Dakota Run Page 9

  “I’m fine,” Cynthia said. “But you took a nasty spill, and then one of the creatures struck you on the head.”

  “Creatures? What creatures?” Geronimo felt Cynthia tremble.

  “I don’t know what it was,” Cynthia answered in a low voice. “It was all set to eat you! I didn’t get a real good look at it.”

  “Eat me?” Geronimo interrupted.

  “…and Kilrane came over the edge of the hole,” Cynthia resumed, “blasting away with his revolver. The thing made this terrible noise… you should have heard it!” She stopped, horrified by the memory.

  “What happened then?” Geronimo queried her.

  “The thing ran off, still screaming, making this awful racket. Kilrane found this spot before the light faded for good. We’ve been trapped in here for hours and hours,” Cynthia finished.

  “Where are we?” Geronimo questioned, glancing around. He could dimly perceive walls of some sort three feet away on either side. Kilrane was about six feet away, near a lighter-shaded space.

  “We’re in a crevice not far from the opening you dropped into,” Kilrane answered. “We’d be dead right now if we hadn’t stumbled onto this.”

  “Dead? Why?”

  “You’ll understand when you see them,” Kilrane promised.

  “Them?”

  “You’ll see,” was Kilrane’s response.

  “Why don’t we leave now?” Geronimo asked.

  “Because it’s the middle of the night and we can’t see more than a few feet,” Kilrane explained. “They, evidently, can see real well in the dark. A horde of them went past us while you were out. Thank goodness none of them spotted us in here. It wouldn’t take them long to dig their way in.”

  Geronimo discovered he could stand, but not fully erect. His head brushed the roof of the crevice, causing some dirt to trickle over his hair and face. He moved to Kilrane’s side.

  “Wait for me!” Cynthia hastily joined them.

  “I take it I owe you my life,” Geronimo said to Kilrane. “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t have much choice,” Kilrane quipped. “If I hadn’t of shot the damn thing, it would have attacked me next.”

  “Did you fall into the pit the same as me?” Geronimo casually inquired.

  “Something like that.”

  “How far is this crevice from the opening?” Geronimo asked, reaching out to find the crevice exit.

  “Not more than twenty yards,” Kilrane revealed. “We got in here just as a bunch of them came running by, heading for the opening, apparently looking for us.”

  Geronimo inched forward, groping carefully. He could see the jagged rift separating the crevice from a larger tunnel.

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Kilrane advised.

  “Why?”

  “Because they might come by while you’re out there, and they would tear you to pieces before you could do a thing.”

  Geronimo stopped four feet from the rift. “Should we be talking like this?” he questioned, concerned their voices might attract the… things.

  “Just keep it low,” Kilrane warned. “I don’t think any of them are out there now. Most left at nightfall. Besides, you’ll hear them when they come our way.”

  “Kilrane saved your rifle,” Cynthia commented. “Not that it will do us much good.” She picked up an object from the ground. “Here.”

  Geronimo took the proffered Marlin and hefted the gun in his right hand, making a fast check with his left; both the Arminius and his tomahawk were still in place. Thank the Spirit! He was still upset over losing one of his prized tomahawks in the Twin Cities a few months before.

  “Either of you have any idea how we’ll get out of here?” Cynthia asked them.

  “I’m working on one,” Kilrane answered.

  “Did you bring your rifle?” Geronimo inquired of Kilrane.

  “Didn’t have time,” Kilrane said. “I did think to bring along my lariat.”

  “What good is a stupid rope going to do?” Cynthia remarked derisively.

  “You never know,” was all Kilrane would say.

  Geronimo leaned against the wall of the crevice.

  resting his pounding temples. “I don’t think I can wait until morning,” he told the others. “Kilrane, did you see what it was that attacked me?”

  “An ant,” Kilrane stated.

  “Come again?”

  “A giant ant,” Kilrane reiterated. “You had to see it to believe it!”

  “I believe it,” Geronimo affirmed. “I’ve seen some of the giants before. A few months ago some friends and I had a disagreement with a huge spider.’’

