Citadel Run Page 9

  The Warrior brutally rammed the pointed end of the limb into the trooper’s left eye, imbedding the tip of the branch at least four inches into the man’s skull. The soldier screamed and recoiled, grasping at the limb in a feeble attempt to extract it.

  Hickok shot a glance over his left shoulder, just in time.

  The other soldier had recovered. He’d lost his M-16 when kicked in the face, but now he whipped out a long knife from a sheath on his left hip and lunged.

  Hickok released the branch and dodged aside, grabbing the trooper’s wrist with both hands and driving the forearm down onto his right knee.

  There was a distinct snapping sound and the soldier shrieked at the top of his lungs.

  Hickok swept his right hand up and in, his fingers straight and hard, using the edge of his hand as he slashed the trooper across the throat.

  Once.

  Twice.

  The soldier gurgled, his chin falling limply to his chest, as blood and froth spewed from his mouth.

  Hickok glanced at the tracker. He was lying on the ground, on his back, the limb sticking upward as if it were trying to take root.

  The second soldier moaned once, then fell, dead.

  Hickok nodded in satisfaction. “A piece of cake,” he said to himself. He bent over the troopers and rummaged through their uniforms.

  Quite a collection!

  He found wallets on both men, each containing paper money in varied denominations. He also discovered a handful of coins, each imprinted with the countenance of a stern man with a beard and a funny hat and the words “In Samuel We Trust” encircling the coin. One of the men, the tracker, had a photograph in his shirt pocket, a picture of the tracker and a pretty young woman and a small child, a boy of four or five years old.

  Dear Spirit!

  Were they the soldier’s wife and son?

  Hickok stared at the photograph for a long, long time, considering the ramifications. In all the fights he’d been in, all the gunfights and battles, he’d never given a thought to the relatives of the enemies he killed in combat. This trooper had had a wife and son! How would they feel when they learned he was gone? How many widows, the gunman wondered, had he made during the course of his illustrious career? He thought of his own wife of a couple of weeks, his beloved Sherry. How would she…

  A bird singing nearby shattered his reflection.

  He vigorously shook his head, his blond locks flying, ending his morbid introspection. As a Warrior, he couldn’t afford the luxury of grieving over his opponents. He had to tell himself, over and over, his whole duty involved preserving the Home and protecting the Family. Nothing else mattered.

  Besides, these men were soldiers. They knew they were in a deadly profession. They were aware of the hazards.

  Hickok stood and glared at the tracker. Idiot! Why did you leave your family alone and neglected, just so you could get your thrills in the military?

  Inexplicably angered, the gunman hauled off and kicked the tracker in the face.

  Served the varmint right!

  He scooped up their M-16’s and spare ammunition, gazed at them one last time, then began jogging northward.

  There was still plenty of daylight left.

  Good.

  He wouldn’t stumble over a mutate on his way to the SEAL.

  Chapter Nine

  The first thing Blade noticed as he was thrown into the stockade was his miscalculation of the density. True, the captives were jammed inside in a compact mass, but there was a good foot or so between each person, enough room to move around somewhat freely. The second thing he noted was the intensifying of their malevolent expressions.

  “What the hell is this?” a big man demanded as the gate was quickly slammed shut.

  “Who are these two?” asked another.

  “I don’t know them,” stated a woman.

  “Neither do I,” confirmed another. “Does anyone know these two clowns?”

  Blade and Geronimo found themselves backed against the fence with precious little room available to maneuver should they be attacked.

  A tall black man, taller even than Blade, sauntered up and jabbed the Warrior in the chest with his right index finger.

  “Who are you, mister?” the black arrogantly inquired.

  “Are they spies?” questioned an elderly woman.

  “If they’re spies, kill them!” suggested a thin man.

  The black was powerfully built, attired in a pair of torn and aged jeans.

  He forcibly poked Blade in the chest again. “You’d best answer me, mother, or I’ll take your head off!”

