New York Run

Chapter Three

The 15 Family Warriors were armed with their favorite weapons and on the brick walls within three minutes of the alarm. Alpha Triad, consisting of Blade, Hickok, and Geronimo, took its posts on the west wall.

They were joined by Beta Triad: the diminutive Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, the Family’s supreme martial artist; the silver-haired Yama, named after the Hindu King of Death; and Teucer, the bowman. Gamma Triad took the north wall: Spartacus, with his ever-present broadsword; the eighteen-year-old Shane, an aspiring gunfighter like his mentor, Hickok; and Bertha. The east wall was manned by the towering, Mohawk-cropped Ares, the head of Omega Triad, and his two subordinates: Helen, a raven-haired Warrior whose namesake was Helen of Troy; and Sundance, the pistol expert. On the south wall stood Zulu Triad, led by the powerhouse Samson, and including Sherry, Hickok’s wife, and Marcus, the self-styled gladiator. Sherry, her M.A.C.-10 held in the crook of her right arm, surveyed the empty field and forest below the wall, thankful little Ringo was being watched by Jenny, Blade’s wife, and worried about her husband on the west wall.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi had been responsible for blowing the horn. Now he was stationed alongside Blade directly above the closed drawbridge, his five-foot frame clothed in black Oriental-style clothing constructed by the Family Weavers, his dark eyes scanning the forest to the west. His attire matched his lineage. Rikki was one of several Family members with an Oriental lineage.

“So what’s the big deal?” Hickok demanded, standing on Rikki’s right.

“There’s nothin’ out there.”

“Be patient,” Rikki advised.

For 150 yards in every direction, the Family diligently kept the land cleared of trees, brush, boulders, and whatever else might be used for concealment by any enemy assaulting the Home. The flat, exposed field gave the Warriors an excellent line of fire. No one could reach the brick walls without sustaining heavy casualties.

Beyond the fields, dense forest prevailed. A crude road, little more than a flattened 15-foot-wide path, was maintained between the western edge of the field and Highway 59, approximately five miles to the west. A mile south from where the makeshift road met Highway 59 was Halma, dwelling place of the Family’s allies, the Clan.

“You sure you didn’t see a deer and mistake it for a mutate?” Hickok asked, joking with Rikki.

Rikki pointed to the west. “Does that look like a deer to you?”

Hickok took a look. “Nope,” he admitted. “It sure don’t, pard.”

A jeep was visible, cresting the rise of a low hill, heading toward the Home.

“It’s about half a mile away,” Geronimo commented.

The jeep was joined by two military troop transports and yet another jeep.

“It’s a small convoy,” Blade observed.

“The only ones we know with vehicles like those are the folks in the Civilized Zone,” Hickok declared.

Blade nodded. Why would the Civilized Zone be sending a convoy to the Home? Even in military vehicles, the trip was fraught with peril and not to be taken lightly.

Someone cleared his throat to Blade’s left.

The giant Warrior turned and discovered Plato had ascended the rampart. “What are you doing up here?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t be up here until we signal it’s all clear.”

Plato smiled. “I wanted to see for myself. I know it’s against our rules.”

Hickok grinned. “You’re settin’ a fine example for the munchkins, old-timer.”

“I promise I will leave at the first hint of hostility,” Plato said to Blade.

Blade frowned. “All right. You can stay. But keep your head down!”

The convoy was rapidly closing on the Home. The leading jeep reached the field west of the compound and angled toward the drawbridge.

“Hold your fire!” Blade commanded. He held a Commando Arms Carbine in his hands. Converted to full automatic by the Family Gunsmiths, and outfitted with a 90-shot magazine for its 45-caliber ammunition, it was a particularly lethal instrument of death.

“Darn!” Hickok stated. “I was hoping for some target practice.” He hefted the Navy Arms Henry Carbine in his right hand.

