Dakota Run

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 trusted 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.

“Rory raped Rolf’s woman?” Geronimo inquired.

Kilrane nodded. “About ten years ago.”

“Why didn’t Rolf kill Rory on the spot?” Geronimo prodded.

“That’s what I would have done,” Kilrane stated harshly. “Hell, I offered to kill Rory for Rolf! Even promised to let the prick go for his gun first. But Rolf wouldn’t hear of it! He’s too damn decent for his own good.”

“Rolf couldn’t bring himself to kill his own brother?” Geronimo asked.

“You’ve got to understand how it was,” Kilrane explained. “Rory always was a troublemaker. It wasn’t so bad when their dad, Brent, was alive.

Brent was able to keep Rory in line. But after Brent was shot in the back, Rory grew worse and worse. He resented having to share leadership of the Cavalry with Rolf. He caused trouble whenever he could. Rolf just took it all in stride, certain Rory would come around some day. Well, he was wrong! Rolf fell in love with a woman named Adrian. Rory decided he wanted her for himself. The son of a bitch raped her!”

“What happened then?” Cynthia asked.

Kilrane’s features clouded with the memories. “I was there when the three of them had it out. I was the only one there, and afterwards Rory made me promise never to tell any of the Cavalry what had happened.”

“I’m not Cavalry,” Geronimo said. “You can tell me.” He sensed Kilrane wanted to tell someone, that it had been eating at his insides for a long, long time.

Kilrane glanced around, insuring none of the patrol riders were close enough to overhear. The nearest was ten feet away.

“Rory taunted Rolf,” Kilrane detailed, speaking in a low voice. “Dared him to go for his gun. Rolf wanted to. I could see it in his eyes. But Adrian intervened. You see, she didn’t tell Rolf right after the rape happened. No, she waited until she discovered she was pregnant with Rory’s child. She said she hadn’t told him because she didn’t want to cause trouble between them. She didn’t want their blood on her hands. Adrian is a sweet woman, you understand. The kind who wouldn’t kill a fly. But she’s missing a few marbles, if you ask me.” Kilrane paused, frowning. “Still, Rolf loves her, and he’s an honorable man. After Adrian pleaded with him to spare Rory’s life, he backed down. Never saw him do that before. He decided he was going to leave and made an announcement in front of everybody, although he didn’t tell them his reason. He’s well liked. A lot of the Cavalry went with him and formed the Legion.”

“Cynthia told me a little about it,” Geronimo admitted. “What happened to Adrian? Did she go with Rolf?”

Kilrane’s hands clenched and unclenched. “No! She said she loved Rolf too much to ask him to raise Rory’s child. So she stayed with the bastard! Can you imagine it! Now she has a ten-year-old son called Calhoun. He’s almost ten, anyway.”

“And Rolf?” Geronimo queried him.

Kilrane looked at Geronimo and shook his head. “Pitiful. Just pitiful. The man is a shadow of his former self. Oh, he looks the same on the outside, but he’s not half the man he used to be.”

“And the brothers haven’t seen each other in a decade?” Geronimo questioned.

“Nope.”

“Who’s the oldest?” Geronimo casually inquired.

“Neither,” Kilrane answered.

“I don’t follow you,” Geronimo admitted.

“Didn’t I tell you? They’re twins,” Kilrane explained.

One of the other riders, a small man with a wisp of a moutache and a scruffy beard, wearing faded brown pants and a green shirt, rode closer to Kilrane.

Geronimo remembered this one; he was carrying the Martin and had the Arminius and the tomahawk stuck through his belt. The man’s own Winchester was slung over his back.

“What is it, Hamlin?” Kilrane demanded.

“Aren’t we getting pretty close to the Dead Zone?” Hamlin asked, nervously glancing to the northwest.

“We are,” Kilrane verified.

The left corner of Hamlin’s mouth twisted downward. “Listen, don’t get me wrong,” he said to Kilrane. “I’m not questioning your judgment or anything, but aren’t we taking a big chance?”

“I know we are,” Kilrane agreed. “But I figure the Cavalry patrols won’t come this close. We should be able to return to our own territory undetected.”

“I hope you’re right,” Hamlin stated.

“What’s the Dead Zone?” Geronimo interrupted.

“You’ve never seen it?” Cynthia queried.

Geronimo shook his head, shrugging at the same time.

“Actually, there’s more than one,” Kilrane mentioned. “But this one is special.”

“Why special?” Geronimo pressed him.

“Dead Zones are areas devoid of life,” Cynthia said.

