voice taunted him.

“Bertha! What are you doing up here?” Blade demanded. “Did somebody call a meeting and forget to tell me about it?”

“Be cool, baby,” Bertha advised him, kneeling next to Hickok. She was a lovely, statuesque woman, with dusky skin and curly black hair; one of her parents had been black, the other white. Her clothing, fatigues confiscated from a deceased soldier, blended nicely with the night. Alpha Triad had rescued her months before from an Army contingent in Thief River Falls, Minnesota. Originally from the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, where she had served as a “soldier” in a faction called the Nomads, she had later become instrumental in assisting the Family in relocating the inhabitants of the Twin Cities to a deserted town known as Halma, situated very close to the Home. The Home itself was located on the outskirts of the former Lake Bronson State Park. “I wanted some fresh air,” Bertha stated. “Besides, you got no call to get on my case. But I want you to know I’m still ticked at you for what you did today.”

“Me?” Blade touched his chest. “What did I do?”

“You left me behind to babysit the buggy while you boys”—she emphasized that word—“went off to get your jollies. I didn’t like it but I didn’t want to say anything in front of the others and show them you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing?” Blade retorted.

Bertha playfully slapped Hickok’s shoulder. “Do you hear this bozo? He has a short memory. Who was it who almost got us killed when we made that run to the Twin Cities? Who was it who almost lost his gonads to the Wacks?” She stopped and pointed at Hickok’s Pythons. “You gonna put them away or shoot me, White Meat?”

Hickok, absorbed in her tirade against Blade, had forgotten to replace his Colts. He promptly twirled them into their respective holsters. “Keep goin’, Black Beauty,” he urged her. “I’m enjoying this.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Blade cracked.

Bertha faced Blade. “You ain’t off the hook yet, sucker! Why’d you do it?

I can hold my own, and you know it. Why didn’t you let one of them other jerks guard the SEAL today?”

“You’ve got it all backwards,” Blade informed her.

“Oh, yeah?” Bertha responded skeptically. “Then set me straight.”

Blade put his brawny right hand on her shoulder. “Bertha, I’d never treat you differently because you’re a woman. Remember, I’m the one who picked two women to be Warriors in the Family. I happen to think women can handle combat as competently as men, provided it’s the right woman—”

“What do you mean by that?” Bertha curtly cut him off.

“Just what I said. Certain women are natural fighters, others aren’t. It’s the same with men. Some make excellent fighters, while others don’t. You’ve met Joshua. He’s a case in point. He’s too spiritual to become an effective fighter. Why do you think my Family has such an arduous selection process for the status of Warrior? Why is our screening of potential candidates so rigorous?”

“You still haven’t told me why you left me behind today,” Bertha noted.

“You were the logical choice.”

“How so?”

Blade pointed at the SEAL. “You know how important our transport is. It’s essential to the Family’s welfare. So put yourself in my shoes. There I was, about to leave the SEAL unprotected in enemy territory. I had to leave a guard. But who could I pick? Lynx or Rudabaugh or Orson? Not likely. I don’t know any of them well enough to trust them alone with something as valuable as the SEAL. Hickok or Geronimo? They’re my Triad partners. We trained together, and we’ve fought side by side for years. I needed them with me to maximize our capability. There was only one person I trusted enough to leave with the SEAL, only one person whose ability and reliability I could count on.”

Bertha beamed. “Me?”

“You,” Blade affirmed.

Bertha leaned down and kissed Blade on the left cheek. “You adorable hunk, you!”

“Uh-oh,” Hickok said.

“Don’t worry,” Bertha said to Hickok. “I ain’t about to fall for him. Not like I did for you, before you went and got yourself married to someone else.”

“I wasn’t talking about you,” Hickok corrected her. He pointed toward Catlow. “Look.”

A pair of headlights was just leaving the outskirts of the town, bearing north on U.S. Highway 85.

“Damn!” Blade cursed his carelessness. “Move it!”

The three of them raced down the rise to the SEAL. The rise and a slight curve temporarily blocked their view of the town and the approaching vehicle.

Blade grabbed Bertha’s right elbow and pushed her to the center of the road. “Lay down,” he ordered.

“What?”

“Lay down!” he directed.

Bertha dropped to the tarmacadam, lying on her stomach, with her arms outspread.

“Hickok!” Blade said, pointing at a cluster of boulders and rocks at the side of the highway only ten feet away.

Hickok ran to the boulders and disappeared from sight.

