The Kalispell Run Page 5

  Hickok walked over to the prone Mole. “I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew,” he mumbled.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so,” Silvester commented, his voice muffled because his face was pressed against the grass, “I think you’re right!”

  Chapter Six

  As it turned out, the initial mileage estimates on the distance between the Family’s Home in Minnesota and Kalispell, Montana, were overestimated. Blade kept a meticulous log of each run the SEAL made, and according to the odometer the actual mileage was slightly less than eleven hundred miles. “One thousand and thirty-three miles,” Blade announced as he braked the transport on a low rise two miles northeast of Kalispell, just past Evergreen.

  “I can’t believe we made the trip so quickly,” Rainbow commented.

  It was the morning of the fifth day after their departure from the Home. Blade silently thanked the Spirit that the trip, except for the incident with the scavengers, had been trouble free. By carefully detouring around the larger towns, driving cautiously during the day and maintaining an average speed of only fifty miles per hour, and hiding the transport in dense brush at night, they had reached the vicinity of Kalispell with surprising ease. The area, as Rainbow foretold, was unscathed by the nuclear war, the flora and fauna evident in prolific profusion, a natural paradise.

  Only one element was absent.

  “Where are all the Citadel men?” Star asked her mother.

  “That’s a real good question,” Blade remarked.

  Rainbow was leaning forward, searching in every direction, her expression one of intense bewilderment. “I don’t understand it,” she said softly. “There’s no sign of the army from the Citadel, and we should have encountered them by now.”

  Geronimo, his window rolled down, poked his head outside and felt a cool breeze caress his brow. “There’s no sign of anyone,” he noted. “I did spot tire tracks and, from the appearance of that field over there, the one with the crushed vegetation and the fresh ruts, a large body of men was here. But they’re gone now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Rainbow reiterated.

  “Geronimo,” Blade directed, “see if you can determine how recent those tracks are.”

  Geronimo nodded, grabbed the FNC, and jumped from the SEAL. He ran to the field and knelt, studying the earth and running a handful of dirt through his fingers.

  Blade glimpsed Rainbow in the mirror, unconcealed resentment distorting her features. “Something wrong?” he inquired.

  “You like bossing him around, don’t you?” Rainbow asked.

  “What?”

  “Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Rainbow stated. “You treat him like he’s your slave.”

  “You’re nuts, lady!” Blade snapped. “I’m Alpha Triad leader, and Geronimo is one of the Warriors in my Triad. It’s my job to give orders. It’s what I was trained for. Geronimo’s never complained.”

  “He wouldn’t!” Rainbow retorted.

  Blade twisted in his seat and faced her. “What’s with you; Rainbow? I’ve seen how you treat Geronimo. You’re trying to wrap him around your little finger, play on his sympathy and his affinity for his Indian heritage. Why?”

  “Maybe,” Rainbow said, her tone bitter, “I think Geronimo will be better off with my tribe than with your Family.”

  “Why?”

  “He belongs with his own people,” she said.

  “The Family are his people,” Blade told her.

  “The Family are mainly whites!” Rainbow hissed.

  Blade, startled by the venom in her voice, nodded. “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. You remember that neat speech you gave several days ago, about how you didn’t hate me personally for the crimes the white race inflicted on your people?”

  “What about it?” Rainbow asked testily.

  “You were lying through your teeth, Rainbow. The real reason you want Geronimo to live with your tribe is because you can’t tolerate the thought of any Indian living in harmony with the whites. You’re a bigot, Rainbow. Nothing more, nothing less than a disgusting, spiteful bigot!” Blade sadly shook his head. “I pity you, woman.”

  Rainbow’s face reddened, her lips quivered in silent rage, and she was about to explode when she abruptly stiffened, relaxed, and smiled. “That’s quite interesting, Blade. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

  Geronimo opened his door and climbed into the SEAL.

  “What’s the verdict?” Blade asked him.

  “My guess would be about a hundred men bivouacked in that field for three months or so, judging from the volume of traffic. There are a number of fire pits and a latrine trench.”