  “What happened?” Cynthia questioned him.

  “What else?” Geronimo smiled. “It killed us.”

  “Maybe we should try and get some rest,” Kilrane proposed. “There’s nothing we can do until morning.”

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Cynthia declared. “I’d be afraid to close my eyes.”

  “And I’ve already had my beauty sleep,” Geronimo said. “But if you need a nap, Kilrane, you go ahead. I’ll keep watch.”

  “I don’t reckon I could sleep much,” Kilrane observed.

  Geronimo started laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Cynthia inquired, puzzled.

  “Kilrane…” Geronimo began, then vented another fit of mirth.

  “What did I do?” Kilrane queried.

  “You used the word ‘reckon,’” Geronimo responded. “It reminded me of my best friend, an idiot who likes to use this ridiculous Wild West talk all the time. He uses the word ‘reckon’ a lot.” Geronimo paused and sighed. “I miss the big dummy.”

  “Is this friend of yours the one you call Hickok?” Kilrane guessed.

  “How’d you know?”

  Kilrane chuckled. “It wasn’t hard to figure. When you talk about this Hickok your tone reflects your feelings. It must be nice to have a close friend like that.”

  “Don’t you have one?” Geronimo asked.

  “Not really…” Kilrane said slowly.

  “What about Rolf? Or Hamlin?” Geronimo could feel a damp sensation on the back of his head. Was he still bleeding?

  “Rolf’s the legitimate Cavalry leader and I respect him a lot,” Kilrane revealed. “Hamlin’s okay and a good buddy, but he looks up to me all of the time instead of treating me as an equal.”

  “You must have one close friend,” Geronimo stated.

  “There is one fella,” Kilrane acknowledged. “His name is Boone.”

  “And where is he?”

  “Boone stayed with Rory after the split,” Kilrane said, and Geronimo and Cynthia could plainly detect the sadness in his voice.

  “Maybe you could…” Geronimo began, then stopped, his ears detecting a new sound, faint, in the distance, but growing louder with each passing second.

  The noise resembled an outlandish twittering.

  “It’s them!” Cynthia cried.

  “Hurry!” Kilrane directed, his shadowy form moving toward the rear of the crevice. “Get as far from their tunnel as you can or they might detect you.”

  Geronimo complied, following the others until they reached the end of the crevice, fifteen feet from where the cleft fronted the tunnel.

  The bizarre twittering grew louder, rising in volume, reaching a piercing crescendo.

  Cynthia placed her lips against Geronimo’s left ear. “Some of the ants are returning,” she whispered.

  If he squinted, Geronimo could vaguely detect the passing of huge black forms scurrying past the crevice. How many ants were there? he wondered. More importantly, how in the world were they going to get past the ants and reach the surface? And even if they did manage to reach topside again, what chance did they have on foot in the Dead Zone?

  Geronimo closed his eyes and started praying to the Great Spirit.

  Cynthia pressed her mouth to his ear again. “They’re really red,” she explained for no apparent reason, interrupting his prayer. “They just look
black in the dark.” She straightened.

  Geronimo resumed his praying.

  “You know,” Cynthia said, leaning close to him, “it’s too bad your friend Hickok isn’t here. We could use all the help we can get.”

  “I know,” Geronimo agreed, and continued his worship.

  Cynthia’s lips were glued to his ear once more. “What are you doing?”

  Geronimo placed his mouth near her right ear. “Praying to the Great Spirit.”

  “You’re religious?” she inquired, sounding astonished at the prospect.

  “Of course,” Geronimo whispered back. “Aren’t you?”

  “I never really gave it much thought,” she admitted. “Oh, I believe there’s a God up there somewhere, but I don’t attend services regularly.”

  “Services?”

  “Yeah. We have a few spiritual people called ministers. They hold services once a week and talk about God and all that stuff. I always found it pretty boring.” She hesitated. “I never expected you to be the religious type.”

  “Why’s that?” Geronimo wanted to learn.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess because you’re such a good fighter and our ministers are always telling us fighting is wrong.”

