The Fox Run Page 13

  “He’s probably too shocked to think of that,” Blade pointed out. “What else?”

  “The left pedal,” Plato said urgently. “He must depress the left pedal and the SEAL will cease all motion.”

  “Blade, look!” Geronimo cried in warning.

  Blade whirled.

  The SEAL was fast approaching a huge tree.

  “Hickok!” Blade broke into a run, Geronimo at his side, Joshua trailing behind.

  In the SEAL, Hickok’s eyes widened at the sight of the tree. “Who the hell put that there?” he shouted to no one in particular. What the blazes was he supposed to do? He’d never ridden in a motorized vehicle before.

  How would you stop the thing? Let up on the right pedal? For all he knew, that might damage the SEAL. Why were these things so complicated? The drivers in prewar society must have all been certified geniuses.

  The tree was dangerously close.

  Hickok fumed. He angrily jerked on the steering wheel with his good arm and the transport lurched to the right, narrowly missing the tree. He maintained the pressure on the steering wheel, executing a wide circle, then released it, straightening the SEAL, proud of his feat. That was when he noticed he was now heading directly back at the grouped Family members. “Get out of the way, you idiots!” he shouted. “Get out of the way!”

  Blade and Geronimo appeared next to the open window.

  “Press on the left pedal!” Blade yelled, his hands cupped, encircling his mouth.

  “The left pedal!” Geronimo chimed in.

  The SEAL surged ahead and they fell behind.

  “The left pedal,” Hickok repeated for his own benefit. “Got it, pard.” He shifted his right foot and slammed it on top of the left pedal.

  The SEAL reacted as if it had smashed into a brick wall, coming to an immediate stop.

  During the hectic ride, Hickok had kept his right hand glued to the steering wheel, gripping it with all his strength, his muscles straining.

  Only his grip aided him now, the force of the sharp halt propelling him forward, his momentum elevating him from his seat and smacking his body against the windshield. His hand never relinquished its grasp on the steering wheel, and his battered body swung back down, crashing in a twisted heap on the bucket seat.

  Blade and Geronimo were nearest to the SEAL. They saw Hickok’s moccasins protruding above window level.

  “Do you think he’s…” Geronimo left the thought unfinished as they reached the SEAL.

  Blade yanked the door open.

  Hickok’s head was resting on the seat, his body doubled over on top of him, his ankles and feet resting on the back of the seat, his right hand still holding the steering wheel. He was breathing rapidly, deeply.

  “Are you okay?” Blade asked, concern chiseled in his features.

  “Fine,” Hickok mumbled. “Piece of cake.”

  “Just one thing, pard,” Hickok said, interrupting their levity.

  “What?” Blade leaned over his friend.

  “When we make the Fox run…” Hickok released the steering wheel. His fingers and wrist ached like the dickens!

  “What about when we leave?” Blade inquired.

  Hickok stared pleadingly into Blade’s eyes. “You figure you could do the driving?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’m going to make a break for it as soon as it’s dark,” Joan whispered to the others as they sat in a circle.

  The Trolls had permitted another break. Saxon was upset because the stream was still nearly three miles ahead of them. Their march was delayed when a mutate, a former raccoon, crossed their path. Fortunately, they spotted it before it saw them and hid until the foraging creature left the area. The mutate had dallied, searching under logs and in bushes, hunting grubs and rodents.

  Now the mutate was gone, and Saxon called a break while he dispensed instructions to the other Trolls.

  “You can’t be serious!” Lea objected.

  “You’d be alone out there.” Angela’s eyes widened as she gazed at the surrounding forest.

  “You wouldn’t stand a chance,” Ursa opined. “Don’t do it.”

  “I can’t allow the opportunity to go by,” Joan countered.

  “How do you figure?” Jenny asked her.

