David Robbins - Seattle Run

“Well, you’re home,” Laslo commented. “How long will we be here?”

Blade unfastened the strap of his helmet. “Not more than two or three days, I should think. I have to break the news to my wife, then pack, then—”

“Your wife doesn’t know you’re going to live in Los Angeles?” Laslo asked, interrupting.

“Nope,” Blade responded. “I told Plato and Hickok not to mention a word. I want Jenny to hear the news from me.”

Captain Laslo laughed. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

Blade removed his helmet. A comma of dark hair fell above his eyes.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m married, too,” Laslo divulged, opening the cockpit.

Blade breathed in the air, ignoring the lingering dust particles. He unfastened the belt restraints, then dropped his helmet onto the seat behind him.

Scores of Family members were converging on the Hurricane, crossing the drawbridge and hurrying up to the aircraft, their expressions conveying an attitude of restrained awe.

Blade spotted his beloved wife in the crowd, her long blond hair flowing over her shoulders, her shapely figure amply filling a pair of blue pants and a yellow blouse, her lively green eyes on him. He didn’t bother to wait for the ladder; he simply vaulted over the side of the cockpit, slid down the forward fuselage, and dropped lightly to the ground in a crouch. His hands automatically clasped the hilts of the twin Bowie knives strapped around his waist, one in a sheath on each hip, insuring they were still in place. He straightened and moved to greet Jenny.

She eagerly pressed her way through the assembled Family members and leaped into his outstretched arms, giving him a hug and planting her lips on his.

Blade felt her sweet tongue part his lips. He held her close, her feet a foot above the soil, savoring the kiss. His absence had intensified his passion, and he wished they could be alone. An hour with Jenny invariably sufficed to remove all the residual tension from a harrowing mission.

Jenny reluctantly drew back, grinning. “Ummmmm. That was nice, handsome. I can see all our practice hasn’t been wasted.” She chuckled and pecked him on the tip of the nose.

Blade eased her to the turf, his hands on her shoulder blades. “I’ve missed you,” he said.

“And I’ve missed you,” Jenny stated. “Why didn’t you come back with Plato and Hickok?”

“I had business to attend to,” Blade told her.

“What kind of business?” Jenny probed. “Plato and Hickok wouldn’t tell me. All I know is that the three of you flew out to California for a summit meeting, and you ran into trouble from a group of professional assassins who didn’t want California to join the Freedom Federation. After the summit, Plato and Hickok returned. Why didn’t you?” she queried with a hint of reproach in her tone.

“I’ll explain in a bit,” Blade promised. He scanned the crowd, seeking his son. “Where’s Gabe?”

“Sherry is watching him,” Jenny replied, referring to Hickok’s wife.

“She was at our cabin when the jet flew over. I asked her to watch him so I could get here as quickly as possible.”

Blade kissed her on the forehead. “I can’t wait to see him,” he mentioned.

“I reckon you might have to,” interjected a newcomer in a decided drawl.

Blade looked to his left, knowing who he would find, smiling at the sight of one of his best friends and a fellow Warrior. “Hickok!”

The Family’s preeminent gunfighter was standing five feet away, his lean six-foot frame clothed in buckskins and moccasins, a matched pair of pearl-handled Colt Python revolvers suspended from his slim waist, his thumbs casually hooked in his gun belt. He sported a blond mustache to complement his blond hair. “Howdy, pard,” he said to Blade, his blue eyes uncharacteristically somber.

“What’s up?” Blade inquired, his brow creasing in concern.

Before the gunman could respond, Jenny held up her right hand. “Hold it! Can’t this wait, Nathan?”

Nathan was the name bestowed on the gunfighter by his parents at birth. But like the majority of Family members, and according to a formal ceremony initially instituted by Kurt Carpenter, Nathan had selected a new name on his sixteenth birthday, the name of an ancient legendary shootist. This Naming ceremony, as the Family called it, was designed to encourage familiarity with the Family’s historical antecedents by having each 16-year-old select a new name as his or her very own from the history books in the library, or from any other book available. For some reason, many Family members still referred to the gunman by his given name. All this passed quickly through Hickok’s mind as he shook his head. “Nope. This can’t wait, Jenny. I need to talk to Blade now.”

Jenny frowned. “But he just got home!”

“I know,” Hickok said, shrugging. “But this can’t be helped. It’s very important.” He glanced up into the gray eyes of the seven-foot giant. “I’m sorry about this pard. I really am.”

Jenny gazed at her husband. “Blade! Not now!”

“It’s really important, pard,” Hickok stressed.

Blade draped his right arm about Jenny’s shoulders. “Walk with us to our cabin,” he instructed the gunfighter. “Fill me in on the way. I want to see Gabe.” He led Jenny toward the drawbridge, nodding and smiling as many of the Family members welcomed him back.

Hickok fell in alongside Blade and Jenny.

Jenny cast a spiteful glance at the gunman.

Grinning sheepishly, Hickok decided to try the oblique approach. “Yes, sir,” he commented, “that Gabe of yours sure is a chip off the old block.”

Blade gazed at his friend. “I just wish I got to see him more often.”

“Maybe you will in—” Hickok began, then caught himself.

Jenny noticed. “What was that?” she inquired.

Blade hastily came to the gunfighter’s rescue. “So how is your son Ringo doing?”

Hickok beamed. “The little buckaroo is growin’ like a sprout,” he stated proudly. “My missus claims Ringo will grow up to be just like his pa.”

“Poor Ringo,” Jenny muttered.

“Be nice,” Blade said, then stared at the gunman. “So what’s so damn important that you had to interrupt my homecoming?”

“I’m sorry,” Hickok apologized again, looking at Jenny. “I truly am. I know how much you were lookin’ forward to Blade comin’ back. But I didn’t have any choice in the matter.”

Jenny stared into the distance, her annoyance at Hickok’s intrusion temporarily overriding her affection for the flamboyant Warrior.

“So what is it, already?” Blade demanded impatiently.

Hickok frowned. “Well, it’s like this. Last night I was in A Block gettin’ some ammo for my Pythons—”

Blade glanced at the drawbridge, thinking of the layout of the compound. The eastern half of the Home was preserved in a natural state and used primarily for agricultural purposes. In the center of the compound, arranged in a row from north to south, were the cabins for the married Family members. And in the western section were the six huge concrete blocks constructed under Kurt Carpenter’s careful supervision over a century ago. Each block was designated by a letter, and each one was devoted to a specific function. A Block was the armory, where the Family stored their enormous supply of weapons. B Block was the sleeping quarters for single Family members. C Block was the infirmary; D Block the carpentry, blacksmithing, and general construction shop; E Block was the invaluable library; and F Block was devoted to the work of the Tillers, to preserving food and storing farming supplies. The six blocks were aligned in a triangular formation.

“—and I was on my way out the door,” Hickok was saying, “when I saw those radios we confiscated a while back. Remember them?”