The other Warriors were likewise armed and ready. Geronimo carried an FNC Auto Rifle and packed an Arminius .357 Magnum in a shoulder holster under his right arm. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi had his cherished katana angled under his black belt, and held a Heckler and Koch HK93 in his arms. Rikki’s Beta Triad companions were equally prepared: Teucer, the bowman, bore a Panther Crossbow, armed with explosive tips instead of razor-edged hunting points, the camouflage shading of the bow with a pull of 175 pounds complementing his green Robin Hood-like wardrobe; while Yama, one of the few Family members who could claim a physique nearly as superbly developed as Blade’s, carried a variety of weapons. Yama was unique among the Warriors. He’d taken his name on his 16th birthday from the Hindu King of Death, not because he leaned toward the Hindu religion spiritually, but because death was his profession and he was an expert at his craft. At Yama’s insistence, the Family Weavers had made a one-piece dark blue garment with the silhouette of a black skull stitched into the fabric between his wide shoulders to serve as his uniform. He normally used a Wilkinson carbine with a 50-shot magazine, a Browning Hi-Power 9 millimeter Automatic Pistol under his right arm, a smith and Wesson Model 586 Distinguished Combat Magnum under his left arm, a 15-inch survival knife strapped to his right hip, and a curved scimitar in a scabbard on his left.

All of the weapons came from the Family armory in A Block. Kurt Carpenter had meticulously stockpiled hundreds of diverse arms in the huge, concrete structure. Rifles, pistols, revolvers, shotguns, machine guns, and others of every conceivable make and description. He also included at least one of each and every type of weapon he could find, everything from Oriental weaponry such as nunchaku and sai and to American Indian artifacts such as Apache tomahawks. Thus, the Warriors were able to satisfy their personal predilections, whether it was Bowies for Blade, a katana for Rikki, a broadsword for Spartacus (because Ares already possessed the only shortsword), or a tomahawk for Geronimo—the only remaining Family member with an Indian heritage. Whatever their tastes, the armory supplied them. Carpenter had predicted the collapse of civilization after the war, and he knew his successors would require considerable firepower if they were to persevere in a world governed by the basic creed of survival of the fittest.

The convoy stopped, the jeep ten yards from the west wall, and a figure in uniform emerged and glanced up at the Warriors.

Blade felt his muscles relax. The man was an officer, about six feet in height with a lean build. His uniform was clean and pressed, with gold insignia on his shoulders. He had black hair, brown eyes, and rugged, honest features. He was General Reese, the foremost military commander in the Civilized Zone under President Toland.

General Reese waved. “Blade! We need to talk!”

Blade returned the wave. “Hold on! We’ll lower the drawbridge.”

Four Family members quickly lowered the massive mechanism, and moments later the convoy wheeled into the compound and parked near the moat.

“Raise the drawbridge,” Blade instructed Rikki. “And keep your Triad here until we find out what’s going on.”

“Will do,” Rikki said.

“After you,” Blade said to Plato, motioning toward the stairs. He waited until Plato was descending, then turned. “You two stay close to me,” he said to Hickok and Geronimo. “I trust Reese, but you never know…” He let the sentence trail off.

“Don’t fret, pard,” Hickok stated. “You can count on us. We’ll back your play all the way.”

Blade hastened after Plato, Hickok and Geronimo in tow.

General Reese had climbed from his jeep. A dozen soldiers piled from each of the troop transports, and four more from the second jeep. The troopers formed into two rows, standing at attention.

Blade saw a man and a woman step from the general’s vehicle. They wore green uniforms similar to those worn by the Civilized Zone soldiers, but theirs were a darker green and the new fabric clung to their bodies.

Both the man and the woman were well-proportioned, conveying considerable strength in their posture, in the muscular contours of their physiques, and in the alertness of their eyes. Both wore their black hair in crewcuts, and both had pistols strapped to their right hips. Professional military types, obviously, but there was something about them, perhaps in the simple way they carried themselves, serving to set them apart and above the troopers from the Civilized Zone. Neither the man’s square features nor the woman’s angular facial lines reflected any warmth or humor.

“Hello, General Reese,” Blade said as they reached the vehicles. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Blade!” General Reese advanced and extended his right hand. “The same here!” He shook hands warmly, then faced Plato. “And you, sir, must be the Family Leader I’ve heard so much about. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

Plato shook hands. “And I have heard about you. President Toland informed me at our last conclave how instrumental you’ve been in assisting in the reorganization of the Civilized Zone government.”

