The Fox Run Read online

  Plato never did find her. He returned to the Home and organized a search party. They returned and scoured the countryside for sign, any trace of what might have transpired. Not a hint. Plato remained despondent for the better part of a year. In his heart he never recovered from her loss, and he could not bring himself to reach out for another woman after the tragedy.

  Plato sighed. Yes, he could sympathize with Jenny. But he could not permit his personal feelings to inhibit his deductive reasoning. He stared up into her green eyes. “I’m sorry. I will oppose any motion to send a Healer with the Alpha Triad. With them gone, we will require every able-bodied man and woman to assume additional duties. Our security forces will be seriously depleted. We can’t spare another person to accompany them.”

  Jenny slowly nodded her head in silent agreement, turned, and walked to a far corner of the chamber. She sat down on the farthest cot and placed her face in her hands.

  Plato looked down at the cement floor. If anything did happen to Blade, if the Alpha Triad did not return, he would never be able to forgive himself. He doubted too whether Jenny would ever forgive him.

  Sometimes, he reflected, the trials of leadership were an oppressive burden.

  “This is great, pard,” he overheard Hickok saying to Geronimo. “Just think of it! The first of the Family to see the world! Who knows what we’ll find out there!”

  Quite probably, Plato reflected, your death.

  Chapter Four

  Funny thing about clouds. They swept in out of nowhere, passed over the countryside devouring all living flesh in their path, and then disappeared as mysteriously as they materialized. Their passing was swift and deadly.

  Family records of the clouds, kept since that first cloud had killed Carpenter and nearly decimated the Family, indicated that the clouds would completely pass over the Home within two hours of their first sighting. Add another two hours as a safety cushion, a precaution against a break in the breeze, and invariably it would be safe for the members of the Family to emerge from their shelters and resume their daily lives.

  Slightly over four hours after the cloud was first spotted, Plato led those in C Block above ground.

  The latest cloud was gone, the sky a clear blue, birds singing, the trees wafting in the wind.

  Plato sent two Family members to inform the other Blocks that it was safe to come up.

  “So when are you going to tell us,” Hickok asked Plato, “about this secret way we’re going to bring all of the supplies back from the Twin Cities?”

  “As soon as the entire Family is present,” Plato answered. They had badgered him for the better part of two hours, demanding to know. He had refused to divulge the information, preferring that the whole Family should experience the thrill and the surprise together.

  Within ten minutes the Family was assembled. Plato raised his arms to draw everyone’s attention; then, for the benefit of those who had sought shelter in the other Blocks, he reviewed the details of the plans he had unveiled in C Block. He closed with: “It is imperative that the Family permit these four men to endeavor to reach the Twin Cities. The future, our future, depends on what they uncover.”

  “I agree with you, Plato,” a lean, elderly man said. “But there is one point you’ve neglected. How will the Alpha Triad bring back the equipment you want? You can’t be intending to send some of our horses with them.”

  There was a murmur in the group. The horses were among the more valuable Family possessions. They were carefully tended to and kept in prime health. A special ramp under F Block, the Block nearest the fields, enabled the Tillers to hasten the horses to safety at the first hint of danger from an approaching cloud or any other source. The horses were the only domestic animals the Family retained. The few dogs, cats, cows, and chickens Carpenter had stocked and intended for his progeny to continue raising had long since perished.

  “We are not using any of the horses on this enterprise,” Plato assured them.

  “Then how…?” someone began.

  Plato waved for them to follow and walked to E Block. The Blocks were clustered in the western half of the Family plot. They were arranged in a triangular fashion. Furtherest south, the point of the isosceles formation, was A Block. In a northwesterly line, one hundred yards distant, was B

  Block. C Block was one hundred yards northwest of B Block, and the closest Block to the drawbridge in the center of the western wall. D Block was one hundred yards due east from C Block, and E Block another one hundred yards due east of D Block. Turning abruptly southwest, F Block was one hundred yards distant, and the triangle was completed one hundred yards further by A Block. The eastern half of the Home was devoted exclusively to agriculture and was maintained in a natural state where the soil wasn’t tilled. Just east of the Blocks were several rows of small log cabins, the individual domiciles of the married Family members.