Blade quickly clambered into the SEAL, into the driver’s seat.

“What’s going on?” Geronimo asked.

The interior of the SEAL was spacious. There were two bucket seats in the front, one for the driver and the other for a passenger, with a console between them. A comfortable long seat ran the width of the transport right behind the bucket seats. The rear section of the SEAL was utilized as a storage space for their provisions. Two spare tires and tools were stocked in a recessed compartment under the rear storage area.

“Company,” Blade said. Geronimo was in the other bucket seat.

Rudabaugh and Orson sat in the wide seat behind them, and Lynx was reclining on top of the pile of supplies.

“What kind of company?” Orson questioned.

Blade hastily placed the key in the ignition and gunned the motor. He kept the lights off and carefully backed the vehicle from the highway, into the cover of the rise. He stopped the SEAL 20 yards from the road and switched off the engine.

“What kind of company?” Orson impatiently repeated.

“Don’t know yet.” Blade glanced at Geronimo. “Stay put and watch the SEAL.”

Geronimo nodded his understanding.

Blade climbed from the transport and sped to the boulders Hickok was hiding behind.

The gunfighter spun at his approach.

“I want them taken out quietly,” Blade said as he crouched near Hickok.

“You got it. Mind if I borrow one of your knives?”

Blade raised his right pants leg. A stiletto was strapped to his calf below the knee. Another stiletto was secured to his left leg. He gripped the hilt and handed the weapon to Hickok.

“Thanks, pard,” Hickok whispered. “I hope you won’t fuss if I get it bloody.”

“Be my guest.”

Further conversation was terminated by the appearance of headlights coming around the curve.

Blade recognized the vehicle as a jeep, alleviating his concern it might be civilians. Traffic in this area was sparse, almost all of it comprised of military conveyances. Jeeps were exclusively used by the Army of the Civilized Zone. The garrison commander had undoubtedly sent a patrol to check on the missing work detail.

The jeep was traveling at a sedate speed, not more than 30 miles an hour, when the lights illuminated Bertha’s prone form. The driver promptly slowed to a crawl.

Bertha didn’t move a muscle.

The jeep drew to a stop about eight feet from Bertha. A door on the passenger side slowly opened and a soldier cautiously stepped out, his M-16 at the ready. He carefully walked to Bertha and nudged her with his right foot.

Bertha lay still.

Two more soldiers emerged from the jeep, one of them the driver. They also carried M-16s.

The first trooper, a sergeant, put the barrel of his M-16 on Bertha’s head. With his right hand on the trigger, he used his left to reach down and touch her cheek.

“Is she dead?” one of the others asked.

The sergeant straightened. “I don’t think so.”

Blade hesitated in making his move, hoping the troopers would spread out a bit more or turn their bodies in another direction. As it was, the three were practically facing the boulders.

“I think she’s faking it,” the sergeant was saying. “Look at the uniform she’s wearing.”

Damn!

Blade mentally lambasted his stupidity. Bertha was wearing a trooper’s uniform! Why hadn’t he thought of it before he had her lie down? Did they have female troopers in the Army?

Damn!

“If you don’t open your eyes right this instant,” the sergeant stated harshly, “I’m going to add another hole to your head.”

Bertha opened her eyes and rolled over. She grinned at the sergeant.

“Hi, there! Thanks for waking me from my nap.”

“Cut the crap, bitch,” the sergeant rejoined. “I happen to know for a fact that women aren’t stationed at outposts like Catlow. So where did you come from? And how did you get out here in the middle of nowhere?

Where’d you get that uniform?”

“My, ain’t you a bundle of questions,” Bertha said.

The sergeant jammed the barrel of the M-16 against her right breast. “I want answers, and I want them now.”

Blade detected a motion out of his left eye.

Hickok was moving to the right, crouched over, heading for the highway.

What did he think he was doing?

“I’m going to count to ten,” the sergeant told Bertha. “If you haven’t told me what I want to know by then, I’m going to ram this thing up your snatch and let you have it.”

Bertha, incredibly, smiled. “Ohhh, how kinky! I love it!”

“One,” the sergeant began.

“You sure are friendly to strangers in these parts,” Bertha quipped.

“Two.”

Blade had lost sight of Hickok. What the hell was the gunman up to now?

“Three.”

Bertha went to rise, but the sergeant shoved her down.

“Four,” he said.

“Ain’t I gonna get a last request?” Bertha demanded.

“Five.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a one-track mind?” Bertha asked.

“Six.”

