Twin Cities Run Read online

  “You haven’t heard what I want to say,” Blade commented.

  Bertha glared at him. “Who you kiddin’? It will be the same bullshit you fed me in Thief River Falls. I fell for it that time, but not now. I can’t seem to get through that thick head of yours.”

  “Get what through?”

  “THAT I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK TO THE TWINS!” Bertha shouted.

  Blade, nonplused by her outburst, averted his gaze and played with the grass near his right leg.

  “You just don’t know, Blade,” Bertha said sadly. “You just don’t know how bad it is in the Twins. Like I told you before, the place is a madhouse.

  It isn’t bad enough we’ve got wild animals all over the place, and rats everywhere you turn, but you’ve also got all the different groups fightin’ for control of their measly turf. I’m a Nomad, and we hold most of the north part of the Twins. The Porns control the west, the Horns mostly the east, and the Wacks…” Bertha paused and shuddered. “The Wacks have their base in the south. You never know from one day to the next whether you will still be alive and kickin’ that night.”

  “I can appreciate your position,” Blade sympathized.

  “You can’t appreciate shit,” Bertha angrily retorted.

  “Can I ask you one question?” Blade asked, ignoring her barb.

  “I don’t see as how I can stop you, Muscle Head!” Bertha shot back.

  “Do you think Hickok, Geronimo, Joshua, and I will be able to locate the items Plato wants with a minimum of difficulty?” Blade queried.

  Bertha shook her head. “You ain’t ever been to the Twins…” she began.

  “We’ve got a map,” Blade interrupted.

  “Map, schmap!” Bertha bitterly exclaimed. “Hickok showed me one of those funny maps of yours. They’re real good at telling you the names of streets and the like, but they don’t let you know whose turf you’re on, or which areas are most likely to get raided. When you get right down to it, them maps don’t tell you shit! You count on your maps, and I can guarantee you you’ll be wasted before a day is out.”

  “The Family needs the equipment and supplies on the list Plato gave me,” Blade reminded her.

  “Can’t you find the stuff somewhere else?” Bertha pleaded. “Like you did that generator?”

  Blade knew she was referring to the generator taken from the Watcher station in Thief River Falls, currently being stored in D Block. “It isn’t that easy,” he replied. “Plato and the Elders need specialized scientific and medical equipment. The Twin Cities have several major hospitals and the University of Minnesota. They have probably been ransacked since the Big Blast, but there is always the off chance some of the equipment we require is still there. Thanks to the hundreds of thousands of books Kurt Carpenter stocked in the Family library, many dealing with medicine, chemistry, and related fields, we possess the knowledge necessary to indicate probable causes for the premature senility affecting the Family.

  What we lack, and desperately must find, is the equipment essential to accurately pinpointing the reason for the senility. We certainly can’t manufacture the equipment, leaving us one recourse. We must go out into the world and find it.”

  “Sometimes,” Bertha said when Blade stopped speaking, “you use a lot of big words, just like Plato. I have a hard time following you.”

  “Sorry,” Blade apologized. “I keep forgetting you never attended a school. The Family has a fine school, taught by the Elders. Plato is just one of the teachers. He takes personal pleasure in cultivating our vocabulary.

  Even Hickok knows a lot of big words, although you wouldn’t know it from the way he usually talks.”

  “Ain’t he somethin’, though,” Bertha stated proudly.

  “You two are getting pretty close, I take it?” Blade ventured.

  Bertha’s lovely face clouded. “Not as close as I’d like, Big Guy.”

  “Oh?” Blade was genuinely surprised.

  “Tell me something,” Bertha said, leaning toward him. “You’ve known Hickok a lot longer than I have. What’s he up to?”

  “Up to?”

  “Yeah. You know how I feel about him. It’s no secret. At first, I thought he felt the same way, but lately he’s been shying away from me. I don’t know why. Do you?” Bertha inquired hopefully.

  Blade shook his head. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”

  “Too bad.” Bertha sighed and rested her head on the tree trunk.

  “You do know about Joan, don’t you?” Blade asked her.