  Blade looked at Geronimo, who grinned. “I was getting flabby sitting in the SEAL all day,” Geronimo said. “I can use the exercise.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” the black queried.

  “It means,” Blade told him, his voice low and gravely, “you’d better not touch me again.”

  “Oh?” The black smiled, his dark eyes twinkling in his handsome face.

  “Is that so?” He drove his finger into Blade’s chest again. “What’s going to happen if I do, white boy?” And again. “You aim to do somethin’ about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like what?”

  Blade’s right hand streaked upward and clamped on the black’s neck.

  The black reacted instantly, swinging his right fist at the Warrior’s head.

  Blade ducked under the blow and slammed his left hand into the black’s crotch, gripping with all of his strength and heaving, lifting the man completely over his head.

  The black was struggling and gasping, striving to break the Warrior’s hold on his throat and groin.

  The people in front of them suddenly backed away, pushing those behind them and eliciting curses in response.

  Geronimo casually crossed his arms and smiled up at the black. “If I were you, friend, I’d apologize to Blade here before he gets mad. Believe me, you wouldn’t want to get him mad.”

  “Did you say his name is Blade?” asked someone in the crowd. A man parted the front row and advanced toward them. He had an air of authority about him. His hair was brown, his eyes blue, his white skin tanned brown, and he was wearing a torn green shirt and beige pants. His black boots sported holes in their tips. He stared into Blade’s eyes. “Is your name Blade?”

  Blade simply nodded.

  The man looked over his right shoulder at the people behind him.

  “These two aren’t spies. This one is Blade, Hickok’s friend.”

  The crowd immediately started muttering and whispering.

  “Blade?”

  “He’s a buddy of Hickok’s!”

  “But where is Hickok?”

  The spokesman glanced up at the wheezing black. “I think you can let Bear down now. He’s afraid of heights, you know.” The white man grinned.

  “Bear?” Blade repeated. He lowered the black to the ground. “The one Hickok installed as leader of the Porns?”

  “One and the same,” said the spokesman.

  Bear was doubled over, endeavoring to catch his breath and rubbing his tender throat.

  “Who are you?” Geronimo asked the other man.

  “I’m Zahner,” he replied, offering his right hand.

  “The head of the Nomads,” Geronimo stated as he shook hands.

  “Hickok told us all about you.”

  “And you must be Geronimo,” Zahner reasoned. “Yes, Hickok mentioned you two a lot. But…” He paused, studying the Warriors. “Don’t take this wrong, but why aren’t you dead? Hickok left us with the impression you’d been killed by the Wacks.”

  “He thought we were dead,” Blade confirmed. “We’ll tell you the whole story later. Right now, we have more important matters to discuss.” He placed his right hand on the black’s left shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Bear slowly straightened. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice a bit raspy. “Is Hickok with you?”

  “He was,” Geronimo answered, “but h
e tried to gouge a hole in the road with his head and we haven’t seen him since.”

  “Say what?” Bear said, perplexed.

  Blade abruptly realized they had an audience; Captain Rice and four troopers were standing just outside the barbed wire enclosure, listening to their every word. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked Zahner.

  Zahner nodded, understanding. “Follow me. There’s someone I think you’d like to see.”

  The prisoners parted as the four men moved through the throng, knowledge of the Warriors’ entrance into the stockade having already been rapidly spread by word of mouth. Zahner was apparently seeking someone. He continually scanned the crowd until they were nearly in the middle of the stockade.

  “There she is!” Zahner stated. He cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Yo! Woman! Get your big boobs over here!”

  Blade and Geronimo gazed in the general direction Zahner was facing, and Blade spotted her first. A broad smile creased his features and he surged forward, his arms outspread.

  There was a squeal of sheer delight and a woman hurtled through the press of people and leaped into Blade’s arms. “Blade! Blade! You big dummy! You made it back!” She gripped him by the hair and planted a moist kiss on his lips. “You made it!”

  “Bertha,” Blade said softly.