Bertha glanced at the other soldiers. “Are you just gonna stand there and let him blow me away? Didn’t your momma ever tell you it ain’t polite to waste a lady?”

“Seven.”

“Seven always has been my lucky number,” interposed a new voice.

The three soldiers looked up, elevating their weapons, covering the interloper.

Hickok was nonchalantly standing in the very middle of the highway, not 15 feet from the troopers, his thumbs carelessly hooked in his gunbelt.

He began walking casually to his left, to the far side of the road, forcing the soldiers to pivot and follow his movement, compelling them to turn their backs to the near side of the road and the boulders. “Howdy, neighbors,” he said politely. “I think the lady might have a point. You guys sure don’t know how to impress a woman, do you?”

“Who the hell are you?” the sergeant demanded, flabbergasted at his audacity.

“Would you believe Little Bo Peep?” Hickok responded, still moving.

“Hold it!” the sergeant growled. “Another step and you’re history!”

Hickok stopped, his hands dropping to his sides.

“Are you with her?” the sergeant snapped.

“I got better taste than that,” Bertha interjected.

“Shut up!” the sergeant shouted at her. “You!” he bellowed at the gunman. “Unbuckle that belt!”

“What? My pants will fall down. Do you want me to expose my knobby knees to the world?” Hickok asked.

“I’m not fooling!” the sergeant warned. “Do it right now or else!”

Hickok’s left hand drifted to his belt buckle. “I don’t reckon I could prevail upon you to surrender peaceably?”

“What? Are you nuts?”

“Nope. I’m alive,” Hickok stated, “which is more than I can say for you.”

The sergeant never saw the massive arm encircling his neck, nor did he feel more than a twinge of pain as the razor point of a Bowie knife ripped up and into his neck, piercing his jugular, driving past his jawbone, and imbedding itself in the base of his skull. He gurgled once, blood erupting from the wound and cascading down his chest.

The remaining pair of soldiers, intent on keeping an eye on the man in the buckskins, glanced at their sergeant, astonished to see a steely giant looming behind him. One of them tried to bring his M-16 to bear, but the woman on the ground suddenly swung her legs in an arc, clipping him behind the knees and sending him sprawling to the highway.

Frantic, the third trooper swung toward the giant in the black vest.

Before he could fire, the gunman was there.

Hickok charged in a rush, grabbing the stiletto from behind his back and lunging, the narrow blade penetrating the third trooper’s left eye.

The trooper screamed and fell to his knees, futilely striving to extract the stiletto from his eye.

He quivered for a moment, then toppled over, dead.

Bertha was on top of her foe, pinning him to the road with the M-16 pressed against his neck. He was gaping at her in sheer horror.

“Please don’t kill me!” he wailed.

Blade and Hickok joined her.

“What should I do with him?” Bertha asked.

“Watch him for a moment,” Blade instructed her. He turned and strode into the darkness.

Bertha stood, the M-16 in her hands. “Don’t move!” she told her prisoner. “And keep quiet!”

The young soldier froze, his eyes wide.

Bertha looked at Hickok. “Thanks for the assist, White Meat.”

“Any time.”

“Too bad you had to go and marry Sherry,” Bertha stated. “We would of made a great combo.”

Hickok nodded at the captive. “Now’s not the time nor the place.

Besides, I thought we had this all settled.”

“I never made any promises,” Bertha mentioned.

Hickok, desperate to change the subject, leaned over the soldier. “Did I just see your eyelid twitch?”

“No, sir!” the trooper timorously replied.

“You sure?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Well, don’t let it happen again!”

“Yes, sir!”

“Leave the poor boy alone,” Bertha said. “He might pee his pants if you keep it up.”

They clearly heard the sound of the SEAL starting, and a few seconds later Blade drove the transport onto the roadway. He braked, turned it off, and jumped outside to the ground. Geronimo and the others followed his example.

“What do we have here?” Orson demanded. He walked up to the soldier and, without warning or explanation, kicked him in the side.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’, big belly?” Bertha angrily inquired. “There was no need for that!”

“Just giving him some of his own medicine,” Orson answered, surprised by her attitude. “What’s the big deal.”

“Leave him alone,” Blade commanded, stepping up to Orson.

The bearded grumbler started to say something, decided it wouldn’t be wise, shrugged instead, and walked away.

“What are we going to do with him?” Geronimo asked.

“First things first,” Blade said. He looked at Rudabaugh. “Take the binoculars up that rise and keep your eyes peeled. If you see anything heading our way, come running.”

