David Robbins: Liberty Run

“The Warriors,” Ferret answered.

“And who’s pledged to protect the Family?” Lynx queried.

“The Warriors,” Ferret responded.

“Exactly! And who’s always gettin’ involved in a fight of some kind or another in the performance of their duties?”

Ferret pursed his lips and glanced at Gremlin. “Is he leading up to what I think he’s leading up to?”

Lynx smiled contentedly. “The solution is simple! If we want some excitement in our lives, some thrills to alleviate the boredom, then,”—he paused—“we become Warriors!”

Ferret snorted and shook his head.

Gremlin laughed.

Lynx was offended. “What’s the matter with you two? It’s a great idea!”

“The only way you’ll ever come up with a great idea,” Ferret said, “is if you have a brain transplant.”

“Very funny!” Lynx said stiffly.

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,” Ferret stated. “But think about your proposal.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Lynx asked.

“Everything. For starters, the Family already has enough Warriors.

Fifteen, isn’t it? Divided into five Triads of three Warriors apiece. They don’t need another Triad,” Ferret said.

“How do you know?” Lynx countered. “Plato might like the idea.”

“I’m not finished,” Ferret remarked. “Being a Warrior isn’t a post you take lightly. It’s a major responsibility. All of those people are relying on you to safeguard them from harm. Their lives are in your hands.” He paused. “It’s not a job you take for the fun of it.”

Gremlin snickered.

“Who said I’d take the job lightly?” Lynx demanded.

“Ferret is right,” Gremlin chimed in. “Being a Warrior is very important, yes? Without Warriors, the Family would not survive in this world, no?”

“So who said I’d take it lightly?” Lynx reiterated angrily.

“Forget it,” Ferret suggested.

“Who died and appointed you leader?” Lynx rejoined.

“Lynx forget it, yes?” Gremlin said, adding his opinion.

Lynx looked from one to the other. “I’m not givin’ up that easily. I’ll find a way to convince you.”

“I don’t take bribes,” Ferret quipped.

Lynx’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. “You know, it’s true what they say.”

“What do they say?” Ferret asked, walking over to assist Gremlin with the digging.

“Nobody really appreciates a genius,” Lynx commented seriously.

Ferret chuckled. “Show us a genius, and we’ll appreciate him.”

Gremlin stared at Lynx. “Genius help us dig, yes? Or maybe genius is too good for manual labor, no?”

Lynx vented his frustration by hissing. “Ingrates!” he muttered.

Ferret nudged Gremlin. “If he’s acting this crazy today, we’d best keep a close eye on him tonight.”

Gremlin’s forehead creased. “Why?”

“The moon will be out.”

The Family was in an uproar by the time Blade returned to the compound.

Everyone was gathered near the drawbridge, anxiously watching the Warriors and the Elders go about their business. News of the deaths of Claudia and Jean had already spread and was the main topic of discussion, along with the implications of the Soviet attack.

Blade, his prisoner in front of him, came across the drawbridge. He spotted the man he needed, a stocky Indian dressed all in green, armed with a genuine tomahawk angled through his brown belt, and an Arminius .357 revolver in a shoulder holster under his right arm.

“Geronimo!” Blade called.

Geronimo shouldered his way through the throng. His brown eyes studied the Russian. “Spartacus said you wanted us to stay here until you returned,” he commented.

“I’ll explain everything later,” Blade said. He scanned the compound.

“Did Hickok make it back with Sherry?”

“Just arrived a bit ago,” Geronomi replied. “Hickok wouldn’t let anyone touch her. He took her to the infimary.”

Blade indicated the Red soldier. “Take him there too. And don’t let Hickok kill him.”

“Will do.” Geronimo drew the Arminius. “Let’s go!” The crowd parted to permit their passage.

A diminutive man with Oriental features, dressed all in black and carrying a katana in its scabbard in his right hand, dashed up to Blade.

“Orders?” he asked.

Blade sheathed his Bowie, then pointed at the forest. “Take your Triad, Rikki, and retrieve the bodies of Jean and Claudia. They’re about ten to fifteen yards into the trees. You’ll also find a pair of dead Russians. Strip them and bury their bodies. Bring me their belongings.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi nodded. “We’re on our way,” he said, and raced off.

A tall man with his blond hair in a crew cut, wearing buckskin pants and a brown shirt, with a broadsword attached to his wide leather belt, jogged up to the head Warrior. “I kept them all back, just like you wanted,” he stated.

“You did a good job, Spartacus,” Blade said. “Now I want you to notify every Warrior we’re on alert status. I want Gamma, Omega, and Zulu Triads on the walls within five minutes. Got that?”

“Consider it done,” Spartacus responded, and left.

Blade started toward the concrete structure that housed the infirmary.

“Blade!” someone cried.

Blade turned.

It was the Family leader, Plato. His long gray hair and beard were stirred by the breeze as he approached. His wrinkled features conveyed his apprehension. He was dressed in faded jeans and a baggy blue shirt. “I need your report,” he stated. “The Elders will be meeting in emergency session as soon as you provide the essential details.”

“Come with me to the infirmary,” Blade suggested. “I’ll fill you in along the way.”

Plato fell in beside Blade, and they headed in the direction of the concrete blocks.

The Home was a model of utility and conservation. The eastern half was preserved in its natural state and used for agricultural purposes. A row of log cabins for the married couples and their children occupied the middle of the 30-acre compound, extending in a line from north to south. In the western portion of the Home, grouped in a triangular configuration, were six huge concrete blocks, each designated by a letter. The Family armory was A Block, located at the southern tip of the triangle. The founder, Kurt Carpenter, had personally supervised stocking the armory with every possible weapon and insured adequate ammunition, where needed, was stockpiled. One hundred yards to the northwest of A Block was B Block, the domicile for single Family members. Another hundred yards to the northwest of B Block was the infirmary, C Block, managed by the Family Healers. An equal distance to the east of the infirmary was D Block, the spacious workshop outfitted with thousands of tools and other equipment.

One hundred yards east of D Block was E Block, the gigantic Family library. Carpenter had crammed its shelves with hundreds of thousands of books, encompassing every imaginable subject. Finally, a hundred yards to the Southwest of E Block was the large building used by the Family Tillers, F Block.

“Enlighten me,” Plato said.

“I was on the west wall with Hickok and Spartacus,” Blade elaborated.

“I’d just sent Sherry out as an escort for two new Healers.”

“Yes,” Plato commented. “Jean and Claudia. They were conducting their herb identification test.”

“There was shooting,” Blade continued. “We ran down the stairs. I found Lynx, Ferret, and Gremlin standing near the drawbridge, so I enlisted their help. Spartacus was left behind, to keep everyone back. We raced to the woods and found the bodies of two dead Russian soldiers, and,”—he paused, frowning—“the bodies of the two Healers.”