David Robbins - Madman Run

“Must be part cheetah,” Geronimo quipped.

“Why didn’t you shoot the critter?” Hickok asked.

“It didn’t make a move to attack. Besides, what if the thing is part human?” Blade replied.

“Then it shouldn’t be waltzin’ around monster-infested country in the middle of nowhere,” Hickok declared. “Any lamebrain stupid enough to pull such a stunt deserves to have his fool head blown off.”

Geronimo glanced at the buckskin-clad Warrior. “Need I point out that we are waltzing around monster-infected country in the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s different with us.”

“How so?”

“We know what we’re doing.”

Geronimo turned to Blade. “Did any of that make sense to you?”

“No.”

“Good. For a second there, I thought it was me.”

“Was that another cut?” Hickok wanted to know.

After finishing their meal, they doused the fire, donned their backpacks and tramped toward the castle. Geronimo took the lead. On all sides birds greeted the rising of the sun by joining in full chorus.

Breathing in the crisp air, Blade felt invigorated. Gone were the doubts and subtle fears of the night before. He was supremely confident they’d be able to deal with any threat, overcome any obstacle.

Geronimo constantly searched for tracks. When they reached the general area where the red-eyed monstrosity had been, he crouched. “Hey, take a look at this.”

Butterflies fluttered in Blade’s stomach when he laid eyes on more of the gigantic three-toed tracks.

“Now we know what makes those,” Hickok remarked.

“These seem a bit smaller than the ones we saw yesterday,” Geronimo mentioned.

“They look the same to me,” the gunfighter said.

“What’s your opinion, Blade?” Geronimo asked.

The giant pursed his lips thoughtfully. He honestly couldn’t decide whether there was a size difference, but he did know he didn’t like the idea of two of the brutes being abroad. “I don’t know,” he said.

“We’re lucky none have shown up near the Home,” Geronimo stated.

Hickok chuckled. “If we’re lucky, maybe some of those wood nymphs will follow us back to the compound. We can set a snare and catch one of the rascals. I’m sure the rest of the Family will be tickled pink to see a genuine wonder in person. Or whatever.”

“I can’t wait until you see one yourself,” Blade said.

“I hope you won’t get upset if I don’t hold my breath.”

Geronimo took the point again, his eyes glued to the soil. “If there were other creatures here last night, they didn’t leave a single footprint?”

“ If ?” Blade repeated.

“You know what I mean.”

“Certainly. You’re a graduate of the Hickok school of blathering idiocy.”

“Whoa!” Hickok exclaimed. “Now that definitely was a cut.”

“Perish forbid.”

The gunfighter snickered. “No doubt about it. You’ve definitely been spendin’ too much time with Plato. You’re startin’ to use the same highfalutin words he does.”

“At least he speaks English.”

“Wow. Another cut. You’re on a roll, pard.”

A short while later they were close enough to distinguish the large individual stones composing the battlement. In anxious silence they neared the east side of the castle when they heard a familiar sound.

The buzzing of the miniature plane.

Warily the three youths neared the castle wall, using every available cover. At the edge of the forest, when they hid behind trees and scanned the blue sky, it didn’t take long to spot their aerial nemesis.

The small plane was flying in a circle around the castle, just above the turrets, continually performing the same pattern.

“What do you reckon it’s doing?” Hickok whispered.

“Looking for us,” Geronimo guessed.

Blade regarded the aircraft solemnly. Whoever controlled the plane would employ it to try and stop them from entering. He’d made the mistake of letting the craft dive-bomb them yesterday; he wasn’t about to let history repeat itself. “Gernimo, take it down.”

“With pleasure,” the Blackfoot replied, raising the Winchester to his right shoulder. He patiently aimed, tracking the craft’s flight and waiting for the right moment.

“We don’t have all day,” Hickok said.

“Hold your horses,” Geronimo retorted. The plane was over the southeast turret, its tiny propeller a blur, moving faster than a bird in flight. He inhaled deeply, steadied the barrel and fired.

A shower of sparks and metal exploded from the center of the aircraft, and it went into a steep spiral, tendrils of black and white smoke trailing in its wake. Narrowly missing the rampart, the plane slanted toward the edge of the woods, diving straight at the trio.

Blade awoke to the danger first. Such a small craft posed little threat, but the load it undoubtedly carried did. “Scatter” he shouted, turning and dashing northward. He prayed the others were doing the same. Five yards he covered. Ten. A wide tree trunk on the right offered the sanctuary he needed, and he ducked behind it at the same second the aircraft hit the earth.

The resultant explosion was deafening. Trees buckled or shook. The very ground trembled as if from a quake. Dust and leaves and bits of wood formed a choking cloud vastly larger than the one before.

Hugging the grass, Blade felt the ground move under him. He held his mouth down low to avoid breathing in the swirling cloud and waited for it to disperse. Dirt and jagged pieces of timber rained down, covering him from head to toe. Impatient to learn the fate of his friends, he peered at the spot where the plane struck but saw no movement.

Gradually the cloud dissipated. Blade rose and moved closer to the impact point. “Geronimo! Hickok! Where are you?”

Silence greeted his cry.

Over a dozen trees had been toppled or shattered by the explosion and littered the ground in a jumbled mass. Falling leaves formed a carpet over everything.

“Hickok! Geronimo!” Blade called out again.

“Over here,” the Blackfoot responded, appearing from behind an oak situated 20 yards to the south.

“Where’s Nathan?”

Geronimo blinked. “I don’t know. I thought he was with you.”

“I haven’t seen him since we took cover.”

They walked slowly toward the center of the blast area, scouring the tangled trunks and branches.

“Hickok!” Geronimo yelled. “Answer us!”

Anxiety tugged at Blade’s mind. If anything had happened to the colorful gunfighter, he’d never forgive himself. The idea to travel to the castle had been exclusively his; he was directly responsible for the fate of his friends. He shoved a busted section of limb aside and bent down to peer under a fallen tree resting on top of another downed monarch of the forest.

“Hickok! Hickok!” Geronimo kept shouting, turning every which way.

“Quit playing games and tell us where you’re at.”

No answer was forthcoming.

Not until the two of them reached the middle of the flattened vegetation did Geronimo voice the concern uppermost on their minds.

“What if he’s dead?”

“We won’t stop searching until we find him.”

“He must be buried under one of these trees,” Geronimo guessed.

“Maybe he was flattened like a pancake.”

Blade scanned the ground, dreading the very thought. “We don’t know that,” he said gruffly. “Don’t assume the worst.”

“He might be a royal pain in the neck sometimes, but deep down he’s one of the most decent guys I know,” Geronimo lamented. “You couldn’t ask for a more loyal friend.”

“Will you quit talking like he’s dead?” Blade snapped.