David Robbins - Liberty Run

Nick shrugged. “No skin off my nose. This way, if I’m caught, I can’t talk, huh?”

Blade nodded.

Nick stared from the giant to the one with the mustache. “You know, I may be gettin’ senile, but I believe you two. I don’t think you’re Commies. No Commie could play dumb that good.”

“Thanks,” Blade said. “I think.”

“Do you know where Norristown is?” Nick inquired.

“No,” Blade replied. “We’ll find it. I have a map with me.”

“But the map won’t tell you where the Commies like to post checkpoints, and which areas to avoid and which ones are safe.” Nick silently debated for a minute. “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go along with you. Guide you. How about that idea?”

Blade shook his head. “It would be too dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Nick cackled. “I didn’t live this long by takin’ it easy, boy! Danger don’t mean a thing to me.”

“No,” Blade said. He walked toward the stairs, Sundance at his side.

“I could show you some shortcuts,” Nick persisted. “I know this area like the back of my hand.”

Blade paused, reflecting. Since speed was of the essence, any shortcut would greatly facilitate their assignment. “Do you promise to do exactly as I tell you?” he asked.

Nick snickered. “Of course!”

“Then you can come,” Blade said. “But only as far as Norristown. Once we’ve acquired a vehicle, you’re on your own.”

“I’m always on my own,” Nick replied. He rose and hurried to the stairs.

“Say! I never did catch your names.”

“I’m Blade,” Blade said introducing himself. “And this is Sundance.”

“Sundance?” Nick chuckled. “Ain’t never heard a name like Sundance before. What’s your last names?”

“We don’t have any,” Blade answered.

Nick squinted at them. “No last names? Never heard of such a thing.”

“Nobody has last names where we come from,” Blade revealed.

“And where might that be?” Nick casually inquired.

“Sorry,” Blade said. “We’d best keep that information to ourselves.”

Nick shrugged. “Fine by me.” He glanced from Blade to Sundance. “You know, I think we’re goin’ to have a real fun time together!”

Bertha slowly regained consciousness. She became aware of an acute pain in her wrists and arms. A cool breeze was blowing on her face. She could smell the fragrant scent of pine and dank earth. And she realized she wasn’t on the table in the cabin; she was suspended by her wrists, her body dangling in the air.

What had happened?

Bertha opened her eyes, confirming her assessment. A rope secured her wrists. She glanced up, and found the rope was looped over the stout limb of a tree. Looking down, she discovered her feet were swaying about three feet above the ground. And she wasn’t alone.

Six of the youngsters were facing her, three of them holding lanterns.

The other three each held an AK-47.

Bertha recognized the oldest boy, the one called Cole. She also saw the girl with the stringy hair, Libby, and the little girl named Milly. The 10-year-old boy with the blonde hair was there, as was old Pudgy Butt himself, the brat who had led her into the trap. The other two she didn’t know, a boy and a girl, both about 12 years old.

“Glad to see you joined us, bitch!” Cole greeted her.

Bertha glared down at him. Her headache had subsided, but her forehead was sore. “That ain’t no way to talk to a lady, you snotnosed shithead!”

Cole bristled, leveling his AK-47 at Bertha’s belly. “I should waste you right now, bitch!”

“While my hands are tied?” Bertha taunted him. “Ain’t you the brave baby!”

Cole took a step toward her. “I’m not a baby!”

“Could of fooled me!” Bertha retorted.

Cole jammed the AK-47 barrel into her gut. “Damn you!”

“Cole! No!” The girl called Libby cried.

“Why not?” Cole demanded, glowering up at Bertha. “She’s a damn Hunter! Who cares if it’s quick or slow?”

Bertha remembered the squabble in the cabin. She glanced at Libby.

“What’s a hunter?”

“Don’t you know?” Libby responded.

“Nope,” Bertha said.

“Bullshit!” Cole exploded. “You expect us to believe you?”

Libby gazed at Cole. “She might be telling the truth.”

“Are you going to let her trick you?” Cole snapped. “You know what the Hunters are like! They’ll do anything to catch one of us! Lie! Wear disguises! Shoot us in the back! Anything!”

Libby stared at Bertha, her youthful face betraying her doubt.

Bertha recognized a possible ally in the girl. “Look. I ain’t no lousy hunter! I’m a Warrior.”

“What’s a Warrior?” Libby asked.

“A Warrior protects others from harm,” Bertha explained.

Cole laughed. “Can it, bitch! Nobody is going to believe a word you say!”

“I wasn’t talkin’ to you!” Bertha stated stiffly. “I was talkin’ to Libby.”

“You’re not here to hurt us?” Libby inquired.

“Nope,” Bertha answered.

Cole turned on Libby, waving his AK-47. “Come on, Libby! You’re not falling for this shit, are you?” He spun toward Bertha. “If you’re not here to harm us, then why’d you chase Eddy?”

“I thought he was in trouble,” Bertha answered.

“Yeah! Right!” Cole rejoined.

Bertha looked at Eddy. “Didn’t you attack me, Fatso?”

Eddy seemed confounded by the unexpected query.

“Didn’t you attack me first?” Bertha prompted him. “Wasn’t I mindin’ my own business, and you jumped me from behind?”

“I wanted your gun!” Eddy blurted.

“And wasn’t I turnin’ back when you screamed?” Bertha asked.

“Yeah,” Eddy admitted.

“There!” Bertha glanced at Cole. “I thought he was in trouble. If I’d wanted to waste Fatso, I could have shot him anytime!”

“It doesn’t mean a thing!” Cole stated defiantly.

“Yes, it does,” Libby chimed in.

“What?” Cole said.

“I believe her, Cole,” Libby declared.

“Give me a break!” Cole quipped.

“I think she’s telling the truth,” Libby stated.

“Why?” Cole wanted to know.

“Lots of reasons,” Libby said. “Have you ever seen a woman Hunter before?”

“No,” Cole answered reluctantly.

“And have you ever seen a Hunter dressed like her?” Libby asked.

“No,” Cole said. “but they wear all sorts of disguises!”

“What about her gun?” Libby pressed him. “Ever seen a Hunter packing a gun like hers?”

Cole’s forehead creased. “No, can’t say as I have. They always use an AK-47 or a pistol.”

“And,” Libby added triumphantly, pointing at their prisoner, “have you ever seen a black Hunter before? Ever heard of a black Hunter before?”

Cole slowly shook his head, studying the woman swinging from the rope.

“Cole…” said the little girl named Milly.

“Not now, Milly,” Cole barked irritably.

“You finally seein’ the light?” Bertha asked him.

“What’s your name?” Cole inquired.

“Bertha.”

“You gottta see it my way, Bertha,” Cole said. “I’m the head of the Claws. Fifteen Packrats depends on me. If I make a mistake, they’ll die.”

“I’m not here to hurt you,” Bertha reiterated.

“But I don’t know that for sure,” Cole mentioned. “If I go easy on you, cut you down, we could all wind up dead. I can’t take the chance.

Somebody is always after us. If it ain’t the Red Hunters, then its one of the other Packrat gangs, or the mutants.”

“Cole,” Milly said, interrupting.

“Not now!” Cole told her. He gazed up at Bertha and shook his head.