  “Simple.” Joan kept her gaze surreptitiously on the Trolls. “My head has cleared up. When they get us to their base, wherever it is, I bet they keep us under lock and key. It would be a lot harder to escape then. For some reason, these dummies haven’t even bothered to frisk me. I have a pocketknife in my back pocket. It will be easy to cut this rope and make a break for it. I’ll get to the Home and bring help.”

  “I don’t know…” Jenny felt uneasy at the proposal.

  “You really think you can do it?” Daffodil interjected.

  Joan smiled. “Piece of cake.”

  “Now where have we heard that expression before?” Lea asked.

  “And she says he’s just a friend.” Saphire stressed the last three words and the women laughed.

  “What the hell is so funny?” Saxon walked over and glared at them.

  No one responded.

  “I don’t understand you,” Saxon said.

  “Why?” Jenny inquired.

  “Most women would be going to pieces about now,” Saxon stated. “The Trolls are known far and wide. Our name strikes fear into the hearts of men and women. When we raid a town or camp, the people roll over and give us what we want. They know better than to cross the Trolls.”

  “The Family didn’t roll over,” Joan proudly reminded him.

  “No,” Saxon said, glowering at her, “they sure didn’t. Can’t understand it either.”

  “It’s not difficult to understand,” Jenny stated.

  “Oh?”

  “We never heard of you before,” Jenny explained.

  “Everyone’s heard of the Trolls,” Saxon boasted.

  “Not us,” Jenny affirmed.

  Saxon seemed puzzled. “You might be right,” he reluctantly agreed. “I told one of your men who we were. Surprised me when he tried to blow us away.” A thought struck him. “Your Family has a lot of guns, don’t they?”

  Joan cast a warning glance at the other women and tapped her lips with her left index finger.

  “Answer me,” Saxon ordered.

  The women remained silent.

  Saxon stepped up to Angela and clamped his muscular right hand around her thin neck. “Answer me or I’ll snap it like a twig!”

  “We have guns, sure,” Joan hastily admitted. “Don’t know if you could call it a lot or not.”

  “How many?” Saxon grinned maliciously as Angela feebly endeavored to extricate herself.

  “I’ve never counted them,” Joan angrily snapped.

  “That many?” Saxon released Angela, the germ of an idea growing in his mind. He reached under the folds of his bearskin cloak and withdrew his machete.

  Where does he keep that hidden? Jenny wondered.

  Saxon retrieved the tether from where he had dropped it earlier. “Let’s move!”

  Jenny noticed two of the Trolls were leaving the group, walking west, back the way they had come. “Checking our trail?” she asked Saxon.

  Saxon stared at the departing Trolls. “It’s just plain strange.”

  “What is?”

  “No one after us yet. It’s not right.”

  “You nervous?”

  Saxon looked at her. “Nope. Careful.” He turned and led the way as they moved through a dense portion of the forest.

  “Mind if we talk?” Jenny questioned him.

  Saxon shrugged. “Makes no nevermind to me. Just keep your voice down.”

  “Why are you called Trolls?” Jenny pushed a protruding limb from her path.

  “We’ve always been called the Trolls.”

  “Where did you get your name?”

  “How should I know?”

  Jenny frowned. This was getting her nowhere. “Where are you taking us?”


  “Fox.”

  “What’s Fox?”

  “You’ll see.”

  She decided to be blunt, hoping her next question would not provoke him. “Why do you Trolls steal women?”

  Saxon laughed lightly. “What a stupid question. How else would we get our women?”

  “In our Family,” she elaborated for his benefit, “the men ask the women to be their mates. The women go willingly.”

  “And what if the woman doesn’t want the man?” Saxon probed.

  “Then she doesn’t have to become his mate.”

  Saxon laughed again. “Sounds like a dumb way of doing things. Our way is easier.”

  “You just take your women against their will,” Jenny said, irritated.

  “You bully them, frighten them, and intimidate them. Is that any way to conduct a relationship?”

  “Works for us.”

  Jenny fell silent for a while, pondering the futility of trying to reason with him.

  The sun was heading toward the western horizon, the gleaming orb visible whenever they crossed small clearings.