Rudabaugh nodded and left.

Blade squatted next to the soldier. “I’m going to ask you some questions. I want honest answers.” He drew his right Bowie, the one he’d used to kill the sergeant. “If I suspect you’re lying, you know what I’ll do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fine. How many soldiers are left in Catlow?” Blade inquired as a test question.

“Let me think,” the trooper said hastily, calculating. “About twenty-five,” he concluded.

Blade nodded. The number fit. He’d already known there were originally 40 in Catlow. They had wiped out the 12 guarding the Flatheads. The 3 here made it 15. Subtract 15 from 40, and the result was 25. The trooper was telling the truth.

“Where is the garrison located?” Blade wanted to know.

“There’s a large square in the center of town,” the soldier said. “Our headquarters is a concrete building to the south of the square.”

“Were you sent to check on the road crew, on the Flatheads?”

“How did you know?” The trooper asked, gawking.

“Who’s in charge in Catlow?”

“Captain Reno.”

“When will he expect you back?” Blade queried.

“Not before morning,” the soldier stated. “He told us he thinks they had mechanical trouble, and they wouldn’t want to leave one of the transports with a load of Indians out overnight. He said they were probably camping out and would send the jeep back in the morning for a mechanic. It’s happened before.”

“Why wouldn’t they just send someone back at night?” Blade inquired.

“We don’t do a lot of driving at night, not unless it’s really necessary.”

“I don’t get it. Why not?”

The soldier fearfully gazed skyward. “There are… things… out at night.”

“But the captain sent you?”

“He felt it would be safe,” the trooper responded. “The moon is not out tonight.”

“What the blazes does the moon have to do with anything?” Hickok questioned.

“I don’t rightly know. I’m kind of new here. I was assigned to Catlow only a month ago. I’ve heard a lot of stories— “

“Maybe we shouldn’t be standin’ out here,” Bertha said, looking up.

“What do we do with him?” Geronimo mentioned again.

“We could tie him up and leave him at the side of the road,” Hickok suggested.

“Please! No!” the soldier pleaded. “They might get me!”

“Who might get you?” Blade asked.

“The… things.”

“Why not give him to me?” Lynx requested. He had been quietly leaning against the SEAL, but now he moved forward and stood near Blade. “I could use a tasty snack.”

At the sight of the genetic mutant, the young soldier recoiled in stark fear. “Keep him away from me!”

“He won’t hurt you,” Blade promised.

“Sure, sonny,” Lynx said, grinning, his green eyes twinkling. “I was only foolin’.”

“I know who you are,” the trooper informed Lynx.

“Oh. you do?”

“Yeah. I saw you on the news. You’re the one who tried to kill the Doktor! You’re the one who nuked the Citadel!” The trooper’s eyes were terrified saucers.

Bertha glanced at Lynx. “You nuked the Citadel?”

“What’s the big deal?” Lynx demanded defensively. “It wasn’t a big nuke! Just a little thermo, the portable missiles they used a lot during World War Three.”

“You nuked the Citadel?” Bertha shook her head in disbelief. Her knowledge of nuclear weaponry was scanty, a result of her lack of schooling. But she had heard many tales during her gang years in the Twin Cities, and she knew from firsthand experience some of the horrifying results of the nuclear devastation caused by the Third World War.

“You’re the one they call Lynx!” the soldier exclaimed. “You’re the reason they had to evac—” He abruptly stopped, his head cocked to one side.

“SSSShhhhh,” Hickok said.

“Does anybody hear anything?” Geronimo asked.

They all listened intently. There was a faint swishing sound in the air.

“What is that?” Hickok queried.

“Where’s it comin’ from?” Bertha questioned.

Blade stood. “It’s an odd noise, isn’t it?”

“It’s coming from overhead,” Geronimo declared.

“It sounds like a colossal canary to me,” Lynx commented.

“It’s one of the things!” the young soldier screeched.

“It’s what?” Blade inquired. “What are these things you keep talking about?”

The swishing increased in volume, resembling the rhythmic beating of monstrous wings.

“What the blazes is it?” Hickok demanded.

“I can barely make out… something,” Geronimo mentioned.

“It’s going to get us!” the trooper yelled. Before any of them knew what he was doing, in a surprising display of speed, he twisted, pushed himself erect, and bolted into the night, into the field on the far side of the highway.

Geronimo attempted to grab him, but missed.

