David Robbins - Liberty Run

We weren’t even here!”

“We should have been,” Cole said softly.

“But we weren’t,” Libby persisted.

Cole pressed his right hand on his forehead and looked around. “We were all so damn excited about getting out of here! About finding a place where we could live free! And we forgot where we were! We forgot what could happen if we dropped our guard.”

“But you did everything you could have done!” Libby said. “You can’t blame yourself!”

Cole wiped his hand across his eyes. When he stared at Libby, his gaze was flinty. “Can’t I?” He paused, sighed wearily, then inspected his AK-47.

“Eddy and I are going after the bastards. Are you coming?”

“We don’t have to do this!” Libby pleaded. “We can still leave with Bertha and her friends!”

Cole glanced at Bertha. “This isn’t your fight. You don’t have to come.”

“There’s nothin’ I can do to talk you out of goin’?” Bertha asked.

Cole shook his head. “Don’t even try. You’d be wasting your breath!”

Tears were flowing down Libby’s face. “Cole! Please! You know what will happen!”

Cole gazed into Libby’s eyes. “I know.”

Bertha didn’t know what to say. She knew Cole was determined to get his revenge. What could she do to stop him, short of shooting him herself?

She admired him, even felt a peculiar kinship to Cole. Maybe, she speculated, it had something to do with her gang days in the Twin Cities.

Oh, her life had been different in several ways. Cole and many of the other Packrats had come from good homes where they usually had enough food and even enjoyed some luxuries. Luxuries like decent clothes, and shoes, and even schooling. The Packrats had lost it all when their parents had been executed or imprisoned by the Communists. Bertha and her companions in the Twin Cities had never had it so good, never enjoyed even the basic necessities on a regular basis, never known what it was like to have a stable home environment in their early years. But in others respects, her former gang and the Packrats had a lot in common. There were always enemies out to get them, and no one outside the gang could be trusted.

You survived if you were quick and alert. You died if you slipped for an instant. Under such harsh conditions, strong bonds were forged. Deep friendships. And in Cole’s case, the affection was compounded by the fact many of the Packrats were so young, so vulnerable, and had relied on his judgment. Bertha saw the anguish on his face, and recognized she couldn’t begin to appreciate the depth of the torment he must be feeling.

Libby turned to Bertha. “Please! Don’t let them go!”

Bertha frowned. “There’s nothin’ I can do.”

Libby uttered a whining noise and covered her eyes with her left hand.

Eddy was checking his AK-47.

“Eddy,” Cole said.

“Yeah?” Eddy responded.

“Find their trail,” Cole directed, and entered the cabin.

Eddy smiled. “You got it.” He began searching the ground near the edge of the woods.

Bertha moved over to Libby and draped her right arm across the girl’s shoulders.

“I don’t want him to go,” Libby mumbled. “He’ll be killed!”

“Maybe not,” Bertha said.

Libby looked up, her eyes red, her cheeks moist. “Yes, he will! I just know it!”

“You love him, don’t you?” Bertha asked gently.

Libby sniffed and nodded, glancing at the cabin.

“Does he love you?” Bertha inquired.

“I don’t know,” Libby admitted. “I think so. I feel he does, in my heart.

But he’s never shown it. Never come right out and said he does. I don’t know why. Maybe he’s afraid. Afraid of losing me like he did his mom and dad. You don’t have any idea what it’s like to love someone, and not have them love you!”

Want to bet? Bertha almost said. Instead, she held her peace, contemplating her own relationship with the Family’s superlative gunfighter, Hickok. But could she justify calling it a relationship? She’d pined after that dummy for what seemed like ages! And where had it gotten her? True, Hickok had been the first man she’d ever fallen for, head-over-heels in love. True, he was the choicest specimen of manhood she’d ever seen. Hunk de la hunk, so to speak. How long, though, could she justify yearning for a man unable to reciprocate her devotion? Hickok was married to Sherry, and Bertha knew the gunman well enough to know he would remain loyal to Sherry while Sherry lived, and maybe even afterwards. The Family ardently believed life did not end with death. The Elders taught that death was merely the technique of ascending from the material level to a higher, more spiritual plane. Even if Sherry passed on, Hickok was just the type to stay loyal to her, firmly expecting he would see her again after his own earthly demise. So what the hell am I doing, Bertha asked herself, wasting my time with someone I’ll never have a chance with? She studied the miserable Libby, and finally acknowledged how very lonely she’d been while yearning for Hickok. Maybe it was about time she faced facts; sometimes, love was one-sided; sometimes, a person could deeply love another, and the feeling wouldn’t be mutual.

Cole emerged from the log cabin, his features set in grim lines. “All the ones left inside are dead,” he remarked. “Whoever did this took all of our weapons.”

“Whoever did this is heading to the south,” Eddy announced, joining them.

Cole stared at Eddy. “The Bobcats?”

“I think so,” Eddy confirmed.

“Let’s do it,” Cole said, and started to the south.

Libby dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. “Wait for me!”

Cole stopped and turned. “You stay here with Bertha.”

“I’m coming,” Libby declared.

“I’d feel better if you didn’t,” Cole said. “Go back to Bertha’s buggy and wait for her friends.”

“I’m coming,” Libby reiterated.

“Let her come, Cole,” Eddy chimed in.

Cole frowned. “All right. But stay close to me! I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You don’t?” Libby responded, brightening.

“Let’s go!” Cole directed. He wheeled and stalked into the woods, followed by Eddy.

Libby took off after them. “I hope I see you again, soon,” she stated to Bertha over her right shoulder.

Bertha hesitated. This wasn’t her fight. Cole was right. But she was, in a sense, partially to blame for the slaughter. Her presence, and her promise of salvation for the Claws, had distracted them, had diverted Cole from his responsibilities as Claw leader. She looked at little Milly. That child’s death was on her shoulders, whether she liked it or not.

Libby vanished in the trees.

Maybe she owed it to them to help. Maybe she owed it to them to keep Cole, Libby, and Eddy alive, so they could savor the freedom the others had dreamed about. And maybe she owed it to herself, because they were her newfound friends, and once she was attached to someone, she never abandoned them. Hickok was a case in point.

“Oh, hell!” Bertha exclaimed. She jogged toward the forest. “Wait up!”

she called.

Libby, ten yards into the woods, stopped. “What are you doing?” she inquired as Bertha ran up.

Bertha could see Cole and Eddy, waiting for them 30 yards off. “I’m comin’ with you.”

“Go back!” Libby urged. “We can do this alone!”

Bertha shook her head. “No one,” she said emphatically, “should ever have to be alone.” She paused for emphasis. “Not ever! Now let’s teach these Bobcats a lesson they’ll never forget!”

What was keeping Blade?

Sundance sighted on the officer and the ten troopers, and waited until they were in the middle of the lawn before he fired. The officer pitched to the ground, and the rest were decimated, six of them dropping in a row.