Thief River Falls Run

Chapter Four

Blade drove the SEAL at a sedate speed, still unsure of his ability and the SEAL’S capability despite his previous experience on the run to Fox. He drove south after leaving the Home behind. They crossed rolling fields, following the guidelines Plato had prepared. A road atlas from the library was their means of navigation. Eight miles from the Home, as hoped for, they found Highway 11. Still passable, the road was cracked and riddled with holes. Portions of the surface had buckled over the years, with weeds growing in the exposed sections.

“We head west from here, right?” Blade asked, requesting confirmation.

Hickok, the map spread open on his lap, grinned. “Yep. West until we hit another highway, number 59 on this map. Later we cross over to Highway 10, and if I’m right, we’ll then have smooth sailing into the Twin Cities.”

“We hope,” Geronimo threw in.

“Yeah.” Hickok folded the map. “Where do you plan to stop for the night?” he asked Blade.

“Probably somewhere along Highway 59. We’ll get a good sleep, and begin the day early and refreshed,” Blade responded. “What do you think?”

Hickok shrugged. “Makes no never mind to me.”

“Wouldn’t it be best to stay inside the SEAL tonight?” Geronimo offered.

“It would minimize the risks,” Blade agreed.

“Risks, schmisks!” Hickok cracked. “I prefer to sleep outside, under the stars.”

“Aren’t you concerned that some creature might attack you in the dark?” Joshua asked.

“I can handle myself real good,” Hickok stated confidently.

“It must be nice,” Blade mentioned, slowly following the highway, avoiding the ruts and the potholes.

“What must be nice?” Hickok took the bait.

“To have your self-confidence,” Blade said. “You know, I bet if you had your life to live all over again, you would still fall in love with yourself.”

“That’s not nice.” Hickok looked hurt. “It’s also not true. I’m one of the most modest people in our Family.”

“What’s that?” Joshua suddenly shouted, leaning forward, between Blade and Hickok, and pointing directly ahead.

Blade, startled, slammed on the brakes. The SEAL lurched and stopped.

Ahead, forty yards or so, in the center of the roadway, stood a large animal. It stood six feet high at the shoulder, and was nine feet in length.

Huge, splayed antlers, longer and broader than any deer ever sported, topped a narrow, ungainly head. The creature was covered with brown fur, its legs long and hooved.

“What the blazes is that?” Hickok, astonished, asked. “It’s not an elk, is it?” Joshua was uncertain.

“No,” Geronimo answered. “We’ve seen elk before.”

“Think it’s a mutation of some kind?” Hickok stared as the creature calmly stood its ground, casually munching on grass.

“I think it’s called a moose,” Geronimo ventured.

“I agree,” Blade spoke up. “I’ve seen pictures of them in the Nature Series books. Funny, though. I didn’t think their range extended to this area.”

“According to the descriptions I read,” Geronimo concurred, “their range doesn’t.”

“What do you make of it?” Hickok queried.

“I don’t know,” Blade said thoughtfully. “Maybe it was forced here by conditions elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?” Hickok fidgeted in his seat. He could swear the thing was staring directly at him. Impossible, though. Nothing could see in from outside.

“Who knows what wildlife we’ll encounter?” Blade replied. “The Big Blast undoubtedly destroyed wide tracts of land and probably caused massive animal migrations. Plato said we should expect to come across radiation zones, areas devoid of all life. The animals would avoid those areas, and would concentrate in the sections untouched by the explosions and the radiation.”

“Maybe we’ll meet a buffalo,” Hickok joked.

“So how do we get around this moose?” Joshua inquired.

The vestige of the highway was passing through a densely wooded stretch, the trees pressing in on both sides.

“Should I shoot it?” Hickok suggested.

“No. We can’t use the meat and we shouldn’t waste the hide.” Blade placed his chin in his hands and bent down, his elbows on the steering wheel.

A sharp, raucous sound pierced the air. Everyone jumped, even the moose. It whirled and lumbered off into the trees.

“What the hell!” Hickok was grabbing for one of his Pythons.

Geronimo was glancing around, searching. “Where did that noise come from?”

Blade had involuntarily snapped backward. He eyed the dashboard. “I think it came from up here, somewhere.”

“What was it?” Hickok demanded. “Beats me,” Blade admitted.

“Whatever it was,” Joshua said, indicating the road ahead, “it got rid of the moose.”