  Bertha was giggling, deliriously happy. Her thick, curly black hair glistened in the sunlight. Her skin was a dusky shade, not from prolonged exposure to the sun but because one of her parents had been white and the other black. Her amply endowed figure was covered with a grimy yellow shirt made from an old sheet and fatigue pants confiscated from soldiers in Thief River Falls months before. “It’s so good to see you again!”

  “And you,” Blade told her. “But aren’t you forgetting someone?” He nodded at Geronimo.

  “Geronimo!” Bertha screeched.

  Geronimo opened his arms to embrace her and was almost bowled over by the impact.

  “You too!” Bertha elated. “I knew you’d come back, no matter what the others said. I just knew it!” She released Geronimo and looked around.

  “Where’s White Meat?”

  “He escaped on the way here,” Geronimo revealed. “He’ll show up sooner or later.”

  “Is he okay?” Bertha inquired, her agitation and concern transparent.

  “Was he hurt? How’s he been? What’s he been up to since I saw him last?

  Tell me everything!”

  Geronimo glanced at Blade, both knowing they were thinking similar thoughts: should they tell Bertha Hickok was married to another woman?

  Independently they reached concurring conclusions; Hickok got himself into this mess, Hickok could get himself out.

  “Hickok is fine,” Blade stated. “Why not let him tell you what he’s been up to when you see him?”

  “I can’t wait,” Bertha said enthusiastically.

  “He’s all we’ve heard about for the past two months,” Bear grumbled.

  “Hickok this and Hickok that! It was enough to drive you nuts!”

  Bertha jerked her left thumb toward Bear. “Don’t listen to Mr. Mouth! He’s just jealous because I told him I wouldn’t be his lady, that I was Hickok’s and Hickok’s alone.”

  Blade mentally constrained his emotions to avoid displaying any surprise. “You don’t say?”

  “Yep. I figured it all out,” Bertha said proudly.

  “Figured what out?” Geronimo questioned her.

  “Well, the last time I saw White Meat he was actin’ real weird and I couldn’t figure out why,” Bertha explained.

  “Acting weird, for Hickok, is normal,” Geronimo quipped.

  Bertha ignored him. “I finally figured out that Hickok must of thought Bear and I were an item. That’s why he acted the way he did. Wait until he finds out Bear and I are just good buddies and nothin’ more! Won’t he be surprised!”

  “That’s an understatement,” Geronimo said.

  “I can hardly wait to see him again,” Bertha said with yearning.

  Geronimo leaned toward Blade. “I just hope I’m around when those two meet! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

  “You planning to take notes?” Blade joked.

  “Now there’s an idea!” Geronimo agreed. “Why didn’t I think of it? I’ll take notes and give them to Hickok’s you-know-what after we return to the Home.”

  “Let me know what type of flowers you’d prefer at your funeral,” Blade courteously commented.

  “What are you two yappin’ about?” Bertha wanted to know. She’d been preoccupied with memories of her adored gunfighter: the first time she’d seen him, when he’d rescued her from the soldiers stationed in Thief River Falls; their constant bickering and his restrained affection; and the sight of him in action against the troopers, his Colts pitted against their sophisticated weaponry. Lordy, that boy could shoot!

  “Far be it for me to intrude upon true love,” Zahner said sarcastically, “but don’t we have more critical items to discuss?”

  “We do,” Blade agreed. “Hickok gave you his word, on behalf of the Family, that we’d be back to assist you in evacuating the Twin Cities. Well, obviously, we’re here.”

  “You’re a little late, ain’t you?” Bear complained. “It’s been about two months! Two months! Hickok said you guys would come back in a month!”

  “It wasn’t our fault,” Blade responded. “The delay was unavoidable. We’re genuinely sorry, but there was nothing we could do about it. There was no way we could have gotten here any faster.”

  “Too bad,” Zahner remarked, gazing at the stockade and the soldiers.

  “You could have saved us a lot of anguish.”

  “The past is past,” Blade philosophized. “We can’t change it, but we can alter the future. We can lead you out of here and help you begin a new life near our Home.”

