David Robbins - Liberty Run

Cole turned his tormented face toward her. “Help me,” he said. “Must touch Libby.”

Bertha nodded. She heaved, lifting him, assisting him to move next to Libby. She could feel his blood trickling over her arm.

Cole wearily knelt alongside Libby. Bertha released him, and he almost toppled over. Weaving, he dropped the AK-47 and braced himself with his left arm. He smiled down at Libby.

Libby beamed up at him.

Bertha stood at Libby’s feet, her eyes moistening.

“Looks like I made a mess of things,” Cole said, his voice barely audible.

Libby was breathing heavily. “No, you didn’t,” she admonished him.

“We did okay.”

“You always were one for looking at the bright side of things,” Cole remarked, and coughed.

Libby glanced at Bertha. “Did we get them? Did we get all of them?”

“Yes,” Bertha answered softly.

“See?” Libby grinned at Cole. “We paid them back for Milly and the others. We did okay.”

Cole nodded once, his eyelids fluttering. “I guess we did, at that.”

Libby’s right hand drifted to Cole’s lap.

Cole took her hand in his, their fingers entwining. Tears filled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Libby.”

“For what?”

“For all the time I wasted. I heard you talking to Bertha outside the cabin.” He paused, coughed some more. “I’m sorry for not showing you how I felt. I’m sorry for all the time we could have shared. I’m sorry because I was scared to tell you, scared to open up, scared of losing you.

You were right.” He grimaced and coughed, and blood appeared at the left corner of his mouth.

“We’ll be together again,” Libby assured him. She seemed to be staring dreamily into the distance. “I told you about my mom lots of times, about how nice she was. She was very religious, even though religion is against the law. Maybe that’s why the Russians took Dad and her. She used to read to us from the Bible, tell us about Jesus and God and Heaven. Heaven is a wonderful place. Nobody tries to kill you there. You always have enough to eat. And there’s lots of angels all over, and music, music with harps and singing and all. And love. Everybody loves everybody. Isn’t that great?”

Blood was seeping from both corner’s of Cole’s mouth. “You think,” he began, and wheezed, “you think we’ll go to this Heaven?”

Libby looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I do.”

Cole’s features were blancing. “I don’t know…”

“Tell him, Bertha,” Libby said. “Tell him.”

Bertha found it difficult to speak. “I don’t know much about God and such,” she confessed. Libby frowned.

“But the folks at the Home do,” Bertha quickly added. “The Elders there say we live on after this life. They say we go to a better place, a higher spiritual level they call it.”

Cole took a deep breath. “And how… do we get to this better place?”

“The Elders say all it takes is faith,” Bertha stated, recalling several worship services she’d attended. “All you got to do is believe in the Spirit.”

“I believe,” Libby declared weakly. She gazed at Cole. “Please. For me. Believe.”

Cole coughed and slumped lower. “I never gave it much… thought before.” He paused. “But if it means I’ll see you again, then for you,”—he wheezed—“I’ll believe.”

Libby gripped his hand tightly. “Thank you.” She looked up at a patch of sky visible through the trees. “I can’t wait to get there! Maybe we’ll see our parents again. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

Cole didn’t answer.

“Cole?” Libby said, alarmed, examining his rigid features.

Cole was quivering. He began to droop forward, his eyes on her. “I… love… you,” he said, and collapsed across her waist.

Bertha took a step nearer and reached for Cole.

“Don’t!” Libby stated.

“But…” Bertha started to protest.

“Leave him,” Libby directed. “I want him like this.” She managed to move her left hand to his head and began stroking his hair. For a minute she was quiet, Frowning. Then she mustered a wan smile. “You know, this is the first time I’ve touched him like this. I can’t believe it!”

Bertha felt light-headed.

“Bertha?” Libby said. Her voice was fading.

“I’m here,” Bertha assured her huskily.

“Promise me something,” Libby stated.

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll bury us side by side. Hand in hand. Please? I don’t want the animals to get us,” Libby said.

Bertha responded with the utmost difficulty. “I promise you. I’ll bury you side by side.”

“Thank you.” Libby gazed up at the sky, and an incredible expression of happiness transformed her face. “We’re on our way!” she cried, elated. She gasped once, then ceased breathing.

An eerie silence enshrouded the hillside, until an unusual sound arose from a small clearing near the base of the hill, a sound gaining in intensity as it continued, softly at first, and then in loud, moanful sobs, the sound of a Warrior crying.

The day was cold, the sky a bright blue. He was dressed all in gray, with a pair of Grizzlies nestled in shoulder holsters, one under each arm. The Family firing range was all his. Few Family members ventured into the southeastern corner of the Home. The children were instructed to stay away from the firing range, which consisted of a large clearing with an earth bank at the east end. The Warriors used the firing range regularly, and the other Family members were required to visit it periodically to take firing lessons under the Warriors’ tutelage, to familiarize themselves with the correct use of firearms in case the Home ever sustained another assault.

Two rusted tin cans had been placed on the earthen bank.

He draped his arms at his sides, shook his head to relax the muscles, and drew, the Grizzlies gleaming as they flashed from their holsters. Both pistols boomed, and the tin cans flipped into the air. They dropped to the dirt and rattled to the bottom of the bank.

“Right smart shootin’, Sundance,” remarked someone behind him.

Sundance recognized the voice. He slid the Grizzlies into their holsters and turned. “I’ve been expecting you,” he said.

The blond gunman in the buckskins nodded. “Figured as much.” He indicated the bank with a wave of his right hand. “It looks like you’re pretty much healed.”

Sundance glanced at the tin cans. “Just about. It’s been a tough two months,” he admitted.

“I know,” the man in the buckskins stated. “I’ve been keepin’ tabs on you, checkin’ with the Healers every now and then. They told me you likely would’ve died if Bertha hadn’t tended you on the way back from Philly. They said it was touch and go for a spell. You must be one tough hombre, Sundance.”

Sundance studied the Family’s legendary gunfighter. “And to what do I owe all this attention, Hickok?”

Hickok grinned, his blond mustache curling upward. “I reckon you know why I’m here.”

It was Sundance’s turn to nod. “I guess I do. And I don’t see where it’s any business of yours.”

Hickok’s grin faded. “I’m making it my business,” he declared.

Sundance felt his temper rise. “You shouldn’t butt your nose in where it doesn’t belong.”

Hickok hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt. “That’s where you’re wrong, pard. I do have a legitimate stake in what’s going on. One of my best buddies, Blade, and one of the people I care for a whole bunch, Bertha, came back from the Philly run all discombobulated. And do you know what the reason was?”

“What?” Sundance responded.

“You,” Hickok said.

“How do you figure?” Sundance queried defensively.