“Maybe this thing did it,” Hickok suggested.

“What?” came from Geronimo.

“Sure. Maybe the SEAL did it, all by itself!”

“Be serious.” Blade tentatively touched the steering wheel.

“I’m dead serious, pard,” Hickok said, excited. “Maybe the SEAL scared off that critter.”

“This vehicle can’t think,” Blade reminded him. “How do we know?”

“Plato told us. He said some vehicles before the Blast were outfitted with something called a computer. These computers could think, could even talk to people. Carpenter probably didn’t include a computer in the SEAL because he had reservations over whether his descendants could use one. Computers were complicated.”

“And this thing isn’t?” Hickok snorted. “You needed special schooling to operate a computer,” Blade said, furthering his case. “You also needed training to fix one if it broke. Computers died with the Big Blast.

Whatever caused that noise wasn’t a computer. One of us must have done something to cause it.”

“I don’t know,” Hickok said doubtfully, not convinced. “I still think this thing can think for itself.”

“Too bad it can’t drive itself,” Geronimo interjected.

Blade smiled and resumed their trip.

“You know,” Hickok remarked after an interval of silence, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh!” Geronimo promptly interrupted. “Now we’re in real trouble.”

“…and I’ve come to the conclusion,” Hickok continued, overlooking the wisecrack, “we could run into just about any kind of animal the further south we go.”

“Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” Geronimo smirked.

“It’s really beginning to dawn on me,” Hickok said seriously, “the magnitude of this experience.”

“Magnitude?” Geronimo exploded in laughter. “I didn’t think you knew a big word like that!”

“I was taught in the same Family school you were,” Hickok reminded him. “We had the same teachers.”

“Do you think any of these animals will pose a threat?” Joshua questioned.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Josh,” Hickok replied, “we’re surrounded by threats. There’s mutates, and the clouds that eat you alive, and all kinds of critters just aching to chomp on you for a snack. Don’t you realize how dangerous this mission is?”

“We’ll just have to do the best we can,” Blade said.

“Hope it’s good enough,” Hickok grumbled. “The Spirit will guide us safely and enable us to overcome any obstacle,” Joshua assured them.

Hickok twisted in his seat and faced Joshua. “I have something I want to say to you.”

“There’s no need,” Blade interrupted, knowing what Hickok was about to say.

“Yes, there is, pard,” Hickok disagreed. “Listen, Josh…”

“Joshua,” Joshua amended.

“Sure, Josh, sure,” Hickok said, ignoring him. “I’m real glad you agreed to come with us on this here little trip, but I don’t think it’s the brightest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Why’s that?” Joshua asked quietly.

“This ain’t the place for you,” Hickok replied. “You belong back at the Home with the Family, teaching them about love and brotherhood and all that. You don’t belong here with us. Josh, there’s no telling what we’ll come up against.”

“As you said earlier about yourself,” Joshua said, smiling at Hickok, “I can handle myself real good.”

“Is that right?” Hickok bristled. “How?”

“What?”

“How the blazes are you going to handle yourself? What will you do if you’re attacked? Will you defend yourself? You refused to carry a gun on this trip! Hell, man, you even refused to study Tegner.”

While the Warriors were required to take the Tegner classes, using Bruce Tegner’s books, each one filled with step-by-step diagrams and instructions and photographs of every movement and position, the martial-arts courses were optional for other Family members. Many elected to pursue the disciplines for other than combative objectives: some for health reasons, a few because of peer pressure, and others for a simple form of diversion. Whenever new classes were ready to begin, the individual members would be asked if they wanted to enroll. In recent years, one person had consistently refused to participate: Joshua.

“I have my reasons for not studying Tegner.” Joshua said.

“I’d love to hear ’em,” Hickok said, goading him.

“Will you leave him alone?” Blade took his eyes from the road for a moment to glare at Hickok.

“No,” Hickok said stubbornly. “We should get this out in the open.”

“This isn’t necessary,” Blade commented.

“It isn’t?” Hickok retorted. “You’re the one who spoke up against him coming along in the first place. You have a fair idea of what we can expect on this trip. Our lives are at stake. We need to know that the other person is going to back us up in critical situations. We need to know exactly where Joshua stands.”

Blade opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

“Okay, then.” Hickok faced Joshua again. “Now that the objections are disposed of, let’s get to the point. Can we rely on you, Josh? Will you back us up in a pinch?”

