David Robbins - Green Bay Run

What a rotten shame.

Yama approached, the Wilkinson slung over his right shoulder. “All of the scavengers are dead.”

“Have you looked inside the SEAL yet?” Blade asked.

“No. Should I?”

“Yes,” Blade stated harshly.

Yama’s brow knit at the tone his friend used. He pivoted and hastened to the door on the passenger side.

“Here’s the first-aid kit,” Samson announced, coming up behind the giant.

Blade turned and took the kit. He knelt, flipped up the lid, and found gauze and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. The bottle had come from a shipment of supplies received in trade with the Civilized Zone.

“I gather we’ll continue to Green Bay,” Samson remarked.

“Yep.”

“What will we do with Andrew’s wife and daughter if we find them?”

“Whatever they want. We’ll take them to their relatives, or they can come live at the Home,” Blade responded gruffly. He opened the bottle, grabbed the gauze in his other hand, and stood.

“Something is bothering you, my brother,” Samson observed.

“What do you think is bothering me?”

“Yama?”

“Bingo.”

“Trust in the Lord,” Samson said. “Everything will work out.”

Blade nodded absently and proceeded to clean the bullet wound. The trickle of blood had ceased, enabling him to complete the cleaning quickly.

He replaced the gauze and the hydrogen peroxide in the kit and took out a box of bandages.

“I won’t need a bandage,” Samson stated. “My mother always told me that injuries heal faster when they’re exposed to the air.”

“Suit yourself,” Blade said. He stuck the bandages in the kit and closed the lid. “Would you put this back in the SEAL?”

Samson took the first-aid kit and walked off.

“And bring the shovel too,” Blade added. He saw the Nazarite’s head bob up and down. Girding himself for the distasteful task, he moved to the passenger side and stopped in surprise when his gaze fell on Yama.

The silver-haired Warrior stood with his head bowed, his hands gripping the lower edge of the window, and his eyes closed. His features were a study in misery.

Blade slowly stepped up to the door.

“I’m responsible for his death, aren’t I?” Yama asked without opening his eyes.

“More or less,” Blade admitted.

“I never wanted Andrew to be harmed. You know that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t want to lose control.”

“I know.”

“But when that bastard started insulting Technic women, I kept thinking of her, of the happiness we shared,” Yama said, and his next words were strained and barely audible. “I’ve never loved any woman but her.”

“I know.”

Yama looked up, his haunted eyes conveying his inner turmoil. “Why, Blade? Why is it all coming to the surface now? It’s been three years!”

“Let me ask you a question.”

“Anything.”

“What did you do the day after she died?”

Yama blinked a few times, as if the query had been completely unexpected. “I worked the next day. Wall duty, I believe. Why?”

“And the night she was killed?”

“You know what happened. She betrayed the Technics and gave her life to spare mine.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Blade said. “Did you cry on the night she died?”

“A little,” Yama replied in a whisper.

“Then is it any wonder that you can’t control your emotions where the Technics are involved? For three years you’ve been simmering under the surface like an overheated pot ready to boil over. You lost the only woman you’ve loved, and you never came to grips with that loss. You never let your emotions out,” Blade stated, and placed his right hand on Yama’s shoulder. “Even when a person believes in the Spirit, as we do, and even when we know that those who die pass on to the higher mansions, the loss of a loved one can be a terrible experience. If we try to suppress our emotions and keep all our hurt and anguish inside, eventually we’ll explode.”

“So how do I let it out? I’ve practiced total self-control for so long, I don’t know if I can let it out.”

“You must find a way,” Blade told him. “If you don’t, if you can’t stem your erratic behavior, then your days as a Warrior are numbered.”

“What’s our approximate location?” Blade asked.

Samson consulted the map in his lap, running his finger along the route they were following. “I estimate we’re a quarter of a mile west of New London.”

“And how far is it from New London to Green Bay?”

“I’d say about thirty-five miles, give or take a few,” Samson responded.

He glanced out his open window at the trees flashing by and shifted in the bucket seat. “We’ll be there soon.”

“We’ve made good time,” Blade commented. A day and a half had elapsed since the incident involving the bikers, a day and a half during which Yama had barely spoken a word. Blade glanced over his right shoulder at the man in blue, who sat behind Samson. “How’s it going back there?”

“Just peachy,” Yama responded sullenly. His right elbow was propped on his leg, his chin in his hand, the picture of gloom.

Blade wished he could say something—anything—to soothe his friend’s melancholic soul. If Yama didn’t snap out of his depression before they tangled with the Technics, he might never be afforded the opportunity to recover.

“Will we go around New London?” Samson inquired.

Blade nodded. Prior experience had taught him the prudence of bypassing every city and town on the map. The gangs, raiders, and scavengers tended to congregate in or near the inhabited centers, although they could be encountered anywhere. And even in those towns still under the control of generally peaceable residents, the citizens were often inclined to greet strangers by shooting first and questioning intent second. So although the runs invariably took much longer because of the practice, Blade insisted on skirting cities and towns wherever possible.

“Will we try to locate Andrew’s farm?” Samson queried.

“What good would it do? No one is living there now.”

“We could look for one of his neighbors and get the latest information on the Technics,” Samson suggested.

“Is it wise to advertise our presence?” Blade responded. “For all we know, the neighbor might run into Green Bay and inform the Technics that we’re here. I’d rather surprise them. We’ll hide the SEAL on the outskirts of the city and go in tonight. Under the cover of darkness we should be able to sneak right up to the University of Wisconsin and see for ourselves what’s going on.”

“Fine by me.”

Blade spotted a field on the right side of the highway and angled the transport off the road. Its huge tires crushed all the weeds and brush in their path. He crossed the field and entered a belt of woods, skillfully threading a course among the trees. Once the transport spooked a buck and two does from a dense thicket and they bounded away with their white tails upraised.

Ten minutes went by.

“We should be well past New London by now,” Blade commented, and slanted their path to the north and the highway. The SEAL emerged from the forest at a curve in the road. Nearby, still legible after so many years, stood a sign stating they were on State Highway 54.

Blade increased speed, pushing the SEAL as fast as the road conditions warranted. He wanted to reach Green Bay before nightfall so they would have plenty of time to conceal the van. Thoughts of Jenny and Gabe brought a smile to his lips. He looked forward to completing the assignment and returning to the Home. Being away from his loved ones for even a short spell made him homesick.