“I’ll get the dumb kid,” Lynx volunteered, and took off in pursuit.

The swishing had diminished in intensity.

“Should we give kitty a hand?” Hickok asked Blade.

Blade shook his head. “Lynx can move faster than any of us, and those eyes of his enable him to see in the dark much better than we can. He’ll catch the soldier.”

A piercing scream abruptly rent the enclosing blackness, a scream inexplicably terminated in midcry.

“It was the trooper!” Hickok stated.

“Great Spirit, preserve us!” Geronimo exclaimed.

Bertha started to run in the direction of the outcry.

“Stay put!” Blade ordered.

Bertha stopped. “But—”

“But, nothing! You can’t help him now!”

They waited in the glare from the jeep headlights, their hands on their respective weapons. Blade debated having the jeep headlights doused, but discarded the notion. Whatever was up there had fallen upon the soldier in the gloomy field, not in the bright headlights. Maybe the… thing… didn’t like the glare.

Lynx startled them when he suddenly appeared at the edge of the highway. “I didn’t get to him in time,” he said, stating the obvious.

“What happened?” Blade demanded.

Lynx stared up at the stars. “Something, I don’t know what, swooped down and grabbed the kid before I could reach him. The thing was so damn quick…” He left the sentence unfinished.

“Did the thing kill him?” Bertha queried.

“I don’t know,” Lynx replied. “I saw this form diving from the sky, and I could make out a gigantic pair of wings. You heard the kid when the thing got hold of him? It never slowed, just grabbed the kid and up it went again. There was nothing I could do.”

“Do you think there could be more of them?” Geronimo questioned.

Footsteps pounded nearby and Rudabaugh ran up to them. “I heard a scream,” he said. “What happened?”

“Did you see anything?” Blade asked him.

“Nope. I was watching the town, like you said.”

“Any sign of activity there?”

Rudabaugh shook his head, breathing deeply from his dash down the rise. “Not a peep.”

“Okay.” Blade noticed Orson standing near the SEAL, fear on his features. “Hickok, I want Geronimo and you to put the bodies in the jeep and drive it into the field. See if you can find a suitable hiding place, like a ravine or arroyo. Then get back here on the double. Watch out for colossal canaries!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Hickok said.

“The rest of you,” Blade addressed them, “inside the SEAL. We’ll spend the night inside, just in case there are more of… whatever they are…

around here.”

Lynx climbed into the rear section, while Orson, Rudabaugh, and Bertha took the wide seat. Blade retrieved the arms from the dead soldiers and passed them to Lynx, then stood outside observing Hickok and Geronimo comply with his instructions. When Hickok drove the jeep into the far field, he clambered into the driver’s seat.

A minute elapsed in strained silence.

“We just gonna stay here on the highway?” Orson asked. “What if some traffic comes along?”

“We’ll wait here for Hickok and Geronimo,” Blade replied.

“What’s the matter?” Orson said sarcastically. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about them! I thought the vaunted Warriors were indestructible!”

Before Blade could reply, Bertha rammed the barrel of her M-16 into Orson’s fleshy chin.

Orson straightened and made like a rock.

“You know, honky, I’m gettin’ real tired of your face,” Bertha said in a hard tone. “First, you beat on that boy out there, a kid just doin’ his job, when he couldn’t fight back. And now, you badmouth the Warriors. You must be one stupid honky! I’ve seen these Warriors in action, and I’m here to tell you they can be mean mothers if you tick ’em off. But don’t take my word for it. I’ve seen how you like to get on Blade’s case all the time. Do me a favor. Do all of us a favor! Why don’t you pick on Hickok, but do it when Blade ain’t around, ’cause Blade is a nice guy and wouldn’t let Hickok do a number on you. You see, lover,” Bertha mentioned softly, leaning nearer to Orson, “you don’t know Hickok like I know Hickok. That man is stone crazy when it comes to killin’. You might be able to cross him once and get away with it, if he had a reason to let you live. But dump on him twice…”

Bertha paused and laughed. “Well, let me put it to you this way. I don’t know of anyone who’s crossed Hickok twice and is still alive to tell about it. Do you, Blade?”

Blade suppressed a grin. “No,” he confirmed.

“This is real interesting, Bertha,” Lynx chimed in. “You should have been with us earlier, when we jumped the work detail guards.”

Bertha glanced at Lynx, reclining on the supplies in the back of the transport. “Oh? Why?”

“Because fatso here told Hickok he was full of hot air.” Lynx frowned and snapped his fingers. “And dummy me! I had to go and butt in before Hickok made his play!”

