David Robbins - Liberty Run

Spartacus was flat against the trunk of the tree.

The buck was now five yards from the tree, eyeing the surrounding vegetation.

Hickok glanced over his right shoulder, but he couldn’t see any sign of Bertha and Shane. Perfect! The mutate would wander off if they stayed concealed.

Someone sneezed.

The sound emanated from behind the bush screening Geronimo and Lysenko.

Instantly, the mutate bounded toward the bush.

Geronimo stepped into sight, his Marlin 45-70 pressed against his shoulder, and the big gun boomed while the mutate was in midair.

The mutate was struck in the left shoulder, pus and skin spraying in every direction. The impact of the 45-70 twisted the mutate to the left, deflecting it from its course, and it landed on all fours, tensing for another leap at the human in green. But it was now two yards to the left of Spartacus’s tree, in a clear line of fire.

Hickok rose up from behind the bounder, his Henry thundering, once, twice, three times in all, and each shot rocked the mutate as it was hit in the side.

Spartacus joined in with his HK93, the automatic chattering, the slugs ripping the mutate from its tail to its neck.

The mutate trembled as it was blasted again and again, uttering a harsh gurgling sound as it sank to its knees. The firing stopped.

That’s when Shane dashed up to the mutate and jammed the barrel of his Winchester into its left eye. He squeezed the trigger, and the mutate’s brains and an ample quantity of pus and mucus blew out the right side of its head.

The mutate dropped to the ground.

In the ensuring quiet, someone sneezed again.

Lieutenant Lysenko walked around the bush, the fingers of his right hand pinching his nose.

Hickok stepped up to the Russian. “What the blazes were you doin’? Tryin’ to get us killed?”

Lysenko removed his fingers from his nose. “Sorry.”

“Sorry don’t make it, polecat!” Hickok said.

“I tried to prevent it,” Lysenko stated.

“If it happens again,” Hickok assured him, “you won’t have a nose left to sneeze with!” He spun. “Let’s move out!”

Geronimo fell in beside the Russian as they resumed their trek.

Lysenko looked over his right shoulder at the dead mutate. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never seen one before. They’re horrible!”

“My Family calls them mutates,” Geronimo noted. “They’re all over the forest.”

“We’ve cleared any mutations out of the cities and towns,” Lysenko revealed. “But we still receive reports of them from the rural areas.”

“Yep. They’re all over,” Geronimo reiterated. “I hope you can run fast.”

Lysenko glanced at the Indian. “Why do you say that?”

“Blade’s planning to release you after we retrieve the transmitter, isn’t he?” Geronimo innocently asked.

“Yes,” Lysenko replied slowly.

“And he’ll supply you with a canteen and some jerky, right?” Geronimo said.

“Yes. So?”

“So a canteen isn’t much of a weapon when it comes to facing a mutate, or any of the other… things… in the woods,” Geronimo declared, suppressing a grin.

Lieutenant Lysenko stared at the trees and brush around them. His forehead furrowed and he chewed on his lower lip. “Surely Blade will allow me to take a firearm,” he said hopefully.

“Nope.” Geronimo shook his head. “Sorry. But it’s not our policy to arm our enemies. We’ve taken prisoners before, and we’ve always let the ones leave who wanted to leave. We’ve supplied them with a canteen and jerky, enough for a couple of days.” Geronimo deliberately pretended to be distracted by a starling winging overhead. He feigned a yawn. “Funny, though.”

“What is?” Lysenko immediately inquired.

“We don’t think any of them ever made it to civilization,” Geronimo mentioned.

“How would you know that?” Lysenko asked.

“We’ve followed a few of their tracks,” Geronimo fibbed.

Lysenko leaned forward. “And?” he goaded the Warrior.

“And they just up and vanished into thin air,” Geronimo said guilelessly.

Lieutenant Lysenko frowned.

“Oh! Wait!” Geronimo exclaimed.

“What?” Lysenko prompted.

“There was one we found. Well kind of. All we located was his torn, bloody shirt.” Geronimo looked away so the Russian couldn’t behold the twinkle in his eyes.

Lieutenant Lysenko began chewing on his lower lip in earnest.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Blade asked.

“Yes,” Lieutenant Lysenko said, sounding irritated.

The retrieval party had returned at dusk with the radio transmitter.

They had reached the clearing, found the radio, and returned without mishap. Once, in the distance, they’d seen a huge… thing… moving through the trees, but it hadn’t seen them. Hickok, following Blade’s instructions, had carted the radio to Plato’s cabin. Spartacus, Shane, and Bertha had gone to B Block for their evening meal. Geronimo, with Lysenko in tow, had found Blade in the open area between the blocks and informed the Warrior chief that the Russian “wants a few words with you.” Now, Geronimo stood eight feet away, his hands folded behind his back, whistling.

“What about?” Blade inquired.

“You know damn well what about!” Lysenko snapped. “Did you really think you’d get away with it?”

Blade, completely mystified, glanced at Geronimo. He noticed Geronimo seemed to be on the verge of laughing aloud. “Get away with what?”

“Don’t play innocent with me!” Lysenko said. “I know all about it! Geronimo gave it away!”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Blade replied.

“Yes! And I’m telling you now that I won’t leave here without a weapon!” Lysenko declared.

“Is that so?”

Lysenko mustered the courage to square his shoulders and face up to the giant Warrior. “Yes! I cooperated with you, didn’t I? I led your people to the transmitter, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Blade conceded.

“Then how can you send me out there to die?” Lysenko queried belligerently. “I know you said you’ve give me a canteen and jerky, but that’s not enough! I’ve seen what’s out there! I wouldn’t last two days without a weapon!”

“I don’t know…” Blade said.

“You don’t have to give me one of your weapons,” Lysenko stated. “Just hand over one of the AK-47’s my men and I brought here.”

Blade raised his right hand and scratched his chin.

“Listen!” Lysenko said, lowering his voice and inching closer to the Warrior. “Would you give me one of the AK-47’s if I provided you with some classified information? How about it? The information in exchange for an AK-47?”

“What information could you possibly have?” Blade remarked disinterestedly.

“Something important,” Lysenko answered.

“We already know General Malenkov wants us dead,” Blade said. “And you’ve told us all you know about the spy in Denver. Unless,”—his eyes narrowed—“you were holding back on us.”

“No! I told you the truth about the spy!” Lysenko declared. “This is something else. Something of possible value to you and the entire Freedom Federation!”

“I’ll listen to it,” Blade stated.

“And do I get an AK-47?” Lysenko asked eagerly.

Blade sighed. “Tell you what I’ll do. If the information is of value to the Freedom Federation, you’ll get an AK-47 and all the ammunition you can carry. But if it isn’t…” He let the sentence trail off.

“It will be!” Lysenko promised. He glanced around, then looked at Blade. “We were attacked.”

“Attacked? By who? The Southerners?”

“No!” Lysenko responded, scoffing. “Not the wretched Rebels!”