“I’m not certain how to answer that,” Joshua replied.

“A yes or no would be nice,” Hickok suggested.

“If only it were that easy,” Joshua began, selecting his words carefully.

“You want to know if I’ll back you up in a crisis? The answer is yes, if the situation does not call for any active violence on my part. I…”

“No violence?” Hickok snapped angrily. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, this is a violent world we live in.”

“I have indeed noticed,” Joshua responded patiently. “The world is full of madness and violence. It literally surrounds us. We’re swimming in a sea of negative attitudes and reactions. You must come to appreciate my position.”

“Which is?”

“I will not permit myself to become tainted by the insanity around me. I will not participate in a violent act. I will not kill a brother or sister, or a potential brother or sister. I will not allow the corruption outside to infect my inner state of being.”

“Noble sentiments,” Hickok stated. “I want you to be more specific. If we were attacked by a mutate, would you kill it to save us?”

Joshua’s brow furrowed.

“Would you?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Great. We’d be dead by the time you made up your mind to help.”

Hickok shook his head.

“I have never faced the situation you hypothesize,” Joshua continued. “I would not want to see any of you harmed and would do whatever I could to aid you, short of killing the mutate.”

“And just what the hell do you think a mutate would do to you?” Hickok exploded. “To any of us? They live for one reason, and one reason only. To kill! To kill anything and everything! It’s their nature!”

“Their nature,” Joshua agreed, “but not mine. Not ours.”

“Men kill,” Hickok growled. “Some men even like to kill.”

“Men function on an animal level of existence, like the mutate does,” Joshua agreed. “We must accept the truth of being children of the Spirit, and when we do we come to realize that this relationship makes every man and woman a spiritual brother and sister. We are all part of the same cosmic Family. The Spirit loves us all, equally. The Spirit is no respecter of persons. If we believe we are all children of the same Creator, how can we harm one another? The greatest commandment is to love the Spirit and one another.”

“You’re straying from the point,” Hickok said testily. “We were talking about a damn mutate.”

“Mutates must function according to their given natures. We must function according to ours. Mutates can not know the joy of communion with the Spirit. We can. Once we do, the experience changes us for all eternity. We are filled with a sense of wonder and happiness. Our souls are at peace. The idea of hurting another being becomes morally and spiritually repugnant.”

“In other words,” Hickok said, jumping in when Joshua paused, “we can’t rely on you when the chips are down.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You sure as hell did, Josh. You sure as hell did.”

They rode in uncomfortable silence until Blade detected a change ahead. “Look!” he urged them.

Highway 11 came to an abrupt end twenty yards ahead. Their path was blocked by a huge, steep trench, at least thirty feet across and equally as deep, with nearly vertical sides.

“What the blazes caused that?” Hickok questioned.

“It’s been there a while,” Geronimo noted. “Look at the vegetation in it, the grass and weeds and even some small trees.”

“Maybe a flash flood washed it out,” Blade speculated.

“It appears almost man-made,” Joshua commented absently.

“Do we try to go through it?” Hickok inquired.

“Let’s get a closer look.” Blade drove the transport to the very edge of the gully.

“Blast!” Hickok snapped. “Those sides drop straight down.”

“I can’t risk it,” Blade announced. “We could end up damaging the SEAL. We’ll have to go around it.”

“Head north a ways,” Hickok suggested. “It can’t be that long.”

Seven miles later, Geronimo leaned over Hickok’s seat. “Don’t you get tired of being right all the time?”

“There?” Joshua exclaimed, pointing. A section of the trench had collapsed, providing a natural bridge. Without hesitation, Blade crossed over. He glanced north, observing the gully continued until it was out of sight. The SEAL plowed through a wall of weeds and he applied the brakes.

“Highway 59!” Hickok stated, excited. “We found it!”

As with Highway 11, a century of abandoned neglect had taken a toll.

Potholes pitted the surface. Erosion had produced cracks and etched crazy cobweblike designs everywhere. Despite the wear and tear, sufficient roadway existed to permit the SEAL to navigate.

“All the roads must be in the same shape,” Blade said thoughtfully.

“Not exactly perfect, but we’ll make better time than if we had to travel cross-country.”