“President Toland flatters me,” General Reese said.

Blade indicated his two friends. “This is Hickok.”

“The famous gunfighter?” General Reese asked.

Hickok’s chest puffed up a good inch. “I reckon my name does get bandied about a mite.” He offered his right hand.

“You Warriors are acquiring quite a reputation,” General Reese remarked.

“And this is Geronimo,” Blade said.

General Reese shook hands. “We met briefly when you were in Denver, remember?”

“You have a good memory,” Geronimo said.

“Well, now that the amenities are over,” Plato stated, “perhaps you will explain the reason for this extraordinary visit?”

General Reese nodded at the man and woman in the dark green uniforms. “First let me introduce you.”

The man and woman moved closer.

General Reese swept the Warriors and Plato with his gaze. “Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet Captain Wargo and Lieutenant Farrow.”

Captain Wargo nodded. “I’ve looked forward to this meeting for some time.” His voice was deep, almost harsh.

“They’re from Chicago,” General Reese revealed.

Plato’s surprise showed. Hickok and Geronimo exchanged glances. Only Blade remained immobile, a statue.

“When did the Civilized zone send an expedition to Chicago?” Plato inquired. “I thought such missions must be approved by the entire Freedom Federation C ouncil?”

“We didn’t send one,” General Reese responded. “They came to us.”

Blade studied the pair. Chicago was east of the area presided over by the Freedom Federation, in hostile country. No one had ventured to the Windy City in over a century. But during the last run Alpha Triad had made, to the city of St. Louis—during which they’d battled the Reds—he’d been told about a group controlling Chicago. What was its name again?

“We’re Technics,” Captain Wargo said proudly.

“Technics?” Plato repeated, puzzled.

“I believe it started as a nickname decades ago,” Captain Wargo explained. “You see, the scientists at the Chicago Institute of Advanced Technology refused to evacuate the city during the war. They dug in and used their knowledge to forge a new lifestyle. Eventually they came to rule the city.”

“And now they’re known as Technics,” Plato deduced.

“Exactly,” Captain Wargo confirmed.

“They even have several manufacturing facilities operational,” General Reese interjected.

“Really?” Plato’s eyebrows rose. “Quite remarkable. The war severely impaired the country’s industrial capability. How were your people able to overcome the handicap of a shortage of raw materials and the requisite work force to produce your goods?”

Captain Wargo shrugged, downplaying the Technics’ accomplishment.

“Oh, we get a little bit here, a little bit there. You know how it is.”

Blade saw Hickok’s jaw muscles tighten.

Plato nodded. “We must have a great deal to discuss. Why don’t we retire to my cabin? My wife, Nadine, can fix refreshments, and you can elucidate on why you’ve been looking forward to meeting us.”

“Sounds great,” Captain Wargo said.

“I’ll dismiss my men,” General Reese declared, walking off.

“I’ll join you in your cabin,” Blade told Plato. Then he looked at Wargo.

“If you don’t mind?” he added politely.

“To the contrary,” Captain Wargo replied. “I was hoping you would join us. And bring Hickok and Geronimo too. Alpha Triad should be there.”

“You know who we are?” Blade asked innocently.

Captain Wargo hesitated for a fraction of an instant. “Yes. General Reese told me all about you on the trip here.”

Hickok’s right hand had drifted to the pearl grips on his right Python.

Blade smiled. “Plato, why don’t you take Captain Wargo and Lieutenant Farrow to your cabin?” he suggested. “We’ll join you in a bit.”

“Fine,” Plato said, and led the Technics to the east.

“I don’t trust that hombre,” Hickok snapped when they were beyond earshot.

“Neither do I,” Geronimo affirmed.

“That makes it unanimous,” Blade said.

“What do you reckon they’re up to?” Hickok queried.

“We’ll know shortly,” Blade answered. He gazed up at the west rampart, at Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. “The alert is over!” he shouted. “Tell the Family they can come out of the Blocks! Post Gamma Triad around these vehicles!”

“That won’t be necessary,” interrupted General Reese, joining them.