  Bertha nodded, frowning. “Yeah. Your Jenny told me about her. Hickok was head over heels over her.”

  “Then you must realize he might take a while to get over her death,” Blade remarked.

  “I can understand that,” Bertha responded. “I’d expect it. No, the thing I’m talking about is something else. I don’t know what it is, but I sense he’s hiding something from me.”

  “Like what?”

  “I wish I knew,” Bertha said. “I can see it in his eyes sometimes, like he wants to tell me something. But he holds it back. It’s not like him, and I’m worried.

  “I’ll talk with him,” Blade promised. This was extremely odd. First Joshua, then Plato, and now Bertha. All three were concerned for Hickok’s welfare.

  “You will?” Bertha asked eagerly.

  “Sure.”

  “Great!” Bertha grinned. “I know he thinks more of you, and Geronimo, than anyone else. He might open up to you. If he does, will you let me know what it is?”

  “You’ll be the first person I tell,” Blade pledged.

  “Good!” Bertha appeared relieved. “Worrying about him is the only dark spot in my life right now.”

  “I take it you don’t miss Minneapolis and St. Paul?” Blade questioned her.

  Bertha laughed.

  “Stupid to even ask,” Blade muttered. “You’re really happy here then?”

  Bertha gazed at a huge white cloud in the blue sky overhead. “This has been the happiest time of my life. I never knew people could be this way, so peaceful and friendly. No one has tried to kill me or eat me for six weeks. Incredible! I keep thinkin’ this is all a dream, and any second now I’ll wake up and find a Wack chewing on my foot.”

  “The Wacks eat other people?” Blade asked, amazed.

  “I told you the Wacks are crazy,” Bertha replied. “The Porns aren’t much better, to tell you the truth. I should know. I used to be one before I joined the Nomads.”

  “Now let me see if I remember what you said,” Blade stated, thoughtfully recalling her words, “about these groups in the Twin Cities. Each of them has its own territory, its turf as you call it. The Nomads, the ones you belonged to before the Watchers caught you, are made up of former Porns and Horns, of people who are tired of the constant fighting.”

  “You got it,” Bertha confirmed. “Zahner, the head of the Nomads, is the brains behind our group. Without him, I think the Nomads would fall apart.”

  “You said you call him Z, didn’t you?”

  “That’s what we call him,” Bertha verified. “I like him a lot, and I feel real bad betrayin’ him the way I’ve done.”

  “You betrayed Zahner?” Blade queried her.

  Bertha bit her lower lip and nodded. “Yep. Z sent me out to see if there was a way past the Watchers. They don’t let anyone out of the Twins. But we can’t take it there, no more. Z figures there has to be a way all of the Nomads can escape from the Twins and find a nice place to live, a place like this.”

  “And Zahner was relying on you to return with the information,” Blade concluded.

  “You got it.” Tears filled Bertha’s eyes. “And I can’t do it! I can’t go back there! Never again!”

  Blade turned away, reflecting. How could he attempt to force her to return to the Twin Cities? The prospect apparently horrified her. Sure, having her along would make the trip easier and facilitate their search, but how could he justify compelling her to confront a nightmare she’d rather for
get? And what if she were killed on the trip? Would he be able to live with himself?

  “It’s been nice talking with you,” Blade announced, rising. “Hope I didn’t upset you too much.”

  “You’re leaving?” Bertha’s surprise registered on her face.

  “I’ve got to prepare for our departure,” Blade explained. He began to walk off.

  “You aren’t going to try and talk me into going with you?” Bertha asked incredulously.

  “Nope.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me I owe it to Hickok to make sure he gets in and out of the Twins safely?” Bertha pressed him.

  “Nope.”

  “But I know the Twins like the back of my hand,” Bertha added. “I can help you avoid the real dangerous parts.”

  Blade stopped and glanced over his left shoulder, smiling. “You stay here. We’ll do all right. We’re Warriors, remember?”

  “You’re a bunch of dummies,” Bertha retorted. “You made a heap of mistakes in Thief River Falls.”