“Do you want to stop now or keep going for a spell?” Hickok asked. The sun was directly overhead. “Unless one of you objects,” Blade responded, “I see no reason to stop for a midday meal.”

“All right!” Hickok slapped his right thigh. Blade turned the transport toward the southeast, toward the Twin Cities. He drove faster, a bit more confident. The engine purred flawlessly.

“I wonder how many days it will take us to reach the Twin Cities?”

Hickok was studying the Atlas. “If we run into any more of those trenches, it will take us forever.”

“Did you hear something?” Geronimo inquired. He cocked his head to one side, listening.

“Just the sound of the SEAL,” Hickok answered, still looking at the map of Minnesota.

“No, not that,” Geronimo said emphatically. “Something else, something nearby.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Blade said, agreeing with Hickok. “You sure you heard something?”

“Positive,” Geronimo confirmed.

“Maybe it was that moose,” Hickok said, grinning, “belching.”

“What did it sound like?” Blade asked Geronimo.

“Can’t be sure.” Geronimo frowned. “Almost like the sound of the SEAL starting, only louder.”

Hickok laughed. “I think you’re cracking, pard. Tain’t another motorized vehicle within a thousand miles of here.”

Hickok was wrong. Again.

It came on them from the rear, abruptly bursting from cover in a tall clump of bushes, the driver gunning the engine as it cleared a small hump at the western edge of the highway. Chrome flashed in the brilliant sun, the spokes gleaming as the tires dug into the earth.

Blade, glancing in the rear-view mirror, spotted it first. “Behind us!” he shouted in warning.

It was already alongside the SEAL, the driver holding something dark and metallic in his right hand, pointing it at the SEAL.

“He’s packin’,” Hickok yelled, and ducked as the other driver fired at point-blank range, directly at Hickok’s closed window.

They heard the thud and the whine as the bullet struck the SEAL and was deflected by the bulletproof plastic.

The driver raced ahead, pulling away.

“A motorcycle,” Blade answered, flooring the accelerator.

The SEAL surged forward.

“We’ll never catch him,” Geronimo observed.

The motorcycle was clearly outdistancing them.

Blade kept the pedal on the floor, concentrating on the highway, trying to avoid the deeper potholes. The speedometer indicated eighty and climbing, and still they were falling behind.

“Hickok,” Blade ordered, “drop him.”

Hickok twisted in his seat. “Quick!” he said to Geronimo.

Geronimo turned and reached into the rear section. The Commando, Browning, and Henry were lying on top of the supplies piled in the back.

He grabbed the Henry and passed it to Hickok.

“What are you doing?” Joshua asked.

Blade brought the SEAL to a stop, turning the transport, angling it across the road, Hickok’s side to the fleeing motorcycle.

Hickok hastily rolled down his window and raised his Henry, sighting carefully.

“You can’t!” Joshua exclaimed.

“He tried to kill us!” Blade reminded Joshua.

“Not in the back!” Joshua protested.

“We have no choice!” Blade declared, watching the other driver speed off. If Hickok didn’t fire soon, even he wouldn’t be able to make the shot.

“No!” Joshua shouted, flinging himself forward, lunging for Hickok.

Geronimo reacted instantly, clutching Joshua, restraining him.

“No!” Joshua struggled to break free. “He’s another human being!”

“Not any more,” Hickok said softly. He inhaled, held the breath, and squeezed the trigger.

“No!” Joshua screamed.

The motorcycle driver had just glanced back to determine his distance from the SEAL. They saw his head buck sideways, his arms jerking upward, his body falling to one side. “Got ya!” Hickok was elated. The driver tumbled to the ground as the motorcycle skidded, out of control, hitting a rut in the highway and flipping end over end for fifty yards before coming to a rest, a tangled, shattered wreck in the middle of the road.

Blade pulled out. “Good shot,” he said to Hickok.

Hickok was grinning. “Piece of cake!”

“You shot him,” Joshua said, stunned, going limp in Geronimo’s arms.

Hickok glanced at Joshua. “I told you,” he snapped, “you shouldn’t have come.”

“You just killed a man in cold blood,” Joshua kept on, scarcely believing what he’d just seen.

“He tried to do the same to me,” Hickok retorted. “What’d you want me to do? Wish him better luck next time?”

Blade braked and stopped the SEAL next to the driver. He turned off the SEAL and jumped out. Hickok did likewise, training his Henry on the prone form.