“Just a precaution,” Blade said. “Standard procedure.”

“Yeah,” Hickok quipped. “We wouldn’t want one of our kids to steal a battery or a hubcap!”

“Have Omega Triad and Zulu Triad wait near the armory until they hear from me!” Blade yelled to Rikki.

“Consider it done!” Rikki acknowledged.

“Let’s go,” Blade said, and led them toward the row of cabins in the center of the Home. “What do you make of this Captain Wargo?” he inquired of the general.

Reese frowned. “He’s a real tough nut to crack. Doesn’t talk a lot, except when it suits his purposes. To be honest, I don’t feel comfortable around him. Or her, for that matter. I receive the impression they’re holding back on us, not telling us everything they should.”

“You too, huh?” Hickok said.

“President Toland feels the same,” General Reese disclosed. “He gave me a personal message for you, Blade.”

“What is it?”

“He said to watch yourself,” General Reese stated. “Use your best judgment, but watch yourself.”

“We will,” Blade vowed. “What are they doing here?”

“You’d better hear it from them,” General Reese said.

“Did they just show up in Denver?” Geronimo asked.

“No,” General Reese responded. “They showed up at a guard post on the eastern edge of Omaha, Nebraska. Demanded to see President Toland.

Asked for him by name.”

“How did they know Toland is the President of the Civilized Zone?”

Blade asked the officer.

“Beats me,” General Reese said. “The word has probably spread, though, even to the Outlands.”

“The Outlands?” Blade reiterated.

“Oh. Sorry. Anything beyond the boundaries of the Freedom Federation, whether it’s west of the Rockies or east of our borders, we call the Outlands,” General Reese informed them.

“Appropriate name,” Geronimo chipped in.

“Did you interrogate this Wargo?” Blade asked.

“No,” General Reese answered, frowning. “I wanted to give him the works, but President Toland wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Why not?”

“Because, technically, Captain Wargo and Lieutenant Farrow are diplomatic envoys for the Technics. They initiated peaceful overtures and established contact with us.” He sighed. “My hands are tied until and unless they commit a hostile act.”

“I can’t wait to hear what these bozos have to say,” Hickok commented.

They walked in silence to Plato’s cabin, the seventh from the north.

Blade knocked on the west door, and a moment later Plato opened it and beckoned them inside.

“Come on in,” Plato urged them. “Nadine is in the kitchen preparing food for our guests. Would you like some. General Reese?”

Reese patted his stomach. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m on a diet. I’ve got to lose about ten pounds. It doesn’t do to set a bad example for the ranks.”

“I heartily agree,” said Captain Wargo. He was seated at the living room table. Lieutenant Farrow stood behind his chair, her hands clasped behind her trim back.

Plato closed the door and took a seat across the oaken table from Captain Wargo. General Reese sat on his left. Hickok and Geronimo moved to the right and leaned against the log wall. Blade crossed to the table, but stayed standing next to Plato.

“Have a seat,” Captain Wargo suggested.

“Thanks,” Blade said, “but not right now.”

Captain Wargo shrugged.

“You were about to tell me the reason you wanted to meet us,” Plato prompted the Technic officer.

Captain Wargo leaned back in his chair and stared at each of them, smiling.

There was a phony quality about that smile. Blade shifted uncomfortably.

“First, allow me to congratulate you on the marvelous setup you have here,” Captain Wargo said. “It’s amazing, considering the barbaric conditions existing elsewhere.”

“Our Founder deserves all the credit,” Plato said. “We’re merely perpetuating a system he started.”

Captain Wargo glanced at Blade. “And what about the Warriors? Did your Founder start them as well?”

“Originally he had nine Warriors, but later they were expanded to twelve, and then, fairly recently, to fifteen,” Plato divulged.

“I couldn’t help but notice,” Captain Wargo remarked. “You have a Warrior named Hickok, and one called Geronimo, and others named Yama and Samson, to mention just a few.” He paused. “Where do you people get your names? We have a vast library in Chicago, and a mandatory educational regimen. It seems to me I’ve run across some of these names before.” He looked at Plato. “Especially yours.”