  “How long ago did they leave?” Blade questioned.

  “Oh—” Geronimo glanced at the field again. “I’d estimate at least four weeks. Not much less. The ground reveals two heavy rains since their departure, and an exact time frame is difficult to gauge.”

  “Four weeks!” Rainbow exclaimed. “That can’t be!”

  “If Geronimo says it has been four weeks,” Blade said, “it has been four weeks.”

  “Close to it,” Geronimo affirmed.

  “But where did they go?” Rainbow questioned. “Why did they leave?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out,” Blade stated. He started the transport toward Kalispell.

  Geronimo saw the confusion and worry Rainbow was experiencing and attempted to soothe her. “Anything could have happened,” he mentioned.

  “The army from the Cheyenne Citadel might have run out of supplies and returned to their fortress. Or maybe they simply grew tired of trying to starve your tribe out of Kalispell. Your people could have launched an assault of their own and driven the army off, couldn’t they?”

  “I suppose,” Rainbow said doubtfully.

  “There is another possibility,” Blade interjected, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to control his simmering anger over Rainbow’s attitude toward the Family.

  “What’s that?” Geronimo asked.

  “The Citadel array defeated the Flatheads and left the area.”

  “Mom?” Star inquired in alarm. “Do you think Blade is right? Did the Citadel army kill our people?”

  Blade felt a twinge of regret for baiting Rainbow at the child’s expense.

  “No, honey. Don’t worry!” Rainbow comforted her daughter. “I’m sure our people are okay.”

  “We’ll soon know,” Blade said.

  The SEAL was still a mile from the outskirts of Kalispell. The highway was not severely damaged and clear of obstructions, enabling Blade to keep the transport in the center of the road, his senses alert for any threat or indication of an ambush.

  “I hope my people don’t fire on us before they realize who we are,” Rainbow voiced her concern.

  Blade slowed, proceeding at a snail’s pace, just in case.

  “I still haven’t seen a sign of anyone,” Geronimo observed.

  “What’s that?” Star suddenly cried, pointing straight ahead.

  The road at the edge of town was littered with debris, old wooden crates and rusted metal drums, ancient furniture and useless appliances, and various other items, all scattered over the ground on either side of the highway.

  “It’s one of the roadblocks we constructed,” Rainbow explained.

  “Or was,” Blade amended. “It looks like something broke through.”

  “Oh, no!” Rainbow said, fearfully clasping Star. “No!”

  Blade scanned the buildings they passed, detecting evidence of a recent battle; some of the structures displayed gaping holes in the walls, many of the windows were shattered or riddled with bullet holes, and discarded cartridges of various calibers littered the ground. The Flatheads had put up a terrific fight before their defeat. It was odd, though, there weren’t any bodies. Would the Citadel army take the time to cart off all the corpses and provide a proper burial? Highly unlikely.

  The SE
AL eased along the streets, Blade turning at random, first right, then left, and everywhere it was the same.

  Kalispell was deserted.

  “Which way?” Blade asked Geronimo, nodding at the map on the console.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Geronimo replied. “The map is of the state of Montana. It includes inserts of Great Falls, Billings, Butte, and Missoula, but not Kalispell. Pick any direction you want.”

  “Rainbow?” Blade glanced over his right shoulder.

  Rainbow was absently staring into the distance, her mouth slightly open, her gaze blank.

  “I have a suggestion,” Star offered.

  “What?” Blade queried her.

  “I have an uncle living on the shore of Flathead Lake. Maybe he’s still there.”

  “Wasn’t he in Kalispell with the others?” Blade inquired.

  “Nope.” Star shook her head, her long hair flying. “He refused to leave his cabin. He probably hid until the army left. He’s real good at hide-and-seek.”

  “Flathead Lake is south of Kalispell,” Geronimo mentioned, grinning.

  A rusted street sign, leaning at an acute angle to the pavement, appeared ahead.