Their attacker was lying on his stomach, a growing pool of blood forming under his head. He was tall, had black hair. Blade slowly rolled the body over. The man was young, maybe twenty-five or thirty. He was dressed in a gray shirt and jeans, neither of which showed any sign of prolonged wear. His hair was worn in a ponytail, tied at the shoulder with a length of string. Hickok’s shot had caught him between the eyes, creating a good-sized hole, oozing blood. The back of his head, where the slug exited, was a total mess.

“Oh, dear Father!” Joshua and Geronimo had joined them. Joshua’s face was pale, his expression horror-struck. He gaped at the puddle of blood. “Dear Father!” he repeated.

“Haven’t you ever seen anyone shot before?” Hickok asked. Joshua shook his head.

“What about that scavenger?” Hickok inquired. The ragtag scavengers had attacked the Home in the middle of the night. Someone had taken a shot at a Warrior sentry on duty on top of the wall. The shot had missed, the Warrior had sounded the alarm, and the Warriors and the unknown assailants had exchanged sporadic gunfire. The Warriors, and the rest of the Family, were left unscathed by the engagement, but the other side had suffered one casualty. A man was found lying behind a tree the next morning, shot through the chest. His clothes were in tatters, his physical condition emaciated. Everyone assumed the Home had been assaulted by a group of scavengers. “And how about the Trolls? Where the blazes were you during that fight? There were bodies all over the place,” Hickok stated brusquely.

“I did not see any of the bodies,” Joshua replied quietly, beginning to regain his composure.

“I’ll check the cycle,” Geronimo offered, and jogged off.

“Why’d he come at us?” Hickok questioned. “I wish I knew,” Blade answered, standing. He ran his left hand through his dark hair, reflecting.

Why had this joker jumped them? What had he hoped to gain? Where had he obtained the motorcycle? Where was he from? There were a hundred unanswered questions, and he didn’t like not having the answers.

“Should we bury him?” Joshua asked.

“What?” Hickok laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t make a habit of burying people who try to kill me.”

Blade knelt again, searching the dead man’s pockets. In the left front pocket he found a handful of circular metal pieces.

“What are those?” Hickok leaned closer.

Blade studied them in the fading light. “I think they’re coins,” he speculated.

“Money?” Hickok said, shocked. “The guy is carrying money?”

“Appears so.” Blade handed the coins to Hickok. He reached into the right front pocket of the jeans and found a piece of paper.

“Now what?” Hickok knelt alongside Blade.

Blade unfolded the piece of paper. It contained a crude, handwritten map. “We’ll study this later.” He folded the map and placed it in his own right pocket.

“Hey!” Hickok suddenly remembered something. “Where’s his gun?”

“I haven’t seen it,” Joshua replied, glancing around.

Hickok stood and scanned the road and the surrounding area. He spotted a dark object lying in some grass at the side of the highway.

“There!” He pointed.

“Where?” Joshua still hadn’t seen it.

Hickok walked over and picked the weapon up, examining it. “Look at this!” He waved the gun at Blade. “A Ruger Redhawk! A .44-Magnum, six-shot, stainless-steel,” he said in admiration. “Nice piece of hardware. I’ve seen it in the Gun Digest, but we don’t have one at the Home.”

“What have you got there?” Geronimo returned, carrying a leather pouch.

“His gun.” Hickok showed the firearm to Geronimo. “What have you got?”

“The cycle is a complete loss,” Geronimo said to Blade. “I found this lying ten yards from the wreck. Apparently, it fell off the bike. I’ve looked inside. It contains ammunition and a folding knife.” Geronimo paused, smiling. “And this.” He held up a small object in his right hand.

“What’s that?” Hickok moved closer.

“A box of matches.”

“What?” Blade rose and took the box.

“New box.” Geronimo beamed. “New matches.”

“Can’t be,” Hickok stated.

“But it is,” Blade confirmed, frowning. The box the wooden matches came in consisted of blank cardboard, devoid of any identifying marks. “It is.”

“I thought it’d interest you,” Geronimo admitted.

“See if these interest you.” Hickok gave the coins to Geronimo.

“I don’t believe it!” Geronimo exclaimed.

“This adds an entirely new dimension to our trip,” Blade stated. He was uneasy, disturbed at discovering this stranger so close to the Home. Had the man been waiting for the SEAL?

