David Robbins - Liberty Run

Everybody was talkin’ about ’em for a while. They had the Commies pretty rattled, I heard.”

“I’ll bet,” Sundance commented. He gazed out the rear window.

“So what about ’em?” Nick asked.

“We want to find them,” Blade said, then elaborated. “We know the Soviets captured twelve of those invaders, those Vikings. We know the Russians are holding them at a detention facility in Philadelphia. And we want to find them.”

“How’d you learn all this?” Nick inquired.

“That’ll have to be our secret,” Blade responded.

“Well, I don’t know as I can be of much help,” Nick said. “I don’t have the slightest idea where the Commies are holdin’ the ones you want.”

“Do you know where they might be held? Where the detention facilities are located?” Blade probed.

Nick contemplated for a minute. “I might be of some help, after all. I know the Commies built a big detention place in northwest Philly, in Fairmont Park, right off the Schuykill Expressway. It’s near the Schuykill River.”

“Then we’ll try there first,” Blade said.

“I don’t get it,” Nick stated. “What are these Vikings to you guys?”

“Nothing,” Blade answered.

“Then why do you want to find them?” Nick asked.

Sundance twisted in his seat. “You sure are the curious type, aren’t you?”

Nick shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be nosy.”

Sundance jerked his thumb toward his window. “What was that bridge we just went over?”

“It goes over the Schuykill River,” Nick revealed.

“The same river near the detention facility?” Blade queried.

“Yep.”

“Any chance of us following the river into Philadelphia?” Blade inquired.

“Nope.”

“Why not?” Blade pressed.

“Because the roads don’t follow the Schuykill, dummy,” Nick disclosed.

“Our best bet would be to take the Schuykill Expressway all the way in. It sticks close to the river most of the way.”

“Can you direct us there?” Blade asked.

“No problem,” Nick asserted.

“We do have one problem,” Sundance remarked.

“Oh? What’s that?” Blade replied.

“We’re being tailed,” Sundance said.

Blade glanced in the rearview mirror. A pair of headlights was in their lane, perhaps 500 yards distant.

“They pulled out of the garrison as we were going over the bridge,” Sundance said. “They didn’t even stop for a red light at the intersection.”

Nick chuckled. “Sharp eyes you’ve got there, Sundance.”

Sundance looked at Nick. “I don’t miss much.”

“We’ve got to lose them,” Blade stated.

“Whatever we’re going to do,” Sundance declared, “we’d better do quickly.”

“Why?” Blade asked.

Sundance was gazing over his left shoulder. “Because they’re gaining on us.”

“You should get some sleep,” Bertha said.

“I’m too excited to sleep!” Libby stated happily.

“Me, too,” Cole added.

They were seated at the wooden table in the cabin, a lantern in the center of the tabletop diffusing a soft yellow light throughout the room.

The rest of the Claws were asleep, curled up on blankets on the floor.

“Do you really think they’ll take us?” Libby queried in a low voice.

“They took me, didn’t they?” Bertha replied.

“Believe me, girl. The Family are the nicest bunch of folks you’d ever want to meet. We may have to cram the SEAL to the max, but Blade will agree to take you to the Home. I promise you.”

“This Blade you’ve been telling us about,” Cole said. “What’s he like?”

“He’s a righteous dude,” Bertha stated. “One of my best friends. He’s got more muscles than anyone else I know. And he’s tricky.”

“Tricky?” Cole repeated.

“I don’t know how else to describe him,” Bertha said. “He doesn’t look like the brainy type, but he fools you. Just when you think you’ve got him figured out, he catches you off guard. I guess clever is the word for Blade.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” Cole said.

Libby scanned the sleeping Claws. “But will there be enough room in this SEAL of yours for all of us?”

Bertha surveyed the children. “I don’t know,” she acknowledged. “We might need to throw out some of our supplies. But we’ll find a way. Trust me.”

Libby stared at Bertha. “I haven’t trusted anyone for years.”

Bertha frowned. “How do you make a go of it? Where do you find your food?”

“We do a lot of hunting and fishing,” Cole detailed. “And we steal whatever we can get our hands on. We raid the nearby houses. Scrounge here and there.”

Bertha nodded at a row of eight AK-47’s leaning against the wall near the front door. “Where’d you get all the hardware?”

“Hunters,” Cole answered.

Bertha whistled. “You Claws must be real good if you wasted that many Hunters.”

“We get lots of practice,” Cole stated. “They send in about a Hunter a month.” He paused. “Funny.”

“What is?” Bertha asked.

“The Hunters,” Cole said. “Why do the fucking Russians only send in a Hunter at a time? Why not send in an army, and clean up Valley Forge in one day? And why do the Hunters only kill one Packrat, then split?”

“What?” Bertha leaned on her elbows on the table.

“That’s what they do,” Cole clarified. “They rack one Packrat, then leave. Four months ago Milly and Tommy were out picking berries. A damn Hunter popped up and blasted Tommy. Then he walked over to Milly, tickled her under the chin, and left.”

“Why would he do that?” Bertha queried in surprise.

“Cole has an idea,” Libby said.

“What is it?” Bertha prompted Cole.

The Claw leader gazed fondly at the slumbering Claws. “I think the Russians are using us as some kind of training exercise for their soldiers. I don’t think they want to wipe us out. I think they’re playing games with us, killing us off one at a time. Hell! They know we’re here! And they don’t usually let rebels keep on living. I know! They butchered my father and mother because my parents hated their guts!”

Bertha considered the theory. In a perverse sort of way, it made sense.

The Russians knew the orphaned, homeless kids were flocking to Valley Forge, yet did nothing to stop the influx. Cole had said earlier that the Russians used disguises, even befriended some of the Packrats before slaughtering them. Why else would the Soviets go to so much trouble, unless the soldiers, probably their top commandoes, were honing their deadly skills on the lives of the Packrats? She stared at Cole with new respect.

“If we can get them out of here,” Cole said, motioning toward the Claws, “I’ll be the happiest man alive.”

Bertha almost laughed at his use of the word “man.” She stopped herself, though. Cole’s parents, as Plato would say, had passed on to the higher mansions. Rather than submit to the Soviets, Cole had opted to resist. And now he was responsible for the lives of 15 others, for insuring they didn’t starve to death and weren’t killed by the Hunters, the mutants, or other Packrats. Perhaps he did qualify as a man, after all. “How many other Packrat gangs are there in Valley Forge?” she asked him.

“Four I know of,” Cole replied. “Maybe a few more. We each have our own turf to protect. The Bobcats are the closest to us, to the south a ways.

We have run-ins with them all the time.”

“Why don’t all of you band together?” Bertha inquired. “There’s strength in numbers.”

“Band together?” Cole said. “I don’t know. No one’s ever thought of it, I guess. Besides, everybody shoots first and asks questions later. If I tried to make the peace with, say, the Bobcats, I’d be shot before I could even open my mouth.”