  “Have you ever read the Bible?” Geronimo questioned her.

  “Nope,” she confessed.

  “Too bad. Maybe then you’d understand. The Old Testament tells us about a lot of great fighters, superb warriors, who were also deeply religious men. Samson, David, and Joshua, to name just three of the many. My Family has a number of Warriors, and all of them, to varying degrees, are religious.”

  “You’ll have to tell me more sometime,” Cynthia suggested.

  “As soon as we get out of this mess,” Geronimo pledged, his thoughts straying. Her warm breath on his ear, combined with the proximity of her voluptuous body and the intoxicating fragrance of her woman scent, had agitated his equilibrium. How was he supposed to concentrate on the Great Spirit with her near-naked form so close to him?

  Discipline, he told himself.

  I need more discipline!

  Cynthia snuggled nearer. Kilrane was three feet off, reclining against the other wall.

  “I don’t know if we’re going to make it out,” she said in a barely audible voice. “So I want to tell you this now. I like you, Geronimo. I like you a lot.

  I want to get to know you better. There’s something about you…” She paused. “How do you feel about me?”

  Geronimo twisted his head to respond and suddenly found his lips mere inches from hers, her breath on his face.

  The ants were still creating a racket in the tunnel.

  Geronimo experienced an overpowering impulse to kiss Cynthia and he deliberately suppressed it. What kind of idiot would take the time to kiss a lovely woman while trapped in the subterranean lair of monstrous ants?

  With Kilrane only three feet away!

  Kilrane!

  Geronimo abruptly recalled that Kilrane entertained designs on Cynthia. He glanced at the captain, unable to read his expression in the gloom.

  Kilrane, evidently, was able to read minds. “Don’t pay any attention to me,” he said to Geronimo. “I know when I’m licked, and I’m not the type to force my affections on a woman.”

  “Besides,” Cynthia added, “he knows how I feel.”

  “He does?” Geronimo whispered.

  “Sure. I told him while we were riding today.”

  “Told him what?” Geronimo asked.

  “That I was interested in you,” she replied.

  “You just up and told him that?” Geronimo marveled.

  “Of course. I knew he was attracted to me, and I didn’t want to lead him on. I don’t believe in beating around the bush,” she stated, her lips next to his ear. Her moist tongue suddenly flicked across his lobe.

  Geronimo could feel a stirring in his groin.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Cynthia demanded. “Can’t you take a hint? Are you the bashful type or something?”

  “I happen to believe there’s a time and a place for everything,” Geronimo countered, “and this isn’t the time or place.”

  “We may never have another opportunity,” she reminded him.

  “I’m not like my friend Hickok,” he explained. “He does things on the spur of the moment. I can’t. I like to think things out and I don’t like surprises.”

  “Pretend you’re Hickok,” Cynthia suggested.

  “What?”

  “Better yet, I’ll pretend I’m Hickok!”

  Before Geronimo could react, she embraced him and planted her eager lips on his. He opened his mouth to speak and found her tongue entwined with his own.

  Kilrane was chuckling.

  Geronimo relaxed, allowing his body to respond to her passion, to the feel of her firm breasts pressed against his chest.

  So much for discipline!

  Chapter Twelve

  They entered the Home in the wee hours of the morning, well before the horizon would be tinged by the brilliance of the rising sun. Their method of entry was ingenious, a technique the Warriors hadn’t considered and planned against.

  Kurt Carpenter, the Founder, had provided for the Family’s water supply and effectively utilized this water as a secondary means of defense.

  A stream entered the Home in the northwest corner, via an aqueduct, and was diverted along the base of the brick wall surrounding the entire thirty acres. The flowing water exited the Home through another aqueduct under the southeastern corner.

  The pair knew the layout of the Home; their intelligence information was superb. They dove into the stream outside the wall and swam underwater through the northwestern aqueduct, emerging in the middle of the stream inside the Home completely undetected by the Warriors on guard duty. Cautiously, they clambered onto the bank and scanned the immediate vicinity for any signs of life.

