Thief River Falls Run Page 7

  “This is depressing,” Hickok commented. “I’m keyed for action, and we can’t find a living soul in these parts.”

  “Don’t forget the guy on the motorcycle,” Blade reminded him. “He had to come from somewhere.”

  “Where? Mars?”

  Eleven more miles brought them to a small community named Newfolden.

  “This is becoming monotonous,” Hickok cracked in disgust. “I’d hoped we’d fine someone by now. Where did the government evacuate everyone to anyway?”

  “Somewhere in the southwest,” Blade commented absently. Another ghost town? How many would they come across like this? “What’s the next one?”

  “You sure are a glutton for punishment.” Hickok checked their location.

  “The next one was bigger at the time of the Big Blast. Had about ten thousand people. Known as Thief River Falls. Map shows a small regional airport. We’re heading for the big time now!”

  Blade drove on. “How many miles?”

  “Seventeen.”

  The SEAL doggedly ate up the distance.

  “Have you noticed,” Geronimo observed at one point, “that we haven’t seen much wildlife so far? A few birds, and a few miles back I spotted a herd of deer. That’s been it.”

  “What’s so strange about that?” Hickok asked.

  “Just think of all the animals around the Home. I expected to find wildlife abundant here too. This area clearly escaped the brunt of the Big Blast. Why aren’t there more animals?”

  “Maybe the critters are afraid of this contraption.” Hickok gave the dashboard a whack.

  “Could be,” Geronimo agreed, sounding doubtful.

  Blade too had deliberated the same question. Geronimo was right.

  There should have been more wildlife. Were the animals avoiding the highway for some reason? Why would they do that? So many questions. So many unanswered questions.

  “There! Up ahead!” Geronimo broke into his reflection.

  Thief River Falls, two hundred yards distant, the first buildings visible around a small curve.

  Blade braked the SEAL.

  “Looks as run down as the others,” Hickok mentioned.

  Blade sighed. The few buildings he could see were shabby ruins, pitiful remnants of their former splendor.

  “We’re bound to encounter civilization sooner or later,” Joshua chimed in optimistically.

  Blade nodded grimly, driving ahead. The SEAL reached the outskirts of Thief River Falls.

  “I’ve got a feeling…” Hickok levered the next round into the chamber of his Henry.

  Blocks passed, building after broken building.

  “Listen,” Geronimo said quietly, leaning forward.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Joshua stated.

  Blade did. He stopped the transport.

  “What the blazes is it?” Hickok asked, rolling down his window.

  “Music,” Geronimo suggested.

  Blade rolled down his window. The Family owned over a dozen assorted musical instruments. Guitars, drums, a trumpet, trombone, and others.

  Those members with musical aptitude were encouraged to spend as much time as possible cultivating their talent. Many a night passed with the entire Family gathered to listen to one of its few remaining sources of entertainment.

  These sounds were different. Music, yes, but harsher, more strident notes than any the Family instruments could produce.

  “It’s coming from up ahead,” Geronimo said, “from the center of town.”

  Blade slowly drove the SEAL in the direction of the music.

  “If we do find someone,” Joshua said, “will you permit me to talk with them before you commence firing?” He was looking directly at Hickok.

  “Maybe you should stay in the SEAL,” Hickok replied. “There could be trouble.”

  “I was sent to act as mediator,” Joshua reminded Hickok, his voice tinged with anger. “You can’t hide me away every time we meet someone!”

  “Safer for you,” Hickok said, “safer for us if we do.”

  “There!” Geronimo pointed.

  Blade stopped.

  The center of Thief River Falls consisted of a profuse growth of trees, tall grass, and bushes.

  “Must have been a park once,” Hickok noted.

  The buildings surrounding the former park were all shabby, unkempt, except for one. A two-story concrete structure, due south of the town square, displayed signs of recent maintenance. The walls were painted white, the front door still hanging on its hinges, and, unlike any other building in sight, this one had glass windows still intact. The raucous music was coming from this building, through several open windows.