  “We’ll survive,” Blade said. “We don’t need you.”

  “I could get the Nomads to help us,” Bertha offered.

  “You stay here.”

  “You don’t stand a chance without me!” Bertha rose to her knees.

  “We’ll manage.” Blade took several more steps.

  “I’m going!” she yelled.

  Blade faced her. “What did you say?”

  “You heard me. I’m going.”

  “No, you’re not,” Blade stated.

  “Bet me, sucker!” Bertha defied him.

  “Look,” Blade began, moving toward her. “I don’t want you to come.

  Really!”

  “I’m coming anyway.”

  Blade reached her side and stared into her eyes. “Why? Why change your mind so suddenly?”

  “You talked me into it,” Bertha replied.

  “I did what?”

  “You really are one clever son of a bitch, you know that?” She grinned at him.

  “What?” Maybe, Blade speculated, he was the one who was dreaming!

  “You knew I’d have to say yes,” Bertha was saying. “I owe it to Zahner, and I owe it to you guys, and I mostly owe it to myself. You knew that all along.”

  “Sometimes,” Blade said, shaking his head and strolling away, “I’m so brilliant, it’s scary!”

  Bertha, apprehensive over her decision, watched as the muscle-bound hunk headed toward the Blocks. What had he meant by that last crack?

  He was ten yards from her when he began laughing uncontrollably.

  Now what’s that all about? she wondered.

  Chapter Five

  In the southeast corner of the Home, far from the Blocks and the cabins and the other areas where the Family normally congregated, was a section devoted to an exclusive purpose: the Family firing range. The children were taught to stay away from this area unless accompanied by an adult.

  Although it was utilized almost exclusively by the Warriors, the other members of the Family were required to take periodic firing lessons, to familiarize themselves with the proper use of firearms in case the Home was ever the target of a mass assault.

  His hands hanging loosely at his sides, the buckskin-clad gunman concentrated on the six small sticks, each six inches in height, stuck in the dirt fifteen yards distant.

  They were Trolls.

  Six lousy Trolls, he told himself. Six of the rotten bastards responsible for killing his dear Joan. And they had to pay! Their lives were forfeit.

  Joan must be avenged!

  His hands flew to his Colts, and the Pythons cleared leather simultaneously. The firing range rocked with the blasts of the six shots, and each of the sticks split at the middle as the slugs tore them in half.

  “Piece of cake.”

  He twirled the Colts backwards into their respective holsters. His wounds were healed, and he was back in top form. If he stayed on his toes, and avoided being injured in the Twin Cities, he would implement his plan after they returned to the Home. Some of the Trolls had escaped during the course of the battle in Fox. Some of Joan’s murderers were out there somewhere, free as a lark, unrepentant and unpunished.

  They wouldn’t be for long!

  “That was some shooting,” someone said behind him. “What they say about you is true, Hickok.”

  Hickok turned, annoyed by the intrusion on his thoughts, on his plotting for revenge.

  The newcomer was dressed in black pants and a black shirt, both worn and faded and patched in a half-dozen places. His hair and eyes were brown, his face youthful and full with large cheeks and bushy brows. He wore a revolver around his waist.

  “Don’t I know you, boy?” Hickok asked, striving to recall the lad’s name.

  It was on the tip of his tongue.

  The youth reddened. “I’d appreciate it, Hickok, if you don’t call me boy.” He said the last word distastefully.

  Hickok admired his pluck. “How would you like to be called?”

  “Call me Shane.”

  The name was familiar. Hickok’s favorite section of the library was the one filled with westerns. He remembered reading a book about a gunfighter named Shane, an outstanding novel dealing with life in the Old West, Hickok’s favorite period in history.

  “I wasn’t aware we had anyone in the Family called Shane,” he told the youth.

  Shane hooked his thumbs in his belt, appearing slightly embarrassed.

  “Well, it’s not really Shane yet,” he said in explanation. “But it will be!” he hastily added. “My Naming is next week, and I intend to pick Shane.”