  The outer wall, and the moat, encircled the entire Home. Plato stopped at the southern entrance of E Block.

  “What are we doing here?” a woman asked. “It’s the library.”

  On ground level, each Block was utilized in a specific capacity. A Block was the armory, B Block the sleeping quarters for single members, C Block the infirmary, D Block was the carpentry shop and general construction area, and F Block was devoted to preserving and preparing food and storing farm supplies.

  “The library and more,” Plato said, pointing at the ground.

  “Yeah,” agreed one man. “A survival chamber.”

  Plato smiled. “I am not pointing at the ground directly under E Block. I am indicating the ground directly in front of this doorway.”

  “What for?” someone asked.

  Plato was enjoying himself. He saw their puzzled, perplexed expressions and restrained an urge to laugh. He wondered if it would still be useable after all this time, after being stored for a century? Carpenter had had top engineers work on the special room. Their job had been to insure that it remained airtight, that the contents would be operational whenever the Family needed what was in there. “Will several of you go to F Block and bring back a half-dozen shovels?” he requested, and ten Family members hastened to comply.

  While they waited, Plato leaned against the wall and rested. He spotted Blade in the crowd. The Alpha leader was staring at someone else. Plato followed Blade’s line of vision, expecting it would be Jenny, wondering if she was still distraught. Instead, Blade was watching Joshua! Joshua, attired in his usual faded brown pants and green shirt, was standing quietly in the midst of the crowd, his hands folded in front of him. His brown eyes were downcast, his facial expression serene. His brown hair, grown long, draped across his shoulders. He had adorned his face with a full beard and moustache. Plato knew the identity of Joshua’s childhood hero, and he understood why the sixteen-year-old Robert had adopted Joshua at his Naming. That thought provoked memories of Plato’s own Naming.

  None other than Kurt Carpenter had instituted the Naming ceremony.

  At the age of sixteen all Family members were formally christened. They were permitted to retain the name bestowed on them at birth by their parents, or encouraged to select a new name, any name they wanted, hopefully from prewar history. Carpenter had worried that subsequent generations would eventually forget their historical antecedents, that they would shun any reference to World War Three and prior eras. This conviction was partially borne out by the reluctance of Family members to refer to the holocaust as exactly that; most preferred the colloquialism

  “Big Blast” instead. Carpenter had wanted to insure that Family members never lost touch with their roots, with the causes and circumstances resulting in their current predicament. He had urged his followers to have their children search through the history books and choose the name of any historical figure they so desired as their very own. Henceforth, they would be known by that name. Family members were not forced to subscribe to this practice, but most adhered to it. A few kept the names given to them by their parents. Even fewer selected an
entirely new name.

  To discourage formality, Carpenter had dictated that surnames were taboo. In his eyes, last names bred a sense of false respect and fabricated civility. Family members were entitled to one name, and one name only.

  The practice persisted. Sixteen-year-old Nathan, the budding gunman, chose Hickok. Sixteen-year-old Lone Elk selected Geronimo. Dark-haired Michael picked an entirely new name, consistent with his affinity for edged weapons, and became Blade. Robert, already envincing a decidedly spiritual nature, was designated Joshua. And an inquisitive sixteen-year-old formerly known as Clayton became Plato. The Naming became a ritual, the cognomen chosen predicated on personal preference.

  Titles, however, were another matter. While Carpenter considered surnames hypocritical, he viewed titles as socially significant. Every member of the Family received an official title, whether it be Tiller, Empath, Healer, Warrior, or another. The title received was based on the area in which the greatest ability was demonstrated. Carpenter had detested the servile attitude adopted by many of his peers towards “Mr. President” or “Mr. Senator” or “Your Honor.” Every individual in the Family was to receive equal social status, and to insure this belief Carpenter had decreed that every Family member would receive a title.