  “We’re being watched!” Geronimo pointed again.

  A stocky man, dressed in black, carrying a shotgun, was standing on the roof of the concrete structure, studying the SEAL. He suddenly whirled and disappeared from view.

  “Don’t like it,” Hickok commented.

  “What do we do?” Geronimo asked Blade.

  Blade picked up the Commando and opened his door. “We go in.

  Hickok. Joshua. Myself. You stay with the SEAL. No one is to come near it, under any conditions.”

  Geronimo nodded his understanding.

  “Do we have to take Josh?” Hickok demanded, climbing out. He alertly scanned their immediate vicinity.

  Blade nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Plato gave us specific instructions. Joshua is right. He was appointed to act as our official Family mediator. We’ll let him have his chance.”

  “And if they turn out to be hostile?” Hickok asked.

  “You know what to do,” Blade responded.

  Joshua stood on the ground, stretching. “Thank you, Blade,” he said, expressing his gratitude. “I won’t let you down.”

  Blade motioned for Joshua to proceed. They cautiously approached the building.

  The music abruptly ceased.

  “They know they’ve got company,” Hickok stated.

  The front door opened. A lean man wearing jeans and a brown shirt, a revolver strapped around his narrow waist, stepped out, smiling, friendly.

  “I don’t trust him,” Hickok whispered to Blade.

  “Well, hello there!” The stranger walked down the front steps and extended his right hand. “It isn’t often we get new faces around here. My name is Bert.”

  Blade and Hickok held back, tense, watching the building. Joshua looked at them, shook his head, and walked up to Bert.

  “Greetings, brother.” Joshua smiled. “We are happy to meet you.”

  Bert eyed Joshua quizzically. “Is that a fact?”

  “Indeed,” Joshua affirmed. “You are the first person we have… talked to… since our journey began. We are extremely pleased to meet you.”

  “Why don’t you come inside and meet the others?” Bert asked. “You can bring your friend.” He indicated Geronimo, who was now sitting in the front of the SEAL, leaning out the window, staring at them.

  “Certainly.” Joshua turned and waved, beckoning Geronimo to join them.

  Geronimo glanced at Blade.

  Blade shook his head. “He stays with our vehicle,” he said to Bert.

  “You worried someone might run off with that thing?” Bert laughed.

  “Ain’t any scavengers in Thief River Falls. Only us.”

  “Convenient,” Hickok commented.

  For an instant, Bert’s brown eyes narrowed. He grinned and placed his right hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Come on in.”

  “Thank you, brother.”

  “Brother? We aren’t related.”

  They walked up the steps.

  “All men are sons of the First Source and Universe Creator,” Joshua said. “This cosmic truth makes all men spiritual brothers.”

  Bert gaped at Joshua in frank amazement. “Is that a fact?” He smiled.

  “It is a paramount universal truth,” Joshua seriously intoned. He went to enter the building.

 
; “Hold it,” Blade directed. “Me first.”

  “Ain’t very trusting, are you?” Bert stepped aside. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

  “Oh!” Joshua grinned sheepishly. “I forgot. I’m Joshua. This is Blade.

  And the one with the eyes that never stay still is called Hickok.”

  “Hickok.” Bert said the name deliberately, arrogantly.

  “You stay put,” Blade ordered Joshua. He entered the building, immediately crouching and moving to the right, keeping his back to the wall, examining the room he found himself in.

  The chamber was spacious, well lit by overhead lights.

  They have a generator, Blade mentally noted.

  There were four men in the room. Two were seated at a circular table in the center of the room, a deck of cards on top of the table. The cards were neatly stacked.

  They aren’t playing, Blade told himself. They just sat down, probably placed the cards there to make him believe they were enjoying a card game.

  To the right of the men at the table, leaning against the railing to a flight of stairs, stood the third man, cradling a rifle in his arms. This one was short, bald, and obese.

  The fourth man stood behind a bar running the length of the left side of the building. He was tall, broad at the shoulders, wearing his brown hair long. An automatic was on the bar top, within easy reach.