“My Family calls them Hot Spots,” Geronimo revealed. “They were areas impacted by a nuclear weapon during the Big Blast. We haven’t entered any of them because we have no way of knowing what the level of radioactivity might be.”

“Sounds like the same thing,” Cynthia confirmed.

“But you still haven’t told me why this one Dead Zone is so unique,” Geronimo reminded them.

It was Hamlin who responded. “This one has life in it, if the reports are true.”

“What reports?” Geronimo quizzed them.

“Only one person we know of ever returned from this Dead Zone,” Kilrane elaborated. “He told fantastic tales of bloodthirsty monsters before he died. That was years and years ago. Some curious types have ventured into the area in recent years, but not one of them ever came back.”

“Can I ask about something else?” Geronimo inquired.

“What is it?” Kilrane replied.

“You can read, can’t you?”

Kilrane’s surprise registered. “Yeah. My parents taught me. So what?”

“I can read too,” Cynthia stated with a trace of pride. “My family owns a primer and a dozen other books.” She paused. “At least we did until this dimwit burned everything!” She whacked Kilrane on his right shoulder.

Amazing behavior for a captive! Geronimo considered the information revealed during the course of their conversation. “How do the two sides feel about the conflict?” he questioned Kilrane.

“They don’t much like it,” Kilrane answered. “They never did understand the real reason Rory and Rolf had their falling out. Most of them want the two factions to reunite. Whole families were divided by the breakup. Brother against brother. Cousin against cousin. Can you imagine what it’s been like?” He stopped, reflecting a moment. “Many of us feel the Cavalry will be whole again after Rolf or Rory die. Some of us have even been discussing how to accomplish it, if you get my meaning.”

“I understand,” Geronimo said.

“Hey,” Hamlin interjected, looking at Geromino. “Why’d you ask about the reading? I can’t read. What’s the big deal over a bunch of stupid books?”

“My Family are readers,” Geronimo divulged. “I would imagine the citizens of the Civilized Zone can read too. But it’s not that way elsewhere. Reading and education are lost arts.”

“So what’s the big deal?” Hamlin reiterated.

“Readers are thinkers, Hamlin,” Geronimo told him.

“So who needs to think?” Hamlin wanted to know.

Their discussion was abruptly punctuated by the sharp retort of gunfire ahead.

Kilrane reined in and the remainder of the patrol did likewise.

The two point men were approaching at a gallop. Behind them rose a spreading dust cloud.

“Three guesses what that is,” Hamlin remarked nervously.

Geronimo knew what he meant, even before the point men arrived.

“It’s a Cavalry unit!” one of the point riders shouted. “About three dozen.”

“They took some shots at us,” the second point man yelled, “but they were too far off.”

“We’ll head southeast,” Kilrane ordered. “Maybe we can swing around them.”

The patrol wheeled.

“Look!” someone cried. “There’s more of them!”

Geronimo estimated another three or four dozen were fast approaching from the southeast. With the first group coming in from the west, Kilrane wasn’t left with many options. If he attempted to travel south, his patrol would be caught between the two larger Cavalry units. There was only one viable alternative.

“We go north!” Kilrane directed, waving his right arm over his head.

“We can’t!” Hamlin exclaimed, alarmed. “Look!”

More Cavalry riders were coming at them from the north.

“We’re boxed in!” a Legionnaire voiced the obvious.

“No, we’re not!” Kilrane declared, and indicated the northwest.

Many of the men exchanged anxious looks.

“The Dead Zone,” Hamlin said in a subdued tone.

“What if you just surrender?” Geronimo asked.

“Rory would have us shot,” Kilrane replied. “No, there’s only one way out of this, and I’d bet they planned it this way.”

“They’re trying to force you into the Dead Zone?”

Kilrane nodded, his blue eyes glaring at the Cavalry riders. “What else? They outnumber us, sure, but why waste men and ammunition when they can let the Dead Zone do their dirty work for them?”

“Maybe we could make a stand here?” Hamlin feebly suggested.

Kilrane motioned with his arm and urged the Palomino forward, bearing northwest.

After a moment’s hesitation, his men followed his example.

Geronimo stayed alongside Kilrane, reluctant to allow Cynthia out of his sight. She was visibly pale, evidently quite frightened. Who could blame her? What was it Kilrane had said? Fantastic tales of bloodthirsty monsters?

Great!

Just great!

The next time I want to be alone with my thoughts, Geronimo promised himself, I’ll simply dig a hole somewhere in the Home and meditate in it until I’m ready to come out again.

Someone should have warned him.

Introspection could be hazardous to your health!

Maybe Hamlin had the right idea after all.

Who needs to think?