David Robbins - Liberty Run

“But Bertha—” Sundance began.

“I said I wasn’t finished,” Blade stated, cutting him off. “There’s one more aspect to bear in mind. You’re well aware of how close the Family came to being destroyed by the forces of the Doktor and the dictator ruling the Civilized Zone. You know we barely scraped through intact. And we could find ourselves in a similar situation real soon. The Soviets aren’t to be trifled with. We might have strong allies in the Freedom Federation, but all of us combined are no more powerful than the Russians.” Blade paused. “We have a chance here, Sundance, to turn the tide. If these Vikings are mortal enemies of the Russians, then we might be able to forge an alliance with them. The Soviets would be caught in a vise, between the Vikings on the east and the Freedom Federation in the west.

Together, we might be able to defeat the Russians and drive them from the country.” He paused again. “Knowing all of this, what do you think we should do about Bertha? Should we go after her? Where do we start looking?”

“Where I found the uniform,” Sundance said.

“Okay. But we can’t go waltzing through the forest yelling our lungs out for her. The Russians, or the damn mutants, might hear us and come to investigate. Which means we’d have to track her. Are you an expert tracker?”

“No,” Sundance replied reluctantly.

“Neither am I,” Blade said. “Geronimo is, but he isn’t here. I’m a fair hand at it, but tracking takes time. Lots and lots of time. And time is the one thing we don’t have to spare.”

“I know,” Sundance said, averting his eyes.

“I’d let you go after her,” Blade stated, “but what if something happens to you? What then? I can’t complete our mission by myself.”

“And the mission is our primary consideration,” Sundance quoted, his facial muscles tightening.

“Exactly,” Blade affirmed.

“So we do nothing,” Sundance snapped.

“We wait,” Blade corrected him. “If she returns by nightfall, fine. If she doesn’t, we leave for Philadelphia without her.”

Sundance squinted up at the sun. “That doesn’t give her much time.”

“I know,” Blade acknowledged.

Sundance studied his giant companion. “You know, I don’t envy you.”

“Don’t envy me? Why?” Blade asked.

“I don’t envy the responsibility you have,” Sundance confessed. “I don’t envy the decisions you must make. I don’t think I’d ever want to be top Warrior.”

Blade chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Sundance inquired.

“I was just thinking of something Hickok once said,” Blade revealed.

“What did he say?”

“It was shortly after Hickok’s son, Ringo, was born,” Blade recalled.

“Hickok said that being a Warrior is a lot like being a diaper.”

“A diaper?” Sundance responded, surprised. “What in the world do Warriors and diapers have in common?”

Blade grinned. “We both get shit on a lot.”

Ohhhhhh! Her aching head!

“She’s comin’ around!” a voice yelled.

Bertha slowly opened her eyes. Acute agony racked her, spreading from her forehead to her chin.

“She’s awake!”

Bertha grit her teeth and turned her head, seeking the speaker. The last thing she remembered was falling into the damn pit. She found herself on a wooden table, flat on her back, her hands and feet securely bound. A sticky sensation prickled her forehead and face.

The table was surrounded.

There were over a dozen of them, kids of varying ages, boys and girls, all dressed in rags, all filthy.

Bertha blinked several times, wondering if she was dreaming. She could see a lantern hanging on a wall next to a closed door, and she realized she must be in the cabin.

“About time you woke up!” declared the oldest boy in the room. He was about 16, and wore a crudely fashioned, torn brown shirt and shredded jeans. His hair was red, his eyes green.

Bertha went to reply, but the mere act of moving her lips sparked an intense spasm in her head.

“I told you she’s been hurt bad,” said the eldest girl, a youth of 14 or 15 with stringy brown hair and brown eyes. She wore a patched, lopsided green shift.

“So what?” the oldest boy retorted. “Hunters are scum! She deserves what she got.”

Bertha managed to elevate her head several inches from the table top.

“Who… are you?” she mumbled.

The youngsters stepped back at the sound of her voice.

“Shut your mouth, Hunter!” the oldest boy barked.

“Hunter? I’m not hunting game,” Bertha said. She closed her eyes as vertigo engulfed her.

“Game?” said one of the younger children, a girl of five or six. “Can we play a game?”

“Shut up, Milly!” the oldest boy ordered.

“Don’t talk to Milly like that, Cole!” interjected the eldest girl.

“Butt out, Libby,” Cole rejoined.

All of them began arguing at once, their commingled voices rising, filling the cabin with their clamorous dispute.

Bertha was too woozy to comprehend their squabbling. She rested her head on the table and closed her eyes. What was going on here? she asked herself. She’d been captured by a bunch of kids!

Someone prodded her on the left shoulder.

Bertha twisted to her left.

A young boy, not much over ten years of age, with long blond hair and big blue eyes, smiled at her. “Are you a Hunter?” he inquired in a high-pitched voice.

“I’m a Warrior,” Bertha answered.

“What’s a Warrior?” he wanted to know.

Bertha tried to answer, but her mouth refused to open. She grimaced as a throbbing twinge pierced her skull.

“What’s a Warrior?” the boy repeated.

Bertha’s eyelids fluttered, and she sank back, unconscious.

“What is it?” Sundance asked.

“Let’s find out,” Blade said.

Bright stars dominated the heavens. A cool breeze was wafting from the northwest. Before them, perhaps a hundred yards distant, was a huge archlike structure.

“I don’t see any lights,” Sundance whispered.

“Me neither,” Blade commented. He moved toward the arch in a stooped-over posture, his Commando in his hands. The Commando Arms Carbine was one of his favorite guns. It came with an automatic or semiautomatic captibility, and only weighed about eight pounds. The Commando was about three feet in length, and used a 90-shot magazine.

Blade had insured the magazine was fully loaded with 45-caliber ammunition before they had departed the SEAL. His last Commando had been lost in Chicago. Fortunately, there’d been another one in the extensive Family armory.

Somewhere off to the west an owl hooted.

Blade forced his mind to concentrate on the matter at hand. He was extremely worried about Bertha, and he couldn’t allow his concern to affect his effectiveness.

They had waited at the SEAL until well after dark, with Sundance pacing back and forth the whole while, and Bertha had never appeared.

Wherever she was, she was now on her own.

They reached a row of trees bordering the structure and stopped.

Without the moon, the night was murky, and visibility was restricted.

They could see for about ten yards; beyond that, only shadows.

Blade inched nearer to the arch. He discovered the ruins of a road and squatted, taking his bearings. They were traveling in a southerly direction, which meant the SEAL was parked in the forest about a mile to the north of the arch. The arch, whatever it might be, would serve as a landmark to guide them back to the SEAL. He ylanced both ways, then sprinted to the base of the structure.

Sundance joined him.

The arch was rough to the touch, as if it had been constructed of stone.