  “What do you Trolls do with your women?” Jenny interrogated the giant.

  “The usual,” was his gruff reply.

  Calm yourself. Jenny mentally constrained her rising anger. “What is the usual?” she pumped him.

  “Our women wash and sew and tend the children. They cook for us and service us at night. Or whenever.”

  “Service you?” Jenny repeated.

  Saxon chuckled. “A big girl like you must now what I mean.”

  “What if the woman doesn’t want to service you?”

  “We chop her into little pieces and feed her to Wolvie.”

  “Wolvie?”

  “You might get to meet him. Better hope you don’t, though.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Saxon twisted and grinned at her, “if you meet up with Wolvie, it will be the last meeting you ever have.”

  Jenny involuntarily shivered as goose bumps broke out all over her body.

  Was there a cold breeze picking up? Or was she reacting to the malevolent gleam in Saxon’s eyes and his leering expression?

  Blade, where are you? She gazed over her right shoulder, suppressing an impulse to panic and attempt to flee. You better come soon. Real soon. Or you’ll be having your children with someone else.

  “Pick up speed!” Saxon bellowed. “I want to reach that stream by dark.”

  They reached a particularly compact tract of brush, compelling them to crouch and weave and contort their bodies to gain passage through the undergrowth.

  Jenny flinched as a thorn bit into her left leg. She pulled the offending limb from her calf and concentrated on following the path Saxon was making. She could see him clearly and the two women behind her, but the others were hidden by the vegetation. She wondered how her sisters were holding up. Especially Angela. She was the weakest of the lot.

  The brush ended and they found themselves at the edge of a clover-covered field.

  Saxon studied the position of the sun. “We should make that stream by night, no problem. We’ll build some fires and start again at first light.”

  “Saxon!” one of the Trolls shouted. “Saxon!”

  Saxon whirled as Buck ran up to him.

  Jenny glanced at the other women and immediately knew the reason for the alarm.

  “What is it?” Saxon asked Buck, annoyed at the outburst. “It better be important.”

  “The women!” Buck was so excited he had difficulty forming the words.

  “It’s the women!”

  “What about the women?” Saxon still hadn’t seen.

  “One of them is gone!” Buck screamed.

  Saxon’s face clouded in uncontrolled fury. “It’s the bitch with the mouth,” he said after he counted the captives.

  “How did she do it? How?” Buck was unable to prevent his neck muscles from twitching.

  Jenny recognized a nervous condition when she saw one. The Trolls all appeared to be markedly deficient in the intelligence department. Some of them, she had noted, would not speak unless they were spoken to. They were unnaturally reserved, almost withdrawn. A pattern was taking shape, but the implications of it all eluded her.

  Saxon grabbed Buck by the front of his tunic. “It’s your fault, isn’t it?

  You were supposed to keep watch, make sure none of them slipped away.

  What happened?”

  Buck was trembling in wretched terror. “I don’t know, Saxon! I don’t know! Please don’t hurt me! Please! Please!”

  “Hurt you, Buck?” Saxon said. “Why hurt you?”

  “You mean you won’t hurt me?” Buck asked, amazed at his good fortune.

  “No,” Saxon grinned. “And don’t you want to know why?”

  Buck was afraid to ask.

  “Don’t you want to know why?” Saxon repeated.

  “Why?” Buck finally, timidly, inquired.

  Saxon jerked Buck off his feet, suspending him in midair. “The reason I won’t hurt you is because you are the one who is going to go after the bitch. You will take two others with you. You will find her trail and track her until you catch up with her. You will not come back until you do. Is that understood?”

  Buck nodded his understanding.

  Saxon dropped him to the ground. “Then get going before I decide to cut your fingers off and make you eat them!”

  Buck scrambled to his feet, still nodding. “On my way, Saxon.”

  “If you catch up with Galen and Trent,” Saxon stated, referring to the two Trolls he had sent to check for pursuit from the Family, “have them help you. You must stop her from reaching their Home. We’ll cover our tracks once we cross the stream, but she can still help them find us. You must find her first.”