  “Let’s see where we’re at,” Blade said, stopping the SEAL. The letters on the sign were faded, but legible. “We’re at the corner of West Montana and North Main,” he informed the others. He swung the SEAL right onto Main, heading south.

  “I hope my uncle is home,” Star stated hopefully.

  Rainbow was still lost in her own little world, traumatized by the disappearance of her tribe.

  The SEAL crossed railroad tracks and entered the downtown district.

  “This building over here,” Blade said, reading a faint sign on a wall, “was the Flathead Community College.”

  “A lot of stores over here,” Geronimo remarked. “It doesn’t look like this part of town was damaged very much.”

  The transport was in the intersection of Main and Fifth when Star suddenly pointed to their left. “What’s that?” she asked excitedly.

  Blade had seen it too. A shadow flitting across the wall of a nearby building. He braked the SEAL.

  “What was it?” Geronimo questioned.

  Blade shrugged. “I better investigate. You stay here with Rainbow and Star, and keep the doors locked. I’ll leave the SEAL running. You might need to take off, fast.”

  “I won’t leave without you,” Geronimo asserted.

  “Do whatever is necessary to protect the SEAL,” Blade directed. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “I wish Hickok was here to watch over you,” Geronimo said, smiling.

  “Since when do I need a baby-sitter?” Blade demanded in mock irritation.

  “According to Hickok,” Geronimo rejoined, “from the moment you wake up in the morning until you go to sleep at night. Otherwise, you’re fine.”

  Blade laughed. “Thanks.” He opened his door and slid to the street, gripping the Auto-Ordnance Model 27 A-1 in his right hand.

  “I don’t understand why Plato didn’t send one of the other Warriors with us to compensate for Hickok’s absence,” Geronimo commented.

  “He wanted to send Rikki,” Blade related, “but I vetoed the idea.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Blade promised, closing the door and moving away from the SEAL. He recalled his argument with Plato over a suspected power-monger in the Family, someone who wanted to oust Plato and assume the mantle of leadership without Family approval.

  Before Alpha Triad departed for the Twin Cities, Plato had pledged he would reveal the identity of the culprit after they returned. In a rare violation of his word, still peeved because Alpha Triad had failed in its mission to the Twin Cities, Plato had refused to give Blade the power-monger’s identity when Blade had returned. He had cited as his reason a need for additional proof. Partly out of petty spite, Blade had then declined to take Rikki-Tikki-Tavi with them to Kalispell. Outside of Hickok and Geronimo, Blade trusted Rikki the most. Rikki, as Beta Triad leader, would be in charge of the Family Warriors with Blade gone, and if the power-monger were stupid enough to instigate a rebellion while Blade was away, thinking it might be easier, Rikki would promptly prove him wrong and slice him into teensy-weensy pieces with his katana.

  I did right, Blade told himself, by leaving Rikki with the Family.

  He was fifteen yards from the transport, standing in the center of Fifth Street, the wind ruffling his hair.

  Someone… or something… was watching him.

  Blade felt the short hairs at the base of his neck tingle as he searched the nearest buildings. A century of neglect had taken its toll. Windows were cracked, dust covered everything, and the stores were in abject disrepair.

  Dust?

  What about tracks?

  Blade moved to his left, scanning the sidewalk.

  Nothing. A few leaves, rusted cans, and other trash.

  From somewhere ahead came a distant scratching noise.

  So! Someone was playing games.

  Blade cautiously walked east on Fifth Street, his gray eyes constantly surveying his surroundings, the A-1 at the ready.

  Something rattled for a few seconds, then abruptly ceased.

  Keep it up, sucker! Blade grinned. Someone was in for a big surprise!

  The wind was picking up, blowing the dust into the air.

  Blade reached the intersection of Fifth and First Avenue East, according to a street sign.

  A loud knock sounded to his left, north on First Avenue East.

  Blade hesitated. If he continued, he would lose sight of the SEAL. But what choice did he have?

  As an added incentive, the knock was repeated.

