David Robbins - Liberty Run

“We have no choice,” Blade stated.

Plato sighed wistfully. “I’m reluctant to admit it, but apparently you’re right. It’s so distressing, though, to see us pulled down to their level.”

“When dealing with trash,” Blade philosophized, “you have to expect to get a little dirty.”

Plato scrunched up his nose. “I wish you wouldn’t define it in quite those terms.”

“Just thank the Spirit there’s a big difference between them and us,” Blade mentioned.

“Which difference do you mean?” Plato inquired.

“We may slip into the muck now and then,” Blade said. “But at least we can climb out again.” He paused. “Bastards like Lysenko, and the Trolls and the Doktor too, live in it. Wallow in it. Enjoy it.”

Plato deliberated for a minute. “I never considered the matter in that light.”

“Try it sometime,” Blade recommended. “You’ll sleep better at night.”

Morning of the next day.

Six men and a woman were gathered near the open drawbridge in the west wall of the Home. Lieutenant Lysenko stood meekly in the middle of the group. The gunfighter, Hickok, was to his right. The Indian, Geronimo, to his left. Three other Warriors ringed him. One of them, a tall blond man in buckskin pants and a green shirt, armed with a broadsword, was familiar. Lysenko had seen Blade conversing with the man the day before in the infirmary, after Blade had returned to continue his interrogation. The Warrior with the broadsword was named Spartacus.

But the other two were new to Lysenko.

One was a beautiful dusky woman with an Afro. She wore a green fatigue shirt and pants, black boots, and carried an M-16. For some mysterious reason, she couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off Hickok.

The other newcomer was a youth, obviously shy of his 20th birthday, possibly even younger. His hair and eyes were brown, his eyebrows bushy.

Whether deliberately or not, he wore his long hair in the same style as Hickok. His clothing was all black, and patterned after a cut Lysenko was unfamiliar with, incorporating wide lapels and tight pants legs. A revolver was strapped to his right thigh.

Blade was four feet away, arms at his side, glancing from one to the other. “You have your instructions. Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Hickok said. He grinned at Lysenko. “If this cow chip makes a break for it, can I perforate his noggin?”

“Do whatever is necessary,” Blade advised, “but keep him alive until after you retrieve the radio transmitter. I don’t care what happens to him afterwards.”

Lysenko frowned. “You promised I would be set free if I helped you!” he protested.

“And you will be,” Blade assured him.

Lysenko nodded toward Hickok. “How do I know he will do as you say?

How do I know he won’t decide to kill me on the way back?”

“Hickok is a Warrior,” Blade stated. “He follows orders.”

Hickok leaned toward the officer, smirking. “Which makes you the luckiest hombre alive.”

“It’s only ten miles there, and ten back,” Blade addressed them. “I expect you here before dark.”

“No problem,” Geronimo said. In addition to his tomahawk and the Arminius, he carried a Marlin 45-70.

Blade glanced at Hickok. “All of you should take rifles or automatics,” he commented.

Hickok nodded, then looked at the youth in black. “Shane, I want you to run to the armory and grab a rifle or whatever, and pick one up for Spartacus.”

“I prefer a Heckler and Koch HK93,” Spartacus said to Shane.

Shane started to run off.

“Whoa!” Hickok called.

Shane stopped and turned.

“Swing by my cabin, will you, and ask Sherry for my Henry?” Hickok said, referring to his cherished Navy Arms Henry Carbine.

Shane grinned, eager to please his acknowledged hero. “I’ll be back in a jiffy,” he promised, and sprinted to the east.

The black woman laughed. “That boy’d lick your boots clean if you asked him!”

“I’m not wearing boots,” Hickok rejoined.

“Moccasins. Boots.” The black woman shrugged. “It wouldn’t make no nevermind to Shane. Ain’t you noticed how he’s put you up on a pedestal?”

“I’ve noticed, Bertha,” Hickok said, sighing.

“Shane isn’t the only one,” Geronimo interjected, winking at Bertha.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Bertha demanded.

“Oh, nothing,” Geronimo responded, grinning mischievously.

Blade smiled. Bertha’s long-standing crush on Hickok was common gossip around the Home. She’d been interested in the gunman ever since they’d met in Thief River Falls. Even Hickok’s later marriage to Sherry hadn’t dampened Bertha’s ardor. Although she was regularly seen in the company of several Family men, Bertha had never taken a mate. Some said she was holding out, saving herself in the forlorn hope Hickok might one day become available. Hickok, Blade knew, was extremely uncomfortable over the situation, but didn’t seem to know what to do about it. Sherry appeared to tolerate Bertha’s affection for her husband, as long as the affection was kept at a distance.

There was a sudden commotion to the north.

Blade looked to his right, puzzled. There they were. At it again. Lynx, Ferret, and Gremlin. The trio had spent every waking moment since their return yesterday, arguing. He couldn’t imagine the cause of their dispute, but it was evident Lynx was constantly remonstrating w ith the other two over something.

“I’ll be back in a bit, pard,” Hickok declared, and walked toward the bickering mutants. He could see Ferret and Gremlin shaking their heads, and Lynx gesturing angrily. A few of the words Lynx was saying became audible.

“…morons… couldn’t find your butts… broad daylight…!”

Ferret spotted the gunman when he was still ten yards off, and quickly whispered to the other two.

The argument abruptly ceased.

Hickok chuckled as he neared them.

All three faced the gunfighter. All three were smiling serenely. All three smiles were patently phony.

“What’s with you bozos?” Hickok greeted them.

“You’ve been spattin’ like three stallions over a mare on the make!”

Lynx stretched his fake grin even wider. “Spattin’? Us? No way. We’ve been havin’ an intelligent discussion.”

Ferret snorted.

Lynx ignored him. “What can we do for you, Hickok?”

Hickok stared at each of them. “I plumb forgot yesterday. I owe you boys a debt.”

“No, you don’t,” Lynx said.

“You saved my missus from those pricks,” Hickok stated. “I wanted to thank each of you, personal-like. And let you know I’m in your debt. If there’s ever anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

“There’s no need,” Lynx declared.

“Yes, there is,” Hickok disagreed.

“You’re our friend,” Lynx elaborated. “You’ve always treated us with respect. We just returned the favor.”

Hickok put his right hand on Lynx’s shoulder. “I’m serious about this. I’ll never be able to thank you enough. Anything I can do for you, I will.”

“Thanks,” Lynx said, “but you don’t…” He stopped, blinking rapidly.

“What’s wrong?” Hickok asked.

“Nothin’,” Lynx replied, beginning to smile again.

“I’ll be seein’ you,” Hickok said, and began to turn away.

“Just a minute!” Lynx said, a look of triumph on his face.

Hickok paused. “What is it?”

“Can you clarify somethin’ for me?” Lynx inquired.

“If I can.” Hickok answered. “Shoot.”

Lynx beamed at Ferret and Gremlin, then faced the gunman. “I need some info about the Warriors.”

“What about them?” Hickok replied.