  All four men were studying Blade.

  “Howdy there, friend,” one of the men at the card table greeted Blade.

  “No need for the hardware.” He pointed at the Commando.

  Blade slowly lowered the muzzle, his neck hairs prickling the back of his neck. Hickok was right. This setup stank. Still, he had to give them the benefit of the doubt. Ostensibly, they were sociable enough.

  “You can come in,” Blade announced for Joshua’s benefit.

  Joshua strolled into the room, all smiles, his hand reaching out for the big man at the table, the one who had spoken. “Hello. My name is Joshua.

  Thank you for welcoming us.”

  The big, bearded man smiled up at Joshua, his beady eyes narrowing slightly. “It isn’t often we get strangers passing through. My name is Joe.”

  He shook with Joshua and indicated an empty chair on the other side of the table. “Have a seat and we’ll get you something to drink.”

  “Thank you.” Joshua sat.

  Blade frowned. Joshua had sat in a chair located between his position against the wall and the big man at the table, something a trained Warrior would never do. His line of fire was blocked. Pretending to be interested in surveying the room, he leisurely moved several paces to his right, insuring a clear shot at the two sitting at the table and the man leaning against the rail.

  Hickok had walked in, directly up to the bar. He smiled at the man behind the counter, placed his Henry on the bar top, and rested his hands on the edge of the bar. His body was angled sideways, allowing him to keep his eyes on all four men. “I sure could use a drink, pard,” he said to the barman. “You got any fresh milk?”

  The barman laughed. “Milk?”

  “Yep. Milk,” Hickok answered, still smiling, his eyes gleaming.

  “Sorry, sonny.” The barman guffawed. “We ate our cow a while back.”

  “What do you have?” Hickok’s hands lowered almost imperceptibly.

  “The real article.” The man reached under the bar and froze, his eyes widening.

  Hickok’s Pythons were pointed directly at his face.

  “Whew! Did you see him draw?” Joe exclaimed. “Did you see him draw?”

  “I saw,” came from Bert. He was standing just inside the doorway, his right hand resting on his revolver.

  “He’s fast!” Joe glanced at Bert. “Maybe the fastest I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Bert remarked testily. “I know one person who could match him.”

  “Now who would that be?” Joe chuckled, baiting Bert.

  “Hey, mister,” the barman said to Hickok. “I ain’t reaching for a gun.”

  “Bring your hand up slow,” Hickok stated through clenched teeth. “Real slow.”

  The barman complied, raising a bottle and gently placing it on the bar.

  “This is what I was getting. You wanted something to drink, remember?”

  Hickok relaxed a bit. He twirled his Colts and slid them into their holsters. “What is that stuff?”

  “Whiskey. Top grade too.”

  “Whiskey? I’ve never had it. What’s it like?”

  The barman gaped at Hickok. “Never had whiskey? Where you from, sonny? Another planet?”

  Hickok didn’t answer.

  Joshua cleared his throat. “You’ll have to forgive my impetuous friend,” he said to Joe. “He evidently enjoys demonstrating his skill with firearms every opportunity he gets.”

  “Really?” Joe thoughtfully replied. He quickly glanced at Bert, then his eyes darted toward Hickok.

  Blade was the only one who caught the motion. He watched out of the corner of his left eye and saw Bert move four steps to his left, still holding the butt of his revolver. Bert was now directly behind Hickok, about twenty feet away, out of Hickok’s range of vision. Blade knew they were setting themselves, biding their time. He abruptly realized the man they had seen on the roof was not in the room. Where was he? Upstairs?

  Outside, stalking Geronimo? Geronimo could take care of himself. They had five men in this room to deal with.

  “So,” the man called Joe said to Joshua, “Where you boys from?”

  Joshua opened his mouth to answer, but Blade cut him off. “Here and there.”

  Joe gazed at Blade. “Don’t mean to be nosy!” He spread his large hands on the table. “Just trying to start conversation, is all. I take it that Sammy didn’t send you?”

