David Robbins - New York Run

“Now the gate.” Hickok tossed the key to the trooper.

Private Casey unlocked the gate and shoved it open.

Hickok strode up to the soldier and glared at him, nose to nose. “You’ve got two ways of playin’ this, pipsqueak. You can run upstairs after I leave, and blab what happened to the bigwigs. Or you can play it safe and keep your mouth shut. It’s up to you.”

“If I report this, I’ll be court-martialed,” Casey predicted. “I’ll wind up in prison or in front of a firing squad.”

“So keep your big mouth closed,” Hickok advised. “No one will ever know I was here except for us. They’ll all reckon I was blown sky-high in the mine field. I left the varmint who owned the trike tied up back at a worm farm. He’ll get loose soon and tell the authorities I stole it from him.

They’ll put two and two together.”

“I really am going to live!” Private Casey exclaimed.

“I told you I wouldn’t kill you.”

“But they said you’re a cold-blooded murderer,” Casey remarked.

“A lot of folks think that way,” Hickok conceded. He thought of the boy lying in the pool of blood. “But they don’t know about my other new motto.

Never, ever kill unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“I like that motto,” Casey remarked.

Hickok grinned. “You’re all right, pipsqueak.” He started through the gate, then paused. “Say, will they know you cut the juice to the fence?”

Private Casey nodded. “It’ll register on the monitor in the Central Core.”

“If they ask, tell ’em you don’t know a thing,” Hickok suggested.

“Lie?”

“Can you come up with a better way to save your hide?” Hickok asked.

Casey considered for a moment. “Nope.”

“Then as soon as I skedaddle, close the gate and open the circuit. They might believe it was a temporary short.”

“All of a sudden you’re not as dumb as you act,” Casey said.

“Thanks. I think.” Hickok walked through the gate, holstered his left Python, and waved. “As a pard of mine might say, may the Great Spirit bless all your endeavors.”

The night swallowed the gunman.

Private Casey blinked a few times, wondering if the incident might have been a dream. The killer of the Minister had spared his life! He hastily closed the gate, reset the circuit breaker, and ran up the stairs to the tower. The red light above the headset was blinking. He scooped it up and cleared his throat.

“Private Casey here… Sorry, sir, I was watching the mine field… Yes, they’re almost to the point… No, the captain hasn’t arrived yet… Turned off the fence? No, sir. Why would I do that?… No, sir, I didn’t notice. I was watching the mine field… Yes, sir, those damn transformers can be a pain in the ass… Of course, sir.”

Casey replaced the headset, beaming. He’d done it! Now there was just one thing he wanted to know: what the hell was the Great Spirit?

Everything was proceeding according to the Minister’s plan! The Home would soon be history!

Lieutenant Alicia Farrow smiled, her white teeth a sharp contrast to the inky night. Her luminous watch indicated the time was 15 minutes past midnight. In another 15 minutes the demolition team would come over the west wall, and she must be there to greet them. She had crept from B Block 10 minutes ago, and now was poised at the foot of the stairs leading from the inner bank of the moat to the rampart. The wooden stairs were located a few feet south of the closed drawbridge. She cautiously climbed the steps, scanning the rampart, searching for the Warrior on duty. She knew Omega Triad was scheduled, and she expected to find Ares manning the west wall as was his custom.

A dark form moved to her right, directly over the drawbridge.

Farrow squinted. It was a Warrior, patrolling the rampart. But something was wrong. The figure wasn’t tall enough to be Ares. It was definitely a man, which ruled out Helen. And it lacked a hat, eliminating Sundance because he always wore a black sombrero.

So who the hell was it?

Farrow reached the top of the stairs and stopped, perplexed. The figure was gone! One instant it had been there, the next it had vanished! Had whoever it was seen her? Was he—

“Hello, Alicia.”

Farrow gripped the rail to keep from plunging into the moat. Her senses were swimming. Not. him! It couldn’t be him!

But it was.

Yama materialized beside her, his Wilkinson in his right hand. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said softly. “You haven’t spoken a word to me all day.”

Farrow tried to speak but couldn’t. Her mouth refused to respond.

“What did I do to upset you?” Yama asked.

“What are yow doing here?” Farrow exclaimed.

“I have the night shift,” Yama responded.

“But Ares is supposed to be here,” Farrow asserted. “Omega Triad has wall duty tonight.”

“I know,” Yama said. “But Ares isn’t feeling too well. The Review Board cleared him, but he’s still upset. He’s been moping around B Block since it happened. I offered to fill in for him tonight.”

“Oh no!” Farrow said.

Yama moved closer. “What’s wrong? Did you want to see Ares?”

“No,” Farrow replied. “I expected him to be here, is all.”

“I don’t understand,” Yama stated. “You didn’t want to see Ares, but you expected him to be here?”

“Yeah,” Farrow said nervously. “I wanted some fresh air, so I climbed up here. I knew Ares was on duty, but I didn’t want to run into him. See?”

“Hmmmm,” was all Yama said.

Now what was she going to do? Farrow knew the demolition team would arrive at any minute. And the first thing they would do after scaling the wall would be to snuff Yama. Yama! He was a lowlife, but she still felt affection for him. The prospect of his death was profoundly upsetting.

“If you’d rather be alone, I’ll leave,” Yama offered.

“No!” Farrow blurted out. She frantically racked her brain for a solution. If she could get him off the wall! “Care to walk along the moat with me?”

“You know I can’t leave my post,” Yama said.

Farrow saw him look from side to side, then stare at her. She squirmed uncomfortably, emotionally distraught.

“Stay here,” Yama directed. He turned and moved to the middle of the rampart.

What was he doing?

“What are you doing?”

Yama didn’t answer. She heard a scratching sound, and a lantern abruptly lit up the central section of the rampart. Yama was next to the lantern, blowing on a match.

Farrow hurried over to the Warrior. “Why’d you do that?”

The lantern was suspended from an iron hook imbedded in the lip of the rampart, just below the strands of barbed wire encircling the entire walled compound. Its flickering light played over his silver hair and mustache as he slowly turned to face her. His blue eyes bored into her. “I wanted to see you clearly,” he said.

“But isn’t it dangerous,” she protested, “having the lantern on this way?

Anyone out there,” and she waved at the surrounding forest, “could see you.”

Yama shrugged. “I doubt anyone is out there. Few people would be abroad in the woods at night. It’s too hazardous.”

Farrow fidgeted, repeatedly glancing at the tree line.

“Is something wrong?” Yama asked.

“I’m fine!” Farrow responded, her tone edgy.

“Come with me,” Yama said. He took her by the left forearm and led her to the left, away from the lantern, to the stairs. He stopped on the upper step, both of them now shrouded in semi-darkness.

“What are you doing?” Farrow inquired.

“We’re going to stand here for a while and enjoy the night sky,” Yama told her.