  “Aren’t you Blake?” Hickok asked him. “Poe’s son?”

  Shane nodded, frowning. “Yeah. But I don’t like to be called Blake.”

  “Fair enough, pard.” Hickok extended his right hand and they shook.

  The boy’s grip was firm and steady. “What can I do for you?”

  “I heard you were leaving again,” Shane stated.

  “Soon,” Hickok acknowledged.

  “Then I’ll make this short,” Shane said. “I want to be a Warrior, like you. My father objects, and he refuses to sponsor me before the Elders. I know they’re in the process of picking three new Warriors for another Triad, and I want to be one of them.”

  “So where do I fit in?” Hickok wanted to know.

  “I want you to sponsor me,” Shane answered.

  “Forget it.” Hickok began reloading the spent cartridges in his Pythons.

  “What? Why?” Shane demanded defensively.

  “Not my affair,” Hickok succinctly replied.

  “How do you figure?” Shane’s disappointment was carved into his features.

  “You just said your own father doesn’t want you to become a Warrior,” Hickok responded. “I’m not about to become involved in a family squabble. It’s none of my affair.”

  “Yes it is,” Shane asserted.

  “Oh? How?”

  “I’ve wanted to be a Warrior since I can remember. I’m not much good at building things, and farming bores me to tears. But I just know I’m cut out to be a Warrior, and I can prove it if I’m just given the chance,” Shane said eagerly.

  “You still haven’t told me how I fit into all this,” Hickok pointed out.

  “It’s simple.” Shane stared into Hickok’s eyes. “You’re my hero.”

  Hickok, taken aback, laughed. “I’m what?”

  “In school,” Shane began, “we were taught the value of having heroes, of looking up to someone who does something you want to do very well. Face it. You have a reputation as one of the best Warriors in our Family, as one of the better Warriors the Family has ever had.”

  “I do not.” It was Hickok’s turn to feel a twinge of embarrassment.

  “I’m not buttering you up,” Shane stated. “Oh, Blade and Rikki and Geronimo and the rest are good Warriors, but it’s you the Family talks about the most. Didn’t you know that?”

  “Sure didn’t,” Hi
ckok replied.

  “Well,” Shane continued, “when I decided to become a Warrior, I naturally looked around to see which of the Warriors I would most like to emulate. Guess who I selected?” He smiled.

  Hickok’s Colts were reloaded, his hands resting on the grips. “I’m flattered, Shane. I truly am. But I still won’t sponsor you for the new Triad.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with me?” Shane’s tone was plaintive.

  “How do I know you can handle being a Warrior?”

  “Who sponsored you?” Shane suddenly changed the subject.

  “Blade’s father,” Hickok answered, recollecting his Naming. “My father had already passed on.”

  “And how did Blade’s father know you could handle being a Warrior?”

  Shane threw Hickok’s own words back at him.

  The gunman inadvertently grinned. “He trusted me.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” Shane testily inquired.

  Hickok started walking toward the western portion of the Home, Shane at his side. “I don’t know you. How can I trust you?”

  Shane fell silent for a moment, thinking.

  “Don’t take it personal, pard,” Hickok advised him.

  “What if I could do something to earn your trust?” Shane eagerly asked.

  “Like what?”

  “You tell me.”

  Hickok watched a hawk circle over a nearby field. “I can’t think of a way, offhand.”

  “Try harder!”

  “You sure are pushy for such a… young person,” Hickok commented.

  Shane grabbed Hickok’s right arm. “Don’t you realize how important this is to me? They don’t pick new Warriors ever day, you know. I may not get another chance for years! You’ve got to help me!”

  Hickok smiled at his aspiring protege. “I’ll try and come up with something.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “You won’t regret it!” Shane was bubbling with enthusiasm. “I have a good head on my shoulders. I take orders real well. And I’m almost as good a marksman as you.”

  The last comment brought Hickok up short. “You think so, do you?”

  “I know so,” Shane stated confidently.

  Hickok glanced around and spotted a dead tree thirty yards away. A pair of withered limbs hung at waist level on the right side of the trunk.