David Robbins - Citadel Run

“I still say you should shoot it off!” mentioned the Horn.

Hickok shot him a nasty look, then reapplied himself to the crowbar.

His sinewy muscles strained and strained, to no avail.

“Blasted lock!” Hickok muttered.

“Anyone have a deck of cards?” Geronimo asked.

Hickok leaned on the crowbar again.

“Here,” offered someone behind him. “Let me try.”

The gunman stood aside as Blade grabbed the crowbar in both huge hands.

“Be careful!” Joshua admonished, standing a few feet behind Blade.

“You’ll start that wound bleeding again!”

Blade pressed on the crowbar, his arms bulging with power. For a moment, it appeared as if the crowbar itself would snap in half.

“You can do it!” Bear said goading him on.

Blade grunted as he applied additional strength, gritting his teeth from the strenuous effort.

With a sharp metallic clang, the padlock snapped, the crowbar slipping as the padlock broke almost causing Blade to slip and fall.

Hickok caught his friend by the back of his belt and jerked him erect.

“That’s what you get for showing off!”

Blade flung the gate open. “All right! Listen up! I want all of you to form around those trucks, and I mean right now! Move it!”

The Nomads, Porns, and Horns immediately complied as Blade, Hickok, and Joshua stepped to one side. They were joined by Geronimo, Zahner, Bear, and a strangely quiet Bertha.

“Where is Reverend Paul?” Joshua inquired of Zahner.

“Dead,” Zahner informed him.

Joshua seemed shocked by the news. “How tragic,” he said sadly. “I liked him a lot. Who is the head of the Horns now?”

“I don’t think they’ve had time to select one,” Zahner revealed. “You might look up Brother Timothy. He was second in command under Paul.”

“I’ll do that now,” Joshua said, and departed.

Hickok, continuing to avoid Bertha’s probing gaze, nudged Geronimo.

“You’d better come with me, pard.”

“Where are we going?” Geronimo asked as he followed on the gunfighter’s heels.

“Blade says our guns and your tomahawk are in that tent over there,” Hickok said. “I don’t know about you, but the sooner I have my Henry back in my hands, the better I’ll feel.”

Zahner faced Blade. “What do you want us to do?”

“I’ll let you know in just a bit,” Blade replied, moving toward the trucks.

“Wait for me,” Zahner stated, and left with him.

Bertha and Bear remained behind.

Bear glanced at her, reading the sorrow in her face. “Well, what did you expect, babe? He’d throw his arms around you and give you a big kiss?”

“Somethin’ like that,” Bertha confessed.

“I kept tellin’ you not to wait for him,” Bear mentioned. “I told you no white boy is gonna fall in love with you.”

“It’s not that,” Bertha said slowly, reflectively. “Somethin’ is bothering him. I can tell.”

Bear snorted derisively. “Listen to me, woman, and listen real good.

Hickok ain’t for you. Don’t get me wrong. I like that honky. I like him a lot.

But I know he isn’t the one for you. And sooner or later you’re gonna wake up to the fact too. When you do, old Bear will be here if you need me. You know how I feel about you, and nothin’ will ever change that.” He placed his right hand on her left shoulder and gently squeezed. “I can see you’re in for a bad fall, and I want you to know I’ll catch you if you want.”

Bertha managed a wan smile. “Thanks, Bear. I appreciate it. Believe me, you’ll be the first to know if I get serious about you. Right now I’ve got me some heavy thinkin’ to do.”

“I understand,” Bear sympathized. He detected a movement out of the corner of his right eye and turned. “Say! Look at that! Blade is on top of one of those trucks. What’s he doin’?”

Blade was perched on the canvas roof of the first troop transport, his arms raised over his head, the Commando and the A-1 both slung over separate shoulders.

Hickok and Geronimo, their weapons reclaimed, stood below their Triad leader.

“Your attention!” Blade shouted at the assembled mass. “Listen up! This is important!” He waited for the crowd to quiet, then resumed. “I believe all of you know who I am and the reason my friends and I are here. We promised we would lead you out of the Twin Cities to a place of safety. Orginally, we intended to conduct the exodus in the spring, when the weather would be nicer. Also, it would have given us time to prepare, to set aside extra food and other supplies to make your transition easier. Now that is all changed. Now it’s impossible.” He paused to insure they were paying attention. Everyone was riveted on his every word. “You saw what the soldiers from the Civilized Zone did to your relatives and friends today. You may know they were planning to take all of you to a place near Denver called a Reabsorption Center and enslave you. Do you want that to happen?” he asked.

Perhaps half of the throng responded with a desultory negative.

Blade scanned the people below him. “Listen!” he snapped. “My friends and I risked our lives for you! If you want to stay in the Twin Cities, that’s fine with us! But if you don’t, I need to know now! So I’ll ask you again. Do you want the soldiers to take you into the Civilized Zone? Do you want to live under a dictator? Do you want someone else telling you what you can do and when you should do it? Do you?”

This time, the reaction was thunderous. “No! No! No!”

Blade waved for silence. “Good! Then pay attention! A lot of the Army troopers got away. They may return by themselves, or they could radio for reinforcements. Either way, we can’t stay here any longer. We could try to hold them off, but our supplies are limited. They’d eventually overrun us. There isn’t a place in the Twin Cities where we’d be safe. So here is what I propose. I say we pack ourselves into these trucks and head for our Home, for the place where Hickok, Geronimo, Joshua, and I come from. There are some small towns nearby. I guarantee you that my Family will do everything in its power to aid you in resettling. It won’t be easy. Food will be scarce on the trip there, and the winter ahead will undoubtedly be rough. But my Family will see to it you have a roof over your head, and well share our food with you and help you in killing game. In the spring, we’ll show you how to grow enough food to feed yourselves. So what will it be? Do we go?”

The night rocked with the chorus of “Go! Go! Go!”

“Good!” Blade yelled when they quieted. “Here’s what I want you to do.”

He hesitated. “First, who’s in charge of the Horns now that Reverend Paul is dead? I was told that Brother Timothy is the leader now.”

“I am,” a man in black cried out, a thin man with a thick beard. Joshua was standing next to him.

“Okay.” Blade pointed to the right. “Timothy, I want you to have all your people form over there. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He looked down and spotted Zahner at the front of the assemblage. “Zahner, have your people gather over there.” He pointed to the left.

“Will do,” Zahner said.

“Where’s Bear?” Blade demanded.

“Right here!” Bear shouted from near the stockade.

“Get the Porns together right there,” Blade ordered, indicating directly in front of the trucks. “Let’s go! Time is critical!”

“What do you want us to do?” Hickok inquired, looking up.

“After they’ve formed into their respective groups,” Blade directed, “go to each one and take five men from each. Then scour this field and collect all the arms and ammunition you find. Don’t miss a thing. Be sure and get those machine guns from the sentry towers still standing. Pile the weapons near the SEAL. We’ll divide them up equally among the three factions. Remember. We can’t afford to display any favoritism here. The slightest provocation could set them against each another.”