“Doesn’t it, though?” Hickok agreed. “I love a good mystery.”

“What do we do now?” Geronimo inquired of Blade.

“We stay right where we are.” Blade had already decided. “We’ll spend the night in the SEAL…”

“Now wait a second, pard,” Hickok said, beginning to protest.

Blade cut him off with a wave of his hand. “All of us will spend the night in the SEAL. It’s the only cover we have, and this guy might have companions lurking about. It may be cramped, but at least we’ll be alive in the morning. No one will be able to sneak up on us and slit our throats in the dark. Like it or not, it’s the SEAL tonight.”

Hickok shrugged his shoulder, indicating his acceptance.

“What about food?” Joshua spoke up. “Should I prepare a meal for us?

I’m a good cook. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

“No fire tonight.” Blade shook his head. “We’ve got some venison jerky in the SEAL and other provisions. A cold meal might not be the best, but it’s the safest. Let’s get inside and lock the doors.”

“What about our departed brother?” Joshua asked, pointing at the motorcycle driver.

“He ain’t my brother,” Hickok retorted.

“All men are your spiritual brothers.” Joshua looked Hickok in the eyes.

“The Spirit gave each of us life and loves all of us equally. The Spirit is no respecter of persons.”

“Men are,” Hickok rejoined. “The Spirit may love us all, but men don’t. Some men love you, some don’t.”

“Love is derived from understanding,” Joshua said. “When we learn to understand one another, we will, in the process, grow to love one another.”

Hickok sighed. “Can’t you see it yet?” he asked, annoyed.

“See what?” Joshua asked, perplexed.

“When someone is trying to kill you, when they have a gun pointed at your head, you don’t have much spare time to develop a mutual understanding. It’s you or them. And I intend to insure that in each and every instance it’s them and not me.” Hickok pointed his Henry at the body. “Case in point.”

Joshua quietly stared at the deceased driver. He shook his head, turned, and walked back to the SEAL.

“He’s taking this hard,” Geronimo observed.

“Serves him right,” Hickok said testily. “He shouldn’t be on this expedition.”

“Plato had a reason for sending him with us.” Blade joined their conversation. “We should leave him to his own thoughts tonight. I imagine he has a lot to meditate on. Besides, we have enough to keep us busy. Let’s get inside.”

“And the body?” Geronimo inquired.

“We leave it for the carrion-eaters,” Blade responded.

“Joshua will be upset,” Geronimo noted.

“Unfortunate, but it can’t be helped. I know it’s only noon or so, but I want to stay here the remainder of the afternoon and tonight. Let’s see if anyone shows up. The biker’s ambush was too calculated for my liking. He might have friends.”

Blade drove the SEAL into a stand of trees and they settled in for the long vigil. The three Warriors remained awake until the early morning hours, discussing the ramifications of the attack. They ate a meal of venison jerky and water, their speculations continuing unabated. Why had they been attacked? Where was their attacker from? His clothing, possession, and the cycle all were relatively new. How was that possible?

Did it mean that certain cities had been spared in the Big Blast? Were some industries still intact? Had the Family, isolated in a remote corner of the country, fallen out of step with the rest of civilization? Was the Family an outcast commune, out of touch with society? The three talked for hours, finally agreeing further consideration was senseless.

“We just don’t have enough to go on,” Hickok said, summing up their deliberations.

“Agreed. Until we do, it’s useless to worry ourselves. What say we get some sleep and start off early?” Blade slouched in his seat, making himself comfortable.

“Good idea, pard.” Hickok yawned. “I’m a mite bushed.”

Geronimo leaned back, resting his head on the top of the seat. He too was weary. It had been an eventful day, and only their first on this trip. He glanced at Joshua, pitying him, imagining Joshua’s turmoil. Joshua had not said a single word all night. He had sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands cupped together, his chin resting on his hands, his eyes closed, sorting his thoughts. He had even refused to eat. Geronimo flinched. One of the tomahawk handles was poking him in the side. He shifted position and aligned the handle to alleviate the pressure. The Arminius was snug under his right arm, his Browning behind him in the rear section of the SEAL. Good thing they had brought along the firepower. It appeared they’d be needing their armament, if today was any indication. One day out, one attacker dead. How many bodies would they rack up tomorrow?

His last thought, before drifting into sleep, was to wonder if any of those bodies would be one of theirs.