Plato nodded, grinning. “The Family also has a sizable library,” he told Wargo. “And many of us take our names from books in the library.”

“You get your names from books?”

“Our Founder didn’t want us to forget our historical roots. He was afraid we’d be tempted to ignore the lessons to be learned from a study of history. So he implemented a procedure, a ceremony we call our Naming.

When all Family members turn sixteen, they are permitted to select any name from any book in the library as their very own. Years ago, we only used the history books. But now we adopt our names from practically any volume in the library. That’s how I received mine,” Plato elaborated.

“Hickok, for instance, took his from a revered gunfighter of ancient times. Geronimo took his from an Indian he admires and respects.”

Captain Wargo looked at the giant Warrior alongside Plato. “And you. Blade?”

Blade patted his twin Bowies. “I couldn’t find a name I wanted in any of the books, so I picked a new one.”

“One based on his preference in weapons,” Plato added.

“I see.” Captain Wargo glanced at Lieutenant Farrow, then resumed speaking. “I don’t mind telling you, and I’m not attempting to flatter you by saying this, that your reputations have preceded you. As General Reese noted earlier, you’ve achieved some small measure of fame over the past few years.”

Blade studied the Technic. “I can understand them talking about us in the Civilized Zone,” he said. “After all, we fought a war with them some time back and won. But how is it you’ve heard of us clear in Chicago?

Chicago is outside of the Civilized Zone. It’s even outside of the Freedom Federation’s territory. It must be hundreds of miles from here.”

“About eight hundred,” Captain Wargo offered.

“Are you telling me you’ve heard of us in Chicago?” Blade demanded.

Captain Wargo nodded. “Think about it for a moment. From what I was told, the Warriors have fought in the Twin Cities, in Montana, in the Dakota Territory, and in the Civilized Zone. You were responsible for destroying Cheyenne, Wyoming, too, I believe. Did you really think all that would go unnoticed?”

Blade thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. Verrrry interesting! First, Wargo said he’d heard about the Warriors from General Reese. Now he says he learned about them in Chicago.

“General Reese only confirmed the stories,” Captain Wargo said, as if he could read Blade’s mind. “Chicago isn’t isolated from the rest of the world. We get travelers passing through every day. We were bound to hear about you sooner or later.”

“I see,” Blade said. Why was it he still felt as if Wargo were lying through his even white teeth?

“Actually,” Captain Wargo said, “the Warriors are part of the reason I’m here.”

“They are?” asked Plato.

“Yes,” Captain Wargo confirmed. “The Warriors, and the SEAL.”

Blade’s steely eyes bored into the Technic. The SEAL was the Family’s mechanical pride and joy, their main means of travel. The Founder, Kurt Carpenter, had spent millions of dollars developing it prior to World War III. His scientists had been instructed to construct an indestructible vehicle, and they’d nearly succeeded. Van-like in configuration, the SEAL

was green in color and designed with a versatile array of special features.

It had originally been called the Solar-Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle. Carpenter had later hired mercenaries to incorporate devastating armaments into its body. Its sturdy structure was composed of’ a shatterproof, heat-resistant, super-plastic, deliberately tinted to prevent outsiders from viewing the interior but enabling the occupants to see in all directions. Four enormous tires provided a rugged means of locomotion. Two prototypical solar panels on the roof and a series of six revolutionary batteries positioned in a lead-lined case under the SEAL served as the key components in its power system. “You know about the SEAL too?”

Captain Wargo nodded. “A little. We knew you owned it, and our leader, the man we call our Minister, realized you might be able to assist us in a desperate enterprise. We knew the Family was connected with the Freedom Federation, but we didn’t know exactly where to find you. So the Minister proposed sending us to President Toland and requesting his aid in contacting you.” Wargo grinned. “It worked.”

“One moment,” Plato said. “What is this desperate enterprise you’ve mentioned?”

Captain Wargo’s grin widened. “Our Minister would like your permission to send Alpha Triad and your SEAL on a mission.”

“A mission? To where?” Plato inquired.

Captain Wargo scanned the room before responding. “Why, to New York City, of course.”

Blade felt his abdominal muscles inadvertently tighten.