David Robbins - Green Bay Run

“Thinking of your better half?” Samson unexpectedly asked.

Blade glanced at the Nazarite. “Are you psychic?”

“No, but I was thinking of Naomi, Benjamin, and Ruth, and I smiled at the same moment you did. Just a lucky guess,” Samson said.

“How did they take your leaving on this run?”

“They weren’t overjoyed about it, but they know that my duties as a Warrior require that we make certain sacrifices from time to time,” Samson answered. Am impish twinkle came into his eyes and he cleared his throat. “By the way, I heard about the conversation between Jenny and Naomi. I was rather surprised to hear the news.”

“What news?” Blade asked idly.

“About Jenny and you trying for another child soon,” Samson said. He had to repress a laugh when the giant clenched the steering wheel tightly and did a remarkable imitation of a stranded fish gulping air.

“Another child?” Blade blurted out, stunned by the revelation. “Jenny wants another baby?”

“So she told Naomi. She’s getting the urge, as she put it,” Samson elaborated.

A frustrated grunt issued from Blade’s throat. “Jenny hasn’t said a word to me.”

“Maybe she’s hoping to surprise you,” Samson mentioned.

“Some surprise,” Blade muttered.

“Well, you know how women are.”

“Boy, don’t I.” Blade shook his head in astonishment. “Why don’t wives ever come right out in the open with what’s on their minds? Why do husbands always have to pry the information out of them with a crowbar?”

“It’s traditional, I believe.”

Blade snorted. “How do you figure?”

“Haven’t you heard? Husbands are always the last to know.”

“If you ask me—” Blade began, then checked his statement when he spied the wagon on the highway several hundred yards off. He slowed and leaned forward.

“Dear Lord!” Samson exclaimed.

The wooden wagon partly obstructed the road. Lying in front of it, still attached to their harnesses, were the carcasses of two horses. Several bodies were lying on the ground close by. And perched on the corpses or standing about them, flapping their wings and pecking at the putrid flesh, were a score of large black birds distinguished by bare, reddish necks and heads.

“Are those turkey vultures?” Samson asked.

“Yes,” Blade replied, and floored the accelerator, reducing the distance rapidly. A few of the vultures took to the air, but the rest of the flock stubbornly feasted until the transport was almost upon them. Then, in a swirling, fluttering mass, they swooped into the air and rose high above the highway. Blade braked, put the SEAL in park, and grabbed the Commando from the console. “Let’s go,” he said, and opened his door.

The turkey vultures were circling far overhead.

Cradling his Commando, Blade dropped to the cracked asphalt and walked toward the wagon. A revolting stench assailed his nostrils and he almost gagged. He covered his nose with his left hand and walked to within a few yards of the first body.

Samson and Yama joined him.

“What could have caused this !” Samson exclaimed, aghast.

“I don’t know,” Blade replied, his eyes on the two men and one woman.

All three of the bodies had been, quite literally, torn to pieces. Heads were severed from necks. Arms and legs were lying inches from the forms to which they had been attached. One of the victims, a man in his fifties, had sustained a split skull. The woman lay on her back, a homespun dress pulled up around her breasts, her stringy intestines piled on her ruptured abdomen.

Yama stepped over to the woman and studied her remains, his countenance clinically inscrutable. “There aren’t any claw marks. I doubt animals were responsible.”

“What then?” Samson asked. “A mutation of some kind?”

Blade moved to the wagon and discovered three battered suitcases in the bed. None of the suitcases had been opened, which eliminated robbery as a motive. If scavengers had been the culprits, the contents would have been scattered all over and everything of value would be missing.

Yama turned his attention to the dead horses. Both were intact, but their heads were horribly swollen and discolored. “These horses were beaten to death,” he announced. “There are multiple contusions around the eyes and ears.”

“Any teeth or claw marks at all?” Blade inquired.

“None,” Yama replied.

Blade gazed to the east, the direction from which the wagon had been heading when the occupants were overtaken by their grisly fate. Did the hapless trio hail from Green Bay?

“Did you see these suitcases?” Samson asked while looking into the wagon bed.

“Yeah,” Blade answered thoughtfully.

“Maybe they were taking a trip or a vacation,” the Nazarite speculated.

“Or maybe they were fleeing for their lives,” Blade said, “and whatever they were fleeing caught up with them.”

Yama walked over to the wagon. He glanced at the suitcases, then the corpses. “I’d guess they were killed sometime last night, between midnight and three A.M.”

Blade nodded, pleased that the man in blue had temporarily shaken off his doleful mood. “And whatever killed them might still be in the area. Let’s get in the SEAL and keep going.”

They returned to the transport, climbed inside, and a minute later were en route once again to Green Bay. They sat in silence, reflecting on the horror they had witnessed. Shortly another town appeared directly ahead, a small hamlet named Shiocton, which Blade skirted.

“Twenty-four miles to Green Bay,” Samson declared when they were again on Highway 54 and driving eastward.

“How far to Seymour, the town Wolski lived near?” Blade asked.

“In less than six miles there will be a turnoff on the left. If you took that for a mile or so, you’d reach Seymour.”

“We’ll stick to this highway,” Blade said. “Barring un-foreseen complications, we should be at Green Bay within the hour.”

“And how far to the Indian reservation?” Yama threw in.

Samson shrugged. “Oh, about six and a half miles tops, if our map is accurate.”

“It’s been accurate so far,” Blade remarked. He spotted the roofs of two structures visible above the trees on his side of the road and judged the buildings to be situated 50 yards from the highway. A farm or ranch, he reasoned, and did not bother to let up on the accelerator. If they were to make Green Bay before nightfall, they couldn’t afford any distractions. He inadvertently yawned, covering his mouth with his left hand.

“Look!” Samson cried, and pointed at Highway 54.

Blade almost missed the sight. He stopped yawning and stared ahead, and there was a young woman attired in jeans and a torn brown blouse dashing across the road from south to north, her long brunette hair flying.

He stuck his head out and yelled, “Hey! We won’t hurt you!” But she had already crossed the road and vanished in the forest.

“Do we go after her?” Samson inquired.

“One of us does,” Blade said as he applied the brakes. “Yama, go get her. We’ll wait for you. Don’t take long. I want to question her and take off right away for Green Bay.”

“Roger,” Yama responded, scooping up the Wilkinson from the seat.

The instant the SEAL stopped, he was out of the door and racing in pursuit of the woman. In seconds the undergrowth swallowed him up.

“Shouldn’t we go with him?” Samson asked.

“I don’t want to leave the SEAL unattended on the highway,” Blade replied. “Yama can handle her.”

The Nazarite studied the giant for a moment. “Very shrewd, if I do say so myself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“By letting Yama go after her alone, you’re demonstrating to him that you have confidence in his ability. And by giving him something to do, you’re helping him to get his mind off his problems,” Samson said. “I never quite realized how tactful you are.”