  Titles were badges of social distinction, and everyone had one. This tended to preclude any inclinations towards lording it over one another. As an added safeguard, Carpenter had prohibited the existence of professional rulers, or politicians. If any member exhibited a craving for power, an eagerness to rule, that member was to be immediately expelled from the Family, never to return. Those designated as Family leaders must receive a vote of agreement from a majority of the Family before any decisions could be implemented. One of the few exceptions concerned life-threatening situations, during which the Warriors could order others for their own safety and the defense of the Home.

  This review passed through Plato’s mind while he waited for the digging equipment.

  “Here they come,” someone announced, shattering his reverie.

  The shovels and several picks were distributed, and Plato directed them to the proper spot for excavation. At least, he hoped it was the correct spot. This was one of the few secrets Kurt Carpenter had kept from his friends and followers. His diary did not contain any reference to it. The Family Leaders passed on the information from one to another verbally.

  Fortunately, Blade’s father had relayed the information to Plato before the mutate claimed his life. Leaders were required to select their successors within three months of their installment as head of the Family, a practice designed to insure a smooth transition should the Leader be unexpectedly terminated. The Family was not obligated to vote the hand-picked heir in as the new Leader. It could pick another candidate if it wished, but in the one hundred years of Family history not one successor had been rejected.

  Plato had already made it public knowledge that his desired replacement was Blade, and he knew Blade resented the prospect. Plato suspected Blade recalled the turmoil and stress, the constant pressure his father had been under. Leadership necessitated numerous daily decisions, many of which placed the entire Family’s welfare at stake.

  Plato had been Family Leader for four years. Shortly after his official installment, he had taken Blade aside and cryptically informed him, in case it should become necessary to travel an extended distance from the Home, to dig in front of E Block. Blade wanted to know more, but Plato hedged, a trifle uncertain. Blade was young, and youth was prone to hasty, impetuous action. The temptation might be more than Blade could resist.

  Plato wondered if Blade remembered his instruction. He glanced at the Warrior and was pleased to detect the glimmering of dawning understanding reflected in Blade’s facial features.

  The Family was denied knowledge of the secret for the same reason Plato had refused to completely confide in Blade: fear that the temptation would be irresistible, that someone would be compelled to use it before the proper time.

  The digging was continuing at a frantic pace, the Family excited and intrigued by what might lie below the surface. When one member tired, the shovel or pick was passed to another.

  Plato gazed upward at the late afternoon sun, squinting. Yes, if they continued at this rate, they would uncover the hidden chamber with an hour or so of daylight left. Ample time to open the door and inspect the contents.

  Blade approached Plato. “What’s under there?” he asked.

  “Wait and see,” Plato answered, his eyes twinkling.

  Blade stretched, his huge biceps and triceps bulging. The day was hot, and he was wearing a torn, faded brown shirt, short-sleeved, his usual green pants, patched together from the remnants of a torn canvas, and the typical Family footwear, moccasins. His finely muscled body glistened in the sun, his brawny development the result of a rigorous dedication to a daily exercise regimen. Only two or three others came close to matching his superb physique. Twin Bowies hung suspended from either hip.

  “It’s a vehicle of some sort, isn’t it?” Blade inquired.

  “You’ll see,” Plato said.

  “You’re enjoying every second of this,” Blade commented, grinning.

  “Wouldn’t you?” Plato smiled. “I haven’t seen them this enthused in ages!”

  “They’re not the only ones,” Blade said. “Hickok is chomping at the bit to be off on this great adventure.”

  “Which reminds me,” Plato mentioned. “Perhaps you should find Hickok and Geronimo and select your provisions. You’ll require sufficient firepower and ammunition to defend yourselves, food, and water. We possess several compasses that are functional. Take one, and whatever else you feel you need.”