  The Family members were all fast asleep.

  “Where do you think he is?” Ox questioned his diminutive companion.

  “Beats me,” Ferret answered. “We’ll have to search this entire place until we find him.”

  “Should we split up?”

  “No. We’ll stick together. My nose is better than yours and I might pick up his scent first,” Ferret stated.

  “Whatever you say,” Ox acquiesced.

  They carefully scoured the western sector of the Home, avoiding all open spaces, sticking to whatever cover was available. Fortunately, there were plenty of trees, bushes, and shrubs to facilitate their clandestine hunt. Their primary concern was the solitary Warrior stationed on the west wall, but he seldom glanced in their direction. He naturally focused his attention outside the Home, alert for potential invaders.

  Over an hour elapsed.

  “Where the hell is he?” Ox demanded when they stopped in a stand of trees not far from the cabins in the center of the Home.

  “Beats me,” Ferret replied. “I’ve been unable to catch his scent.”

  “Do you think he’s left?” Ox queried.

  “Doubt it,” Ferret responded. “Where would he go? Back to the Civilized Zone? No way. He knows the Doktor would fry him to a crisp.

  The only friends he has are the people here, this Family. He’ll stay here for as long as he can.”

  “Maybe he was never here to begin with,” Ox speculated. “Maybe the Doktor was wrong.”

  Ferret, startled by Ox’s stupidity, glanced at the collar around the giant’s neck, waiting for the blue indicator light to flash and Ox to writhe on the grass in acute agony.

  Nothing transpired.

  Ox, belatedly, realized his blunder, a shocked expression crossing his face. “I… I… I didn’t mean…” he stammered.

  “The Doktor knows you didn’t,” Ferret said. “That’s probably the only reason you’re alive right now.”

  Ox’s brow broke out in sweat.

  “They way I see it,” Ferret was reasoning aloud, “he’s here, all right, but he doesn’t sleep w
ith the others. He’s found someplace private, somewhere he can be alone. He won’t come out until morning.”

  “So what do we do?” Ox queried.

  Ferret stared toward the eastern half of the Home. “That part is maintained in its natural state. Lots of woods, plenty of hiding places. I say we hide out there and keep our eyes peeled. Sooner or later he’ll show his ugly face, and then we do as the Doktor wants and finish the traitor off.”

  Ox was studying the forested eastern section. “Sounds okay to me.”

  “Let’s go.” Ferret moved nearer the cabins, listening for any indication of an early riser. If his memory served, these cabins were used by the Family’s married couples as their individual homes. Once past the cabins, the pair would be safely beyond any inhabited structures.

  The rear door on a nearby cabin opened.

  Ferret dropped to the ground, Ox at his side.

  A young girl with long black hair came forth and closed the door. She grinned and ran westward.

  “She’d make a tasty treat,” Ox whispered, licking his lips.

  Ferret shook his head and rose, watching until the girl was out of sight.

  Secretly, he wished the Doktor had paired him with someone else instead of Ox. The big lummox was constantly hungry. Ox thought with his stomach instead of his brain, a troublesome weakness at best, a fatal failing at worst.

  Using whatever available cover presented itself, the deadly duo successfully passed the cabins and reached a dense stretch of forest beyond.

  “We’ll wait here,” Ferret announced when they were safely hidden from view.

  “I just hope this doesn’t take too long,” Ox grumbled.

  “Why?” Ferret inquired, already knowing the answer.

  “Because,” Ox began, “I’m…”

  “Who’s in there?” demanded a new voice, a man, from perhaps fifteen yards off, to the north.

  Son of a bitch! Ferret hastily scrambled through the underbrush until he spotted the speaker, an elderly Tiller dressed in faded, patched overalls and an old blue baseball cap. Ferret’s sensitive nose detected the man’s stale body aroma. His acute hearing permitted him to detect the Tiller’s raspy breathing. Hidden in a thicket only six feet from the aged farmer, Ferret patiently waited, knowing the Tiller would depart soon if he didn’t hear any more voices or anything unusual happened.