David Robbins - Green Bay Run

“Do you think you’re coming with us?” Yama asked her.

“I know I’m coming with you.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Yama told her.

“The hell it isn’t!” Melissa declared. “Those bastards are responsible for the deaths of my parents and my brother. I owe them. I want in.”

Yama looked her in the eyes. “This promises to be extremely dangerous.”

“So?”

“I might not be able to protect you.”

Melissa wagged the Smith and Wesson. “I’ll look out for myself, thank you.”

“I’d prefer for you to remain with the jeep.”

“No way. You’re not leaving me alone.”

Yama frowned and drummed his fingers on the top of the steering wheel. He gazed at the Nazarite. “Tell her this is no job for amateurs.”

“She appears to be determined to go along,” Samson observed. “And it has been my experience that trying to change a woman’s mind is like beating your head against a brick wall.”

“Men don’t have any room to talk,” Melissa interjected.

Yama reached out and touched Samson’s shoulder. “I don’t want anything to happen to her.”

“You don’t?” Samson responded, pretending to be shocked by the news.

“You don’t?” Melissa said, sounding delighted.

“No, I don’t,” Yama reiterated, and regarded her tenderly. “You were raised on a farm, Melissa. You’ve spent your entire life tending livestock and growing crops. You’ve never killed anyone and you don’t know the first thing about surviving in combat. If you go with us, you’ll be committing suicide.”

“I’m going, and that’s final.”

Yama took hold of the keys in the ignition, then hesitated.

“We’d better get our butts in gear,” Melissa urged. “The Technics won’t be playing patty-cake with your friend.”

“She has a point,” Samson noted.

The man in blue started the jeep and slowly drove to the mouth of the alley. After scanning the street, he pulled out and headed northward.

“You’ll need to direct us to the University of Wisconsin,” he said to Melissa.

“No problem. Just keep your peepers peeled for the damn Technics.”

Samson checked his Auto Rifle and Bushmaster Auto Pistols, ensuring each weapon was fully loaded. He stared to the west, estimating they had an hour of daylight remaining. Not much time.

“Mind if I ask you guys something?” Melissa queried.

“Anything,” Yama replied.

“What are the chances of your taking me back to live at he Home?”

Yama looked at her.

“I’m serious,” Melissa stated. “There’s nothing left for me around here. My family is dead.”

“What about friends and relatives?”

She shrugged. “I have a few, but not any I’m really close enough to that I’d consider living with them. And a woman by herself in these parts is fair game for every wacko who comes down the pike.”

“The Elders must approve every application submitted by persons who would like to live at our Home,” Yama informed her. “The final decision will be up to them.”

“Do you think they’d accept me?”

“You possess talents that would benefit the Family. We can always use another Tiller,” Yama said.

“I believe the Elders will accept you,” Samson added. “If Yama sponsors you, they will give the application special attention. And I’ll second his sponsorship, if necessary.”

Melissa studied the Nazarite’s rugged features. “Why would you do that for me? You hardly know me.”

“I know Yama.”

Creases appeared on her brow. “I don’t understand.”

“As well you shouldn’t,” Samson said, and let it go at that.

Yama kept to the side streets and alleys as he drove ever further into Green Bay. Adhering to Melissa’s directions, he bore on a northeasterly course, drawing closer to the bay. As they were about to take a left from a narrow alley, Melissa pointed to the right and cried, “Look!”

Both Warriors saw a jeep approaching from the east, filled with soldiers, perhaps ten blocks distant.

Yama quickly shifted into reverse and backed from view.

“Do you think they saw us?” Melissa asked anxiously.

“We’ll soon know,” Samson said.

They waited in a tense silence for over a minute, but the jeep never appeared.

“Stay here,” Yama advised them, and hopped to the ground. He dashed to the mouth of the alley and peeked out to discover the street clear. The Technics must have turned off on another street, he realized, and he returned to the jeep.

“Are they gone?” Melissa queried.

“They’re gone,” Yama verified. He drove from the alley, hung a left, and resumed their cautious but steady progress toward the Research Facility.

A succession of turns brought them to a former city park, a three-acre area overgrown with weeds and brush, located to the south of the site where Melissa claimed the university would be. He angled into the heart of the vegetation and killed the motor. “From here on out we go on foot.”

Samson slid down and stretched, his camouflage covered arms resembling stout tree limbs. “I pray the Lord will grant us victory.”

“I’m beginning to believe there isn’t any God,” Melissa said as she jumped from the jeep.

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“Where was God when my parents and brother were being torn apart by those monsters? How could a loving Deity allow such atrocities to happen?”

Samson extended both arms, his hands clenched. “Pick a hand.”

“What?”

“Pick a hand,” Samson directed.

Hesitantly, uncertain of the Warrior’s intention, Melissa walked over and tapped his right fist. “This one.”

“Now you know,” Samson said, and smiled.

Melissa glanced at Yama. “Did I miss something here?”

“Now you know how a loving Deity could allow such atrocities to happen,” Samson elaborated. “Now you know why God has taken the blame for the evil humanity has perpetuated on this planet. Now you know why God is always made the scapegoat.”

“Uh-huh. Would you mind explaining whatever it is I supposedly know?” Melissa asked.

“You just exercised your free will when you picked one of my hands, the same free will every man and woman uses every minute of every day. We use that free will to live a life according to the guidance of the inner spirit or we use it to foster evil. Whoever is behind the walking dead used free will to create a legion of evil. You can’t blame Our Lord.”

“Excuse me,” Yama interrupted. “Could we save the rest of the theology class for later? Right now we have a mission to accomplish.”

“All of a sudden he’s in a hurry,” Melissa said to the Nazarite.

“He’s not much for philosophical discussions,” Samson responded, grinning.

Yama cradled the Wilkinson and trekked to the north, moving soundlessly, a scowl plastered on his countenance.

Samson leaned closer to Melissa and whispered, “Don’t worry. He’ll feel a lot better after he’s eliminated a few Technics.”

“He told me about Alicia.”

Samson did a double take. “He did? Already?”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. We’d better take off before he has a conniption,” Samson advised, and pointed to where Yama stood a dozen yards away impatiently stamping his left foot.

“Is he always this grumpy?”

“Only when his life is in complete turmoil.”

The two Warriors and the farmer’s daughter advanced through the brush for over a hundred yards before they saw the barbed-wire fence and the buildings of the University of Wisconsin campus. Technic soldiers were everywhere in evidence: at the gate, patrolling the fence, and walking to and from various structures.