  Blade walked to the middle of the street, his finger on the trigger of the A-1.

  Where are you?

  Doors and windows on this street were intact, and most of them were closed, except for a large window on the second floor of a building to his right. It was conspicuously open.

  Accident or design?

  Blade edged toward the building with the open window. Was one of the Flatheads still in Kalispell, hiding in fear? Or had the Citadel army left someone behind to ensure any stragglers were disposed of? Or was it a trap to…

  A slight click came from the vicinity of the open window.

  Blade aimed the A-1 at the shadowy aperture.

  A tiny pebble fell to the sidewalk below the window.

  Damn!

  Blade whirled, knowing he’d fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. The pebble had been tossed at the brick wall near the window to distract him, to divert his attention from the real attack. He was still trying to turn when powerful arms encircled him from behind, pinning his arms to his side and rendering the A-1 ineffective.

  Something growled in his left ear.

  Blade dropped the A-1 and surged, his mighty muscles straining, against the restricting arms. His face reddened and his veins bulged as he applied his full strength, calling on all the resources of his massive, superb physique.

  No go.

  The thing still held him fast.

  Hot breath was tingling the nape of his neck.

  Blade realized the thing’s face must be directly behind his head. He relaxed for a moment and dropped his chin onto his chest.

  From behind him came a low, unnatural, sibilant voice. “What you do?”

  Dear Spirit! What in the world had a hold of him?

  Blade suddenly attempted to break free again, every fiber of his being stretched to the limit. At the same instant he drove his head backward and felt his cranium connect with his assailant’s face.

  The thing released him.

  Blade ducked aside and crouched, instinctively drawing his right Bowie, turning to confront his enemy, prepared for anything.

  Or so he thought.

  Blade hesitated, gaping in astonishment at his attacker. It was the size of an average man, on the lean side, and essentially humanoid, being bipedal
and possessing two arms and a face, but after that any human resemblance ended. Its skin was light gray and leathery, its nose narrow and pointed, and its ears tiny circles of flesh on either side of a bald, hawk-like skull. The mouth was a thin slit, and the eyes endowed with a bizarre hypnotic effect because of bright red pupils. The creature was naked except for a brown loin cloth covering its genitals and a metal collar around its squat neck.

  In the second Blade delayed, overcome by amazement, the thing pounced, slamming into the Warrior and driving him back. One of its bony hands clamped on Blade’s neck and the other grabbed his right wrist to prevent him from using the Bowie.

  Move!

  Blade allowed the force of the creature’s impact to work in his favor. He rolled onto his back, drove his feet into the thing’s stomach, and kicked.

  The creature flew over Blade’s head and landed on its back in the street, recovering immediately and leaping to its feet.

  Blade followed suit, extending his Bowie, mentally debating if he should kill this thing or try to capture it alive.

  The creature grinned at the Warrior. “You good one, no? Not be easy, yes?”

  Blade couldn’t believe the thing was actually speaking to him. What was it?

  The thing held its hands out, palms up. “Surrender, no? Not hurt you, yes?”

  Why did it talk the way it did? “If you expect me to give up, bozo,” he told it, “you’ve got another think coming.”

  The creature cocked its head and stared at him, puzzled. “What mean you? Not bozo, no! Gremlin, yes.”

  “Why did you attack me?” Blade demanded, straightening.

  “Doktor’s orders.”

  “I don’t understand,” Blade admitted, still wary, suspecting a trick.

  “Must take you, no? Come along, yes?” The creature pointed at the Bowies and the .44 Magnum under Blade’s left arm. “Drop, please.”

  “You’re nuts,” Blade retorted.

  “Incorrect. Not want to hurt, yes? Please,” the thing pleaded with him.

  “Who are you?” Blade ignored the entreaty. “Better yet, what are you?”

  Despite its ferocious visage, the creature apparently didn’t desire to continue their fight.

  “Please!” the thing repeated, and abruptly gripped the metal collar it wore with both hands, trembling.