Bertha looked at Orson, her brown eyes dancing with delight. “Did you really?” she inquired sweetly. “Orson, I’m here to tell you, I haven’t met anyone in all my years with less brains than you have.” She removed the barrel of the M-16 from his bearded chin.

Orson turned and glared at her. “You talk real big when you have a gun in my face!”

“Are you…” Bertha began, then hesitated, her face creasing in a pleased smile.

The passenger side door was jerked open and Geronimo entered the SEAL, followed by Hickok. Geronimo sat on the console, the gunfighter in the remaining bucket seat.

“Any problems?” Blade inquired.

“No,” Geronimo answered.

“It was a piece of cake,” Hickok affirmed. “Not more than fifteen yards thataway”—he pointed to the southwest—“is a gully. Not very big, but the jeep fit in it real nice.”

“Good,” Blade declared. “We’ll back up behind the rise and spend the night there.”

Bertha eased forward on her seat. “Say, White Meat?” she said, using her pet expression for Hickok.

“What is it, Black Beauty,” he responded.

“Would you do something for me?” Bertha innocently asked.

Hickok glanced over his shoulder. “Anything except marry you. I keep tellin’ you I’m already hitched.”

“Oh, it’s nothin’ like that,” she assured him.

“Then what is it?”

“Would you kill Orson for me?”

A pin dropping would have been the equivalent of tumultuous thunder.

Hickok stared at Orson. “Have you been bothering her?”

“He sure has,” Bertha verified. “Me, and Blade, and everybody else, for that matter.”

Hickok’s blue eyes narrowed. “I told you I’d put a hole between those beady eyes of yours if you kept it up.” He reached for the door handle. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

Orson’s mouth fell open. He shot a glance at Blade. “Are you just going to sit there and let him shoot me?”

Blade slowly stretched. “Orson, I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I don’t have the energy to waste trying to talk Hickok out of killing you.”

“But you can’t!” Orson protested.

Blade stifled a yawn. “Why not?”

“This is supposed to be a joint venture,” Orson said. “We were sent here as a team! Your Family and my people have signed a treaty!”

“True,” Blade admitted. “The Family and the Moles did agree to a pact.”

“So, if you let Hickok kill me, it would violate the treaty!” Orson declared.

Blade stared at Orson and allowed himself the luxury of an innocent smile. “Who would know?”

“What?”

“How would your people find out? I’m not about to tell them,” Blade asserted.

“I know I won’t,” Bertha said.

“My lips are sealed,” Lynx interjected. “And besides, I really could use the snack!”

Orson gazed at Rudabaugh for support.

Rudabaugh chuckled. “Don’t look at me! My people, the Cavalry, could care less about one slimy Mole.”

Hickok opened his door. “There you have it. I won’t wait long.”

Orson paled.

“Oh, darn!” Geronimo said, then sighed. “I hate to be the party-pooper, but I don’t think you should kill him.”

Hickok exhaled through his nose. “You’re always spoiling my fun!”

“I’m sorry,” Geronimo apologized.

“Why don’t you think I should do it?”

Geronimo looked at Orson. “Don’t get me wrong. I want you to do it.

I’ve been thinking about scalping him myself. But don’t you recall what Plato said to us right before we departed the Home?”

“Refresh my memory.”

“He told us he was counting on us,” Geronimo said. “He said all his hopes and aspirations were riding with us. And he added it would be up to us to set an example for all the others. If all of us can’t get along, how could anyone expect the Family, the Cavalry, and the Moles to exist in peace?”

“Ain’t no skin off my nose, pard.”

“Plato is counting on us,” Geronimo stressed.

Hickok sighed and slammed his door. “All right.” He glanced at Orson.

“It’s against my better judgment, but I’m gonna give you one more chance.”

Orson gulped. “I appreciate it.”

“But if I were you,” Hickok added, “I’d take the advice of my grandmother. If you don’t have anything nice to say about others, keep your damn trap shut!”

Blade grinned and started the SEAL, wondering if Hickok really would have shot Orson or if the gunman was merely applying some basic psychology. Because, as much as he hated to admit it, they would need Orson in the days ahead. Need him badly.

Bertha reached over and tickled Orson’s chin. “No hard feelings, are there?”

“No hard feelings,” Orson mumbled.

Lynx cackled. “This is just what I like.”

“What is?” Rudabaugh asked.

“We’re all one big, happy family!”