David Robbins - Denver Run

“Then what is it?” Blade asked quietly.

“Why did you become a Warrior in the first place?” Rikki inquired, and then proceeded to answer his own query. “You became a Warrior because you felt the Spirit was guiding you to use your skills to protect our Family. Am I right?”

Blade nodded.

“You can’t stand the thought of any of our loved ones coming to harm, and you have devoted your life to insuring they can live in peace, free from the constant fear of being attacked, of being injured or killed. Am I right?”

Rikki asked again.

“I became a Warrior for the same reason you became a Warrior,” Blade said. “And the same reason Hickok, Geronimo, Yama, Spartacus, and all the rest became Warriors. The Spirit blessed us with certain unique talents, and we’ve decided to use our talents to protect the Family.”

“True,” Rikki conceded, “but in your case I think it goes deeper than that.”

“I don’t follow you,” Blade commented.

“Don’t you?” Rikki studied Blade’s features. “Let me put it to you another way. Hickok, like ourselves, is a Warrior.”

“One of the best the Family has,” Blade noted.

“I concur,” Rikki said. “But if one of our Family was killed by a scavenger or a mutate, how do you think Hickok would react?”

Blade didn’t have to formulate a response; he automatically knew the answer. “Hickok would seek out the scavenger or mutate and blow it away.”

“Precisely,” Rikki agreed. “And how do you think Hickok would feel about the departed Family member?”

“He’d be upset about it, naturally,” Blade responded.

“Naturally. But he wouldn’t dwell on the death. He wouldn’t blame himself for what had happened.”

“So?”

“So there is the difference between Hickok and you,” Rikki elaborated.

“Hickok, and the rest of the Warriors, would accept the reality and inevitability of the death. All of us, Blade, die. Sooner or later, the Grim Reaper catches up with all of us. Our Elders have taught us to view death as the technique for passing on from this world to one of the mansions on high. Death is a step in our spiritual growth. All of us have accepted this fact, all of us except you.”

“I know we all die,” Blade said testily.

“But you don’t accept the act of dying,” Rikki remarked. “You blame yourself when others die, even if you can not prevent them from dying.”

Rikki paused. “It isn’t the responsibility of leadership you fear. It’s the prospect of others dying because of your fallibility. You’ve always been hard on yourself when it came to making mistakes. You dread the fact others might die because of one of your mistakes. It’s not the responsibility,” Rikki reiterated, “not the mistake itself, but the dying you can’t tolerate.”

Blade gazed at the ground, his brow furrowed as he contemplated Rikki’s words.

“I may be taking a stab in the dark,” Rikki went on, “but I think it has something to do with your father.”

Blade’s head snapped up. “My father?”

“Your father was killed about four years ago by one of the Doktor’s monstrosities,” Rikki said. “This next may be too personal, and I apologize in advance if I’m overstepping my bounds, but I wonder if you’ve ever come to grips with your father’s death. I wonder if you blame yourself because you weren’t with him that day, because you weren’t there to stop that mountain lion from slaying your father. I wonder if the shock of your father’s death hurt you so much, affected you so profoundly, you can’t face the likelihood of other loved ones passing on. You don’t want to be caught in such a situation again. It’s ironic, isn’t it? You’re a Warrior, and you dispense death to anyone or anything threatening our Family. But you can’t accept the act of dying. You can dish it out, Blade, but you can’t take it.”

Blade averted his eyes. He turned and watched the column begin its climb up the hill.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” Rikki offered.

Blade didn’t respond.

“Don’t take what I’ve said too seriously,” Rikki suggested.

Blade mumbled a few words.

“What did you say?” Rikki asked.

“I said,” Blade stated heavily, “you were right on the mark. It’s about time I owned up to it. I never did adjust to my father’s death. I’ve even had nightmares about it. I…” He hesitated, his voice lowering. “I loved my father very much.”

“Healing takes time,” Rikki observed. “When you can face up to your father’s death,” he predicted, “you’ll be able to accept your destiny as Leader of the Family.”

Blade glanced at Rikki, his features downcast. “I pray you’re right.” His eyes conveyed his inner torment. “Dear Spirit, how I pray you’re right!”

“It looks like wimpy is finally comin’ around,” the gunfighter declared.

The trooper groaned and slowly opened his brown eyes. For a moment, he stared around in confusion at the interior of the truck cab. “Where am I?” he wanted to know.

“You don’t remember?” Geronimo prodded him.

The soldier was confused. He was seated in a troop transport, wedged between an Indian on his right and a man in buckskins driving the vehicle, on his left.

“Come on, Arthur Mitchell,” the blond man said. “Don’t tell me you’ve plumb forgotten our little chitchat already?”

In a rush, Mitchell recalled everything. The gunman. Brandon and Telford. The Family. The Warriors. The revolver barrel pressed against his nose. “I’m still alive!” he exclaimed in amazement.

“This boy is bright,” Hickok quipped.

“You didn’t shoot me?” Mitchell queried in astonishment.

“What was your first clue?” Hickok retorted, chuckling.

“I thought I was dead!” Mitchell marveled.

“Hickok turned the barrel aside at the last instant,” Geronimo explained.

“But what happened?” Mitchell asked.

“You went and fainted,” Hickok informed the trooper.

“I fainted?”

“Dropped like a rock,” Hickok said.

“I don’t get it,” Mitchell remarked, bewildered. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I ain’t partial to blowin’ away wet-nosed kids,” Hickok mentioned.

“I’m not a kid!” Mitchell bristled. “You aren’t much older than I am.

What are you, twenty-five?”

“Thereabouts,” the gunman admitted.

Mitchell glanced at Geronimo. “But they told us you would kill us. They said you’ve murdered woman and children.”

“You can’t believe everything you’re told,” Geronimo said. “You always have to consider the source, and if they might have an ulterior motive.”

“But you shot Brandon and Telford,” Mitchell stated lamely.

“Give me a break!” Hickok rejoined. “They were aimin’ to put holes in my new buckskin shirt. My missus would have a fit!”

“You’re married?” Mitchell’s mouth fell open.

“Didn’t you see the ball and chain on my left leg?” Hickok responded.

Mitchell gazed at the highway ahead, scarcely noticing the scenery they passed as the troop transport lumbered along at 40 miles an hour. “I’m so confused!” he muttered.

“While you’re tryin’ to collect your marbles,” Hickok said, “I’m gonna give you the rules.”

“Rules?” Mitchell stared at the gunman.

“Yep. In case you ain’t noticed, we didn’t bother to tie you up. But I gotta warn you, just in case you get an itch to make a break for it, that Geronimo and I can take care of ourselves real good, with or without our irons. We may not be Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, but we can—”

“Who?” Mitchell interrupted.

“Rikki-Tikki-Tavi,” Geronimo replied. “He’s a fellow Warrior.”