David Robbins - Liberty Run

The Bobcat leader ducked behind the maple tree.

Bertha started to raise the M-16, but hesitated. No! She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—shoot children!

Cole dropped another Bobcat, and then flattened. Libby did likewise.

The three remaining Bobcats were raking the hillside with gunfire, shooting in the general direction of their adversaries.

From her vantage point high on the hill, Bertha saw Cole’s left shoulder twist sharply, as if he had been hit.

The firing abated, each side waiting for the other to make the next move. In addition to the Bobcat leader, a girl of 14 or 15 and a boy approximately the same age were the only Bobcats still alive. The girl was hidden in a cluster of boulders 20 yards from Libby, and the boy was concealed in a thicket less than 15 yards from Cole.

Bertha could see Cole and Libby clearly. The Bobcat girl was visible every now and then, whenever she popped her head up for a quick look-see. Although Bertha knew where the Bobcat leader and the other boy were hiding, neither betrayed their position, neither appeared in her field of view.

Cole was tentatively groping his left side, and when he drew his right hand aside, his fingers were dripping blood.

Bertha nervously bit her lower lip. She was in an agonizing quandary. If she didn’t do something, do anything, and fast, Cole might die. But what could she do, short of shooting a Bobcat?

Libby was on her hands and knees, sheltered by a log, trying to peek around the end of the log and spot Cole.

Bertha doubted whether Libby could see Cole. He was too well camouflaged by a stand of weeds.

Cole was checking the magazine of his AK-47.

Bertha finally made up her mind. Just because she felt uncomfortable about killing a Bobcat didn’t mean she couldn’t aid the Claws in another manner. As a distraction, for instance. If she could attract the Bobcat’s attention, she might provide Cole and Libby with the openings they needed. The idea was worth a try. She began moving down the hill, crouched over, treading lightly.

Libby was now on her knees, continuing to scan for Cole.

Don’t do anything stupid! Bertha almost yelled. She skirted a blue spruce. So how, she asked herself, was she going to help Cole and Libby without getting herself shot? The Bobcats would shoot at anything they saw moving. She had to be extremely careful.

Cole had squirmed onto his elbows and knees.

What was he up to? Bertha halted behind a rock outcropping 60 yards from the base of the hill.

There was movement in the thicket secreting the Bobcat boy.

Bertha stiffened. She was too far away yet! If only nothing would happen until she was closer! She sccambled forward on her stomach, across a grassy stretch, and reached a maple tree. Once behind the trunk, she stood and surveyed the situation below.

The movement in the thicket had ceased.

Libby was still seeking a glimpse of Cole.

Cole was peering over the top of the weeds.

Bertha was about to crouch and proceed further, when something flickered at the edge of her vision, lower down and off to the right. She glanced in that direction, her nerves tingling.

The Bobcat leader had circled around Cole! He was 15 yards from Cole’s hiding place, slowly advancing, stooped over.

How the hell had he done it? Bertha had supposed he was on the opposite side of the tree where he’d taken cover. The guy was good! There was no doubt about it.

The Bobcat leader was searching from side to side. Several trees and a dense bush separated him from Cole.

Bertha didn’t believe the Bobcat leader had seen Cole. Yet. But in a few seconds Cole was bound to be spotted. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the Bobcat leader, waiting for the right moment. He passed one of the trees, then another. Bertha’s abdomen tightened expectantly. The tall Bobcat leader came abreast of the third tree, and now just the bush obscured Cole’s hiding place from the alert, black-haired youth. Bertha’s eyes were glued to the Bobcat’s ragged brown leather shoes. He took one step, then another, cautiously edging around the bush to the left. Another one took him to the very border of the bush. He was scrutinizing the slope above him, and he still hadn’t spied Cole squatting in the weeds. He raised his leg, about to go past the bush, and as he did, Bertha took her calculated gamble. She leaped from concealment, waving her arms. “Up here, turkey!” she shouted.

The Bobcat leader swiveled at the sound of her voice, pointing his AK-47 up the hill.

Even as the Bobcat leader was turning, Cole spun too. He saw the leader’s head and shoulders visible above the bush, and he fired from a crouch, his burst striking the Bobcat leader in the face and flinging the tall youth to the turf.

And suddenly, everything went wrong.

Libby, hearing the gunfire but unable to see Cole, sprang to her feet, anxious for his safety, heedless of her own. It was a fatal mistake.

The Bobcat girl in the boulders jumped up, blasting from the hip, her AK-47 on full automatic.

Libby was hurled onto her back by the impact, her arms spreading wide.

Cole whirled at the chatter of the Bobcat girl’s weapon, and he saw Libby get hit. He surged from cover, crashing through the underbrush toward Libby. ” No !” he screamed. ” No! No !”

The Bobcat in the thicket abruptly stepped into view, aiming a rifle at Cole, and he squeezed the trigger as Cole recklessly crossed a small clearing five yards from Libby.

Cole stumbled as he was struck. He twirled toward the Bobcat in the thicket, and he fired as the Bobcat’s rifle thundered again, and kept firing as the Bobcat doubled over and dropped to one side. He turned toward Libby, staggering haltingly.

The Bobcat girl in the boulders pressed her AK-47 to her right shoulder, aiming at Cole.

All of this transpired so swiftly, so unexpectedly, Bertha reacted belatedly. Four seconds elapsed between her shout and Cole being struck, and when she did act, when she did enter the fray, her action was instinctive, ingrained from years of gang warfare and her training as a Warrior. Caught up in the heat of the moment, fearing for Cole and Libby, she did the only thing she could have done under the circumstances. She saw the Bobcat girl aim at Cole, and she automatically sighted her M-16

and fired off a half-dozen rounds.

The shots were right on target. The Bobcat girl stiffened, then sprawled over a boulder.

Bertha plunged down the slope, taking the straightest route, limbs and thorns tearing at her clothes. Her left boot snagged in a root and she tripped, landing on both knees. But she was up in an instant, plowing through the vegetation, and she didn’t stop until she reached the small clearing near Libby. She halted in midstep, horrified, her countenance reflecting her emotional unheaval. “Dear Lord!” she exclaimed.

Cole was on his knees in the middle of the clearing, his right arm outstretched toward Libby. His body was trembling, and blood coated the front of his brown shirt. His green eyes were locked on Libby.

Libby’s green shift was crimson from the waist up. Bullet holes dotted the fabric. She was flat on her back, her right arm extended toward Cole, her brown eyes staring at him in acute misery. Their fingers were a mere inch apart.

Cole made a valiant effort to rise, to move closer to Libby, but his legs buckled, and he sagged to his knees.

Libby’s gaze shifted, focused on Bertha. “Please!” she pleaded. “Please!”

Bertha hurried over to Cole, slinging the M-16 over her left arm.

Cole tried to twist, to use the AK-47 in his left hand, detecting movement but unaware of Bertha’s proximity.

“It’s me! Bertha!” Bertha informed him, reaching his side and placing her right arm around his waist.