  “Sammy?” Joshua repeated, puzzled. “Who is Sammy?”

  “The big man,” Joe said solemnly. “Top dog. What Sammy says goes.”

  “Where does this Sammy live?” Joshua asked.

  “South of here a ways. We do some trading with Sammy from time to time. Run errands when Sammy needs it. Things like that.”

  “We don’t have a Sammy in our Family,” Joshua said. “At least, I don’t think we do.”

  “You must have one hell of a big family if you don’t even know everyone who’s in it!” Joe laughed.

  “Is there anyone else living in Thief River Falls?” Joshua politely inquired.

  “Nope,” Joe responded. “Just us. And we don’t actually live here. We’re just staying here for a spell, sort of watching over things.”

  “You wouldn’t know anyone who rides a motorcycle?” Joshua asked casually.

  Joe attempted to disguise his reaction, but Blade noticed his features cloud for an instant.

  “What’s a motorcycle?” Joe innocently asked.

  “A means of transport,” Joshua answered.

  “Like that thing you have outside?”

  “The SEAL? It’s quite different from a motorcycle.”

  “Never quite seen anything just like it,” Joe said. He was inching his right hand under the table.

  Blade noted the other man at the table already had both of his arms out of sight.

  “Have you ever been to Minneapolis?” Joshua asked Joe.

  Joe hesitated. “Once or twice,” he finally replied. “Why?”

  “That is our destination,” Joshua said, displaying his inherent honesty.

  “You don’t want to go there.”

  “Why not?”

  Joe shook his head. “Bad place. Bad. Violent types live there. Not friendly, like us.”

  “Violent?” Joshua asked, alarmed. “How do you mean?”

  Joe leaned toward Joshua. “Sonny, they’ll kill you quick as they see you.

  Believe me, you’re safer staying away from Minneapolis. Say,” he said, changing the subject, “are you hungry?”

  “We could use some food,” Joshua admitted.

  Blade saw his chan
ce. “We have provisions in our transport. Joshua, why don’t you go get some for us?”

  “No need for that.” Joe’s right hand paused at the table’s edge.

  “We have plenty,” Blade mentioned.

  “So do we,” Joe protested. “Why don’t you have some of ours?”

  Blade smiled, his finger curling around the Commando trigger.

  “Wouldn’t hear of it. You’ve been kind enough to us, so allow us to return the favor. Joshua, go get some food for us.”

  “But if they have some they’re willing to share…” Joshua began.

  “Do as I told you,” Blade curtly ordered.

  Joshua smiled at the other men, rose, and departed.

  “He’s a nice boy,” Joe commented.

  “None nicer,” Blade admitted.

  “I like ’em lean,” Joe continued. “Great body.” His right hand had disappeared under the table.

  “I don’t suppose you would be willing to raise your hands over your heads while we disarm you?” Blade tensed, ready.

  Joe laughed. “You got a great sense of humor, sonny. You know better.”

  “And if I said we’d leave now, without any fuss?” Blade offered them one last chance.

  “Sorry.” Joe shrugged his shoulders. “We have our orders.”

  “The one you called Sammy?”

  “The same.”

  “What’s he have against us? We don’t even know him?”

  “Sammy always has good reasons,” Joe stated. “Don’t know why, but Sammy says you guys must buy the farm. Nothing personal, you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “And don’t you worry none,” Joe said, grinning maliciously. “We won’t harm that Joshua. I intend to take real good care of him. Real good care,” he emphasized, licking his thick lips.

  “Say, Joe?” Hickok interjected.

  “Yeah?” Joe kept his eyes on Blade.

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re one miserable son of a bitch?”

  The room exploded with deadly action.

  Hickok’s guns were up and he was turning, even as Bert managed to clear leather. The Pythons cracked and Bert slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor.

  Joe and the other man at the table were bringing their weapons to bear, Joe a revolver, the other man a sawed-off shotgun.

  Blade crouched, swinging the Commando in an arc, the slugs ripping into Joe and the other one, their chests erupting in spurts of flesh and blood.