David Robbins - Yellowstone Run

Attached to Achilles’ belt on his right hip was the only knife in the huge Family armory that could justifiably rival Blade’s Bowies in size and craftsmanship. Forged in the rain forests of Brazil by native artisans and exported by the Brazilian government at a substantial profit in the decades before the war, such knives were known as Amazons. The Amazon Achilles carried had a 16-inch blade and gave the weapon the reach of a short sword. Its Stag Micarta handle was virtually unbreakable. In addition to the knife, Achilles carried a Mossberg Model 500 Bullpup, a futuristic slide-action shotgun. A leather ammunition pouch hung under his left arm, its thin strap slanted across his chest.

“So which way do we go from here?” Hickok asked.

Blade pointed to the northwest. Captain Lasto had deposited the five of them in a large clearing on the west side of the Absaroka Range, within several hundred yards of the Lamar River. Blade reached behind his back, checking that the extra magazines were properly attached to his belt, and headed out, cradling the Commando. Of all the machine guns in the armory, he liked the Commando the best.

Resembling the popular Thompsons used during the Roaring Twenties, the 45-caliber Commando sported a 90-shot magazine.

“I still don’t understand why we landed at this spot,” groused the fifth member of their team.

The giant glanced at the Flathead War Chief. “According to the information relayed to Star from the man whose family was abducted, the last confirmed attack took place at the north end of the Lamar Valley. If the Bear People are continuing to migrate to the southeast, as we suspect, then they will be heading this way. They might still be somewhere in this valley, and with any luck we’ll run into them somewhere between here and the spot where Eagle Feather saw them.

“You hope,” Iron Wolf said sullenly.

“If you have a better idea on how to intercept these creatures, I’m open to suggestions,” Blade remarked.

“Your reasoning makes sense,” Iron Wolf conceded, then stared suspiciously at the head Warrior. “Why did you want me to come along, anyway?”

“As I explained back at the Home, I decided that I didn’t have the right to usurp total control of the hunt for the Bear People. You were right. This should be a joint mission. And since you were the only Flathead around at the time, you were the logical choice to accompany us, Blade explained.

“Unless you would have rather we brought Star along.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Was Star planning to stay at the Home until we return?” Geronimo asked. His prized tomahawk was tucked under his belt on his left hip. In a shoulder holster under his right arm rode an Arminius .357 Magnum. He held an PNC Auto Rifle in his hands.

“No,” Blade responded. “Laslo is going to pick her up and fly her to Denver. She’ll consult with President Toland, and I have no doubt he’ll dispatch a military unit to assist us.”

“Toland is dependable,” Geronimo concurred.

“We shouldn’t be too hard for them to spot,” Hickok cracked while inspecting the lever on his Navy Arms Henry, a rifle in 44-40 caliber.

“Why’s that?” Geronimo asked.

“All they have to do is look for a walkin’ red tent,” the gunman said sarcastically.

Achilles looked at Hickok. “Do you mean me?”

“No, I mean Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Why must you always make fun of my cloak?”

“Have you taken a gander in a mirror lately?”

“I’ll have you know that red cloaks were worn by the bravest warriors in ancient Greece. The Spartans, for instance, wore their red cloaks proudly into battle. A red cloak is a symbol of courage and manliness,” Achilles said condescendingly.

“For one thing, this isn’t ancient Greece. For another, you look like a character from one of those comic books in the library,” Hickok replied.

“Captain Raspberry. That’s what we should call you.”

Geronimo laughed.

“At least I know how to coordinate a colorful wardrobe.” Achilles said stiffly, “Meanin’ what?”

“Meaning that Geronimo and you apparently believe drab attire is the best attire.”

Hickok glanced down at his buckskins. “There’s nothin’ drab about my clothes.”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? No one with excellent taste could possibly view your crude clothes as aesthetically exciting, with the possible exception of a buck in heat.”

The gunman made a choking sound. “I think I’ve just been insulted.”

Geronimo chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “A buck in heat!” he repeated, beaming.

“As for you,” Achilles said to the Blackfoot, “you actually are a walking tent. Whenever someone looks at you, they experience an urge to go find their sleeping bag.”

Hickok cackled. “Sleeping bag!”

“Excuse me,” Blade said, halting and regarding the trio critically. “We are on a mission, in case you’ve forgotten. Let’s try to keep the noise down to a low uproar.”

“My apologies, Blade,” Achilles responded. “We were simply indulging in the basic rite of male bonding.”

“Male what?” Hickok asked.

“I think he said male bonding,” Geronimo stated.

“What does he think we are? Glue?”

“That’s enough,” Blade declared. “Not another word unless it’s in the line of duty.”

“I’m impressed,” Iron Wolf interjected.

“Oh?”

“Yes, indeed. The discipline instilled in your Warriors is truly remarkable,” Iron Wolf said, and smirked.

Blade rolled his eyes and continued in the direction of the river. The mission was off to a rousing start, as usual. Maybe Plato was right about him being a glutton for punishment. As if dealing with the Bear People wasn’t enough of a challenge, he had to keep his eyes on the Flathead War Chief and try to force Iron Wolf into revealing his true nature. At the same time he had to watch over Achilles and make certain the novice didn’t commit a grave mistake. He also hoped that once Hickok and Geronimo got to know Achilles better, they wouldn’t rate him as the pompous egotist he appeared to be.

Yes, sir.

Definitely should be a fun run.

Blade alertly scanned the vegetation on all sides, noting the presence of birds and small mammals such as squirrels and chipmunks. He spotted a large hawk high in the sky to the north. The setting seemed so tranquil, but he knew from hard experience how deceptive appearances could be.

He patted his left rear pocket, verifying the maps he’d brought along were still there. Yellowstone National Park had been the largest National Park in the United States, and the maps would undoubtedly come in handy.

He’d spent 15 minutes in the library before departing the Home and read about the Park in one of the encyclopedia volumes.

Occupying the northwest corner of Wyoming, Yellowstone had been the largest National Park, embracing over two million acres. Situated on a plateau 8.000 feet abovesea level, the Park had been famous for its geysers and hot springs. The Snowy Mountains were on the north, the Tetons on the south, the Gallatin range lay on the west, and the Absarokas were on the east. According to the encyclopedia, wildlife had been abundant because hunting had been prohibited. The scenic attractions also included sparkling lakes and rivers, steep gorges and canyons, and beautiful waterfalls.

Blade wondered how much the Park had changed during the past century. If man hadn’t intruded, he expected to find animals everywhere.

As far as he knew, only a few Flatheads and occasional visitors from the Civilized Zone ventured into the region. He hoped there were none in the Park now, not with the mysterious Bear People on the rampage.