  “Let’s see,” Blade deliberated. “A Block and F Block should contain most of it. We’ll get right to it.” He walked off, scanning the crowd, searching for the other two-thirds of his Triad.

  The minutes passed, turned into another hour.

  Joshua came up to Plato, the gold chain and cross he always wore gleaming in the sun. “Did you broach it to Blade?” he asked.

  “I did,” Plato confirmed.

  “And the result?”

  “You will be leaving with the Alpha Triad tomorrow, probably around midday.”

  “Then I will spend tonight in prayer to the Spirit that our expedition will be a successful one,” Joshua said in his quiet, reserved style of speech.

  “Just pray you all return to the Home safely,” Plato amended.

  “If we should perish, don’t blame yourself,” Joshua advised. “Remember, even if our bodies are torn to pieces, our souls will still depart this world to where we go from here.”

  Plato made a snorting sound. “Small consolation for the guilt I’d bear for the remainder of my earthly life.”

  “The Spirit will guide us,” Joshua confidently stated. “If we do not return, simply consider it the will of the Supreme.”

  “There is nothing simple about the will of the Supreme,” Plato corrected.

  “Who among us can presume to perceive the purpose of the Spirit?”

  “At times we can,” Joshua replied. “If we remain loyal to the Spirit and apply our souls to acquiring the perfection we were instructed to attain, we can periodically glimpse the outworking of the Spirit in our daily lives.

  Not frequently, at first, but more clearly as we become more spiritual.

  Surely you have enjoyed moments where the will of the Spirit seemed startlingly apparent?”

  “There have been moments…” Plato agreed, marveling, again, at the wisdom Joshua constantly displayed, belying his evident lack of years and experience.

  “I think the Egyptian summed it up best,” Joshua said.

  “Egyptian?” When it came to religion, not even Plato was as sagacious and profound as Joshua. Plato’s expertise embraced philosophy and extended to the sciences, all of them.

  “The Circles in the library makes reference to one called Amenemope, a sage in an ancient time. He believed that
consciousness of the Spirit within us should be our paramount concern, eclipsing all others.”

  Plato remembered perusing the book, years ago. “I’d wager Amenemope enjoyed sufficient leisure to augment such an achievement. Unfortunately, our continual struggle for our very existence precludes adequate opportunity for strictly spiritual pursuits. Most of the Family, although devoted to the Spirit, can’t find the time to spend in worship and prayer on a daily basis.”

  “A little water, each day, is better for the nourishment of a plant than a sudden deluge,” Joshua stated.

  “True. But how little is sufficient? Blade is a case in point.”

  “Is he aware of your motivation for sending me with the Alpha Triad?” Joshua asked.

  “I endeavored to explain my reasoning, but he doesn’t completely comprehend. He doesn’t fully appreciate that an aspect of his character is inadequately developed. I’m hopeful that prolonged exposure to your beliefs might influence his thinking, might ameliorate his harshness.”

  Plato stared into Joshua’s eyes. “Do what you can with him.”

  “What about Geronimo and Hickok?” Joshua inquired.

  “Hickok?” Plato chuckled. “I seriously doubt whether Hickok is at all concerned with his spiritual growth. That one is a fighter. I expect he will remain a Warrior as long as he lives.”

  “And Geronimo?”

  Plato’s brow furrowed. “Geronimo is a puzzle. There is more to him than is initially apparent. He prefers to be a Warrior, but he occasionally displays aptitude for a higher calling. I don’t know what to make of him. Do you?”

  Joshua shook his head. “He doesn’t talk much, and keeps to himself most of the time. He’s polite when approached, but he seldom initiates a conversation with me. I’ve noticed he is quite open with Blade and Hickok.”

  “They’re his best friends and his Triad partners. It’s to be expected that they would be close.” Plato watched the diggers fling the dirt to one side of the now-gaping pit.