David Robbins - Armageddon Run

Rikki smiled. “You see a contradiction there?”

“It just puzzles me, is all,” Kilrane said. “I mean, I believe in God. I may not know what God is like, but I’m smart enough to know there is one. But you Warriors! You’re something else! Everybody—the Moles, the Clan, and my people— all believe the Warriors are the deadliest folks alive. Yet, at the same time, I’ve never met anybody as religious as you Warriors. Your whole Family is the same way. What gives?”

“Can you read?” Rikki inquired.

“Yep. My parents taught me. I own some books,” Kilrane said proudly.

With the demise of civilization outside the Civilized Zone, public education had become a thing of the past. Being able to read had become a badge of social distinction.

“Have you ever read any books on the philosophy of the samurai?”

Rikki asked.

“The what?”

Rikki opted for another tack. “Ever read the Holy Bible?”

“Parts of it,” Kilrane disclosed.

“The parts about Samson or David or any of the other warriors mentioned in the Old Testament?”

“Wasn’t David the dude with the slingshot?” Kilrane queried.

“David was the dude,” Rikki affirmed. “Well, the members of my Family, and in particular the Warriors, subscribe to a philosophy very similar to David’s and Samson’s.”

“I don’t follow you,” Kilrane confessed.

“Let me put it this way,” Rikki said. “Imagine there are two groups of people left in the world. One group is very savage. They kill everyone else they meet. They want to conquer the whole world. The other group is composed of kind, loving people. They are friendly to everyone they meet.

Now, I ask you, of the two groups, which one is the better group? Which one has the higher ideals? Which one would prefer peace to violence?”

“The second group,” Kilrane answered.

“But what will happen to this second group if they won’t defend themselves? What will happen to this second group if they offer their hands in friendship to the first group?”

Kilrane’s brow furrowed. “I’d say the first group would kill off the second group or enslave them.”

“Without a doubt,” Rikki stated. “The lesson learned is this: those who would practice the Golden Rule must be prepared to protect themselves, their children, and their higher culture, their ideals and their liberties, from those who do not live by the Golden Rule. All the members of my Family, from infancy, are impressed with the wisdom of perceiving the reality of our Spirit Maker. We also know what the world outside the walls of our Home is like. If we do not defend ourselves, we will be wiped out.

We can’t permit that to happen. The Warriors are pledged to insure it never does. We would give our very lives to preserve our Family. Do you understand now?”

“I think so,” Kilrane said.

A man with an awesome physique approached them from below. He was dressed all in blue, in a unique seamless garment with an ebony silhouette of a skull stitched on his broad back. He had short silver hair and a drooping silver mustache. In his right hand was a Wilkinson “Terry”

Carbine. Under his left arm was a Smith and Wesson Model 586

Distinguished Combat Magnum; under his right was a Browning Hi-Power 9-millimeter Automatic Pistol. Strapped to his waist was a curved scimitar.

“Yes, Yama?” Rikki inquired, knowing what was coming.

“The meal is completed,” Yama reported in his deep voice. “The horses are well rested, and the oil and gasoline levels in the vehicles have been checked. We are ready to depart whenever you are.”

Rikki sighed. So much for his meditation! “Then let’s get going,” he said. “We don’t want to be late. The consequences to our friends in Alpha Triad could prove fatal.” He stared toward the west. It wouldn’t be long, now. Not long at all.

Plato couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You are certain of this?” he demanded.

The woman standing in front of him nodded. She was a redhead with a ruddy complexion, an oval face, and calm hazel eyes. Although short in stature, she conveyed an impression of dignity and inner serenity. She wore a loose-fitting yellow dress in immaculate condition. Her name was Hazel, and she was the chief Family Empath, one of the six Family members blessed with psychic capabilities.

“There is no doubt,” Hazel said in her soft voice. “Joshua has left the Home.”

They were conversing only 15 feet from the drawbridge located in the middle of the western wall to the Home. This drawbridge was the only means of entering and leaving the 30-acre compound short of scaling the walls.

“Why would Joshua leave?” Plato asked. “Where would he go?”

Hazel’s maternal features became downcast. “We attempted to take a reading on him, without much success. We believe he is far to the southwest of the Home.”

“And his parents have no idea where he went?” Plato inquired.

“He apparently left without confiding in them or leaving a note,” Hazel replied. “It’s most uncharacteristic of him,” she noted.

“I agree,” Plato said. He nervously chewed on his lower lip. If only he hadn’t been so preoccupied with this Doktor business! He might have noticed Joshua was missing sooner! Spartacus had even mentioned something about it, hadn’t he?

“Don’t blame yourself,” Hazel said.

“Can you read my mind?” Plato asked, grinning.

“No,” Hazel responded. “We’re not able to do that. Yet. I didn’t need to read your mind to determine what you were just thinking. All it took was one look at your worried face.”

Plato turned and gazed fondly at the dozens of Family members, many of them children, playing in the open area between the concrete blocks to the east of the drawbridge. “I’m their Leader,” he remarked. “It is my responsibility to safeguard them from harm.”

“It would be impossible for you to keep track of all of them at all times,” Hazel commented.

“Why would Joshua do such a thing?” Annoyed, Plato smacked his right fist into his left palm. As if he didn’t have enough problems without Joshua pulling a stunt like this!

“Will you send someone to search for him?” Hazel inquired.

“I can’t,” Plato replied. “I can’t spare any of the Warriors to go after him. Six of them are off, about to engage the Doktor, if my strategy has attained fruition. The remaining nine Warriors must stay here to defend the Home should an emergency arise.”

Hazel could readily discern the turmoil raging in Plato’s soul. “Don’t fret over Joshua,” she said to calm his emotional upheaval. “The Spirit will guide him in whatever he is doing.”

“I should have seen this coming,” Plato said berating himself. “He was so quiet and reserved after his last trip to the Twin Cities. I should have realized he was upset and endeavored to discover the reason.”

“Joshua will be okay,” Hazel stressed.

“I hope so,” Plato declared. “I’ll never forgive myself if something happens to that boy.”

“What could happen?”

Joshua’s ears detected their coming long before he saw them.

He was seated at the base of the hill, near the highway, his body in the lotus position, his hands formed into a pyramid in his lap, worshiping.

The mare was in the sagebrush behind him.

The faint roar of powerful engines carried on the wind. Dozens of them, traveling north on U.S. Highway 85.

Joshua slowly opened his eyes and gazed up at the blue sky overhead.

The bright sun was well up; it was midmorning on the day after his arrival at the highway. The Doktor hadn’t kept him waiting long! To be expected, he told himself. The Cheyenne Citadel was only 170 miles or so south of Catlow. No more than a four- or five-hour drive, once the Doktor was aware Alpha Triad had taken the town.