  Bear pointed at the enclosure. “Ain’t you forgettin’ one minor problem?”

  “We haven’t forgotten,” Blade assured him. “Now, before we go any further, isn’t there one of you missing?”

  “Missing?” Zahner reiterated, puzzled.

  “You’re the leader of the Nomads,” Blade said, “and Bear is the head of the Porns. Where’s the chief Horn? I think Hickok and Joshua said his name was Reverend Paul?”

  Zahner, Bear, and Bertha exchanged strange looks.

  “Reverend Paul was butchered by these bastards!” Zahner stated harshly.

  “How did they capture all of you?” Geronimo inquired.

  “It was easy for them,” Zahner answered, confirming Colonel Jarvis.

  “One of the Porns…”

  “Rat,” Blade interrupted. “We know.”

  “…led the soldiers into the Twin Cities in the middle of the night, using back alleys and sticking to sections he knew we seldom used or were unguarded. They had it all planned, nice and neat!” Zahner snapped bitterly. “They set up an ambush and jumped us halfway through our meeting.”

  “What meeting?” Blade asked.

  “The three sides agreed to meet under a flag of truce,” Zahner detailed.

  “All of us. Everybody. Except the Wacks, of course. We were tired of waiting for you guys to come back, and we were beginning to think you never would. We decided to talk it over and have a public vote on whether we would continue to wait, or whether we would attempt to leave the Twin Cities on our own.” Zahner sighed wearily. “Rat knew of the conference.

  He told the soldiers, and the rest is history. It was a massacre! We didn’t stand a chance! They surrounded us and opened fire with their automatic weapons. It… was…” Zahner stopped, choked with sentiment at the gory memories, unable to continue.

  “It seemed like they were firin’ forever!” Bear took up the narrative.

  “Men, women, and children were droppin’ like flies! It went on and on and on!”

  “When the shootin’ was all over,” Bertha elaborated, “they had us form a big circle in the field. Then they cart
ed off all the bodies and got to work building this big fence. They had all the things they needed, like the barbed wire and such, right in the trucks. They knew what they was doin’.”

  “How long ago did this happen?” Blade inquired.

  “Four days ago,” Zahner replied. “They’ve been feeding us only one meal a day. I overheard some of the soldiers talking yesterday, and they were saying they didn’t think they’d be here too much longer. Evidently they’re getting set to move us out soon.”

  Geronimo glanced at Blade. “I wonder why they waited almost two months to come in here. When did Rat tell the Army about us? What took them so long?”

  “Logistics, probably,” Blade deduced. “After Rat told them, whenever it was, the information had to be transmitted up through the chain of command all the way to Denver and Samuel. Samuel would have needed time to formulate his plan of action, and undoubtedly additional time was required to set everything in motion. Remember, Rat was expecting us to return to the Twin Cities in a month. Maybe the Army intended to ambush all of us on the road between here and our Home. Maybe, when we didn’t come back on schedule, it threw their entire scheme off kilter.

  It’s all sheer speculation at this point. If I get the opportunity, I’ll try and milk Jarvis for the information.”

  “How did you know Rat led them in?” Bertha queried.

  “We saw him,” Blade said, “right before they tossed us in the stockade.”

  There was the sound of a commotion near the western side of the fence.

  “What’s that?” Bear asked.

  “Only one way to find out,” Zahner stated, and led the way toward the enclosure.

  Bertha stayed close to Blade. “Do you really think White Meat will show up here?” she asked him.

  “No doubt in my mind,” Blade answered. “Hickok knows we’re prisoners, and he’ll tear the city apart looking for us.”

  “And what happens when he finds you?”

  “Well, he’ll be as surprised as we were to discover everybody being held in the stockade. Then he’ll try and get us out.”

  “What can he do against all those guns?” Bertha asked.

  “Hickok against one hundred soldiers?” Blade said thoughtfully. “I’d say the odds were just about even.”