  Buck motioned for two other Trolls to follow him. He ran to the brush and stopped. “What do we do with her when we find her?” he asked.

  “You can have some fun, if you want.” Saxon grinned.

  “And after?” Buck licked his thin lips. He liked the idea of having fun with her. It would pay her back for what she had done to his nose. Damn, how it hurt!

  “After?” Saxon stared at Jenny. “Kill the bitch!”

  “Right.” Buck stooped to enter the brush.

  “Buck!” Saxon called.

  Buck froze, fearful Saxon had decided to chop his fingers off after all.

  “Yes?”

  “Bring me her head.”

  “Her head?”

  “Her head,” Saxon ordered.

  “You got it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “We’ve wasted enough time as it is,” Blade said, peeved. “We are leaving, now.”

  All the Family members were gathered for their departure, except for the Warriors on the walls. Plato had checked and rechecked the SEAL and wanted to go over it one more time.

  “I agree,” Hickok chimed in. “Enough delays, already! Let’s get this critter rolling.”

  “After what you went through,” Geronimo said, kidding him, “I’m surprised you’re in such a hurry for your second ride.”

  “Something tells me,” Hickok remarked, sighing, “I’ll never hear the end of this.”

  “Count on it.” Geronimo beamed.

  “We should study this map,” Plato said, holding up a map of Minnesota.

  “We need to determine the fastest route to Fox.”

  Blade took the map. “We’ll read it as we go along.”

  Joshua walked up to them. “I’m ready to go,” he announced.

  “You’re not going along,” Blade informed him.

  “But…” Joshua started to protest, looking at Plato for support.

  “But nothing,” Blade interrupted. “If Plato wants us to take you with us when we go to the Twin Cities, we will. Not now.”

  “Why not?” Joshua asked.

  “Because we aren’t on a peaceful mission,” Blade patiently explained.

  “We’re going to re
scue the women. There will probably be fighting and killing. It’s no place for someone like you, someone who won’t kill under any circumstances.”

  “Maybe I could reason with them,” Joshua objected. “I could talk to them and prevent any bloodshed.”

  “Like you did with the one earlier?” Blade reminded him.

  Joshua frowned, downcast. He tried one last appeal. “What do you say?” he asked Plato.

  “Reluctantly,” Plato said, “I must agree with Blade. This time. You can go with them to the Twin Cities. By then your shoulder will be healed.”

  “It’s not my shoulder that hurts the most.” Dejected, Joshua strolled off through the massed Family.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings,” Blade said, apologizing to Plato.

  “I know,” Plato replied.

  “Have you seen my violin?” Hickok asked Geronimo.

  Blade grinned. “Hickok has a point. We’re leaving.” He opened the driver’s door and climbed up into the bucket seat.

  Hickok winked at Plato. “Don’t worry, old man. I’ll take real good care of your protege.” He walked around the transport and clambered into the front on the passenger side.

  Geronimo silently climbed into the back seat.

  “Rikki!” Blade called to the diminutive Warrior.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, katana in hand, stepped up to the window.

  “You’re in charge of the Warriors until we return,” Blade directed.

  “Put your mind at ease,” Rikki responded. “The Home will be secure while you are away.”

  “Don’t forget to post guards on all the walls from now on,” Blade fretted.

  “It will be done,” Rikki stated.

  “And begin selecting candidates,” Blade said. “We must pick three new Warriors and add another Triad after I return.”

  “I understand,” Rikki replied.

  “He knows what to do, pard,” Hickok interjected. “Maybe you want to stay here and babysit and Geronimo and I will go after the Trolls?”

  “See you when we return,” Blade said to Rikki.

  “Be well.” Rikki moved aside, and Plato moved next to the window.

  “Take care of yourselves.” The Leader gripped Blade’s shoulder. “Bring our sisters back to us.”

  “We will,” Blade predicted.