David Robbins - Citadel Run

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Lynx stated.

“Oh?” the creature replied.

“I knew you were on my trail, Shep,” Lynx said. “Out of all of ’em, you’re the only one who could have caught up with me.”

Shep crouched and moved forward. “You didn’t make it easy, I’ll grant you that.”

“You wouldn’t want to let us pass and forget you ever saw us, would you?” Lynx queried hopefully.

“You know better than that!” Shep retorted. “I’m going to hold you here until the others catch up. They sent me ahead because my nose is the best there is.”

“Next to mine,” Lynx disputed him.

Shep glared at Yama. “Tell this fool to drop his weapons, Lynx, or he’ll never know what hit him.”

Lynx stepped between the Warrior and the approaching Shep.

“I don’t require assistance,” Yama informed Lynx.

“Yes, you do,” Lynx said, never looking at Yama. “The Doc designed our bodies with a special attribute called accelerated repair. It’s next to impossible to waste us unless you score a direct hit on the brain or heart. You might get Shep, but it would take a while and we don’t have the time to spare. Shep is all mine, chuckles.”

Shep smiled. “I was hopin’ you’d resist, runt! I never did like your ugly puss much!”

“The feeling is mutual,” Lynx rejoined.

Yama, about to raise the Wilkinson and aim at Shep’s head, was too slow.

With guttural growls, the two G.R.D.’s hurtled at one another.

There was an unwanted delay in their departure from the Twin Cities.

At first, everything had gone their way. They had found spare gasoline cans in one of the trucks and two dozen crates containing canned food.

Blade had distributed the weapons collected from the fallen soldiers equally among the three factions. Troop transport assignments had been made, with an average of thirty-three people per transport. They were all set to take off.

That’s when the problem arose.

“Who’s going to drive the trucks?” Zahner asked as the people were waiting for the word to load into the transports.

“Can’t some of them drive?” Blade inquired in disbelief.

“Be serious,” Zahner said. “Where would we learn to drive? There isn’t a functional vehicle left in the Twin Cities.”

Blade, stymied and chafing at the postponement of their run to the Home, called an executive meeting of the leaders and the Warriors. After a brief debate, it was decided each of the leaders, Zahner, Bear, and Brother Timothy, would drive a truck, as would Joshua. Bertha was offered an opportunity but obstinately declined. With four of the troop transports accounted for, Blade instructed the leaders to each select four of their most trusted lieutenants for driving duty.

Zahner, Bear, and Brother Timothy left to make their picks.

“Will we be riding in the trucks or in the SEAL?” Geronimo inquired.

“We’ll stay in the SEAL,” Blade answered. “We’ll roam up and down the convoy, help any stragglers, and watch out for soldiers.”

“I made a head count of the bodies,” Hickok mentioned. “If my math is up to snuff, about thirty of the troopers wimped out and ran off. That doesn’t include those three jeeps you said Jarvis told you about.”

“Thirty soldiers and three jeeps,” Blade repeated, his brow furrowed.

“They could jump us anytime, but my guess is they’ll try and prevent us from leaving the Twin Cities or restrain us here until reinforcements arrive. I don’t like it. Hickok, take ten armed men and establish a lookout post on the highway. If those jeeps come at us, that’s probably the way they’ll come. If you see anything, send someone on the run and let me know.”

“You got it, pard,” Hickok said, hefting his Henry as he moved toward a nearby crowd. “What will you be doing while I’m gone?”

“Geronimo and I will be teaching the drivers how to operate the troop transports,” Blade disclosed, “which should be real interesting because neither of us have any practical experience with a manual transmission.”

“Take your time,” Hickok advised. “We’ll hold the road.” He ambled to the mixed group standing alongside the tent. “I need some volunteers!” he announced, and proceeded to designate the ten he required. “To the road!” he directed, waving them in the proper direction.

“What are we going to do?” a Horn wanted to know.

“We’re goin’ snipe hunting,” Hickok revealed.

“We’re what?”

“We’re gonna keep our peepers peeled for unwanted company,” Hickok elaborated.

They were twenty yards from the tent when a woman’s voice rose behind them.

“White Meat! Wait for me!”

“Uh-oh,” Hickok said under his breath. He grinned at the men with him. “Why don’t you go on ahead. I’ll be with you in a sec. Keep your eyes out for anything unusual.”

Several of the men nodded their comprehension and they all walked toward the road.

Hickok took a deep breath and turned.

Bertha was only feet away, smiling, watching him uncertainly as she approached. An M-16 was slung over her right shoulder.

“Howdy, Black Beauty,” Hickok greeted her, using his pet name for her.

“I figured we needed to do some heavy talkin’,” she said bluntly. “Now’s a good a time as any.”

“Blade wanted me to stand guard on the highway,” Hickok stated lamely.

“It can’t wait.” Bertha paused, locking her eyes on his. “I need to get something straight in my head. It’s drivin’ me nuts!”

“What is it?” the gunman questioned.

“You know damn well what it is!” Bertha exclaimed bitterly. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague! Why? We don’t see each other for months, and I don’t even rate a hug when we finally do meet up. Why?”

“I…” Hickok began, before she cut him off.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think,” Bertha said. “I’ve thought about the last time we saw each other, and how you were actin’ so cold. A real fish. Remember?”

“Yes, but…”

“After I talked with Bear I figured out why. You thought he and me was in tight. Am I right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Bear don’t mean nothin’ to me!” Bertha said, her tone softening. “He’s a good friend, but that’s it. Yeah, I know he’s got the hots for me, but it ain’t a two-way street. Do you see where I’m comin’ from?”

“I think so, but…”

“But now that I’ve seen you again,” Bertha said interrupting one more time, “I think Bear ain’t the reason you’re actin’ so strange. What is it, White Meat? Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth. I’ve been dumped on before. It’s the story of my life. So? What is it? I got to know!”

Hickok placed his right arm around her shoulders, his sad blue eyes reflecting his inner emotional turmoil. “I’m sorry I avoided you,” he said softly. “You know me. It isn’t my style to run from anything in this world, but I didn’t know how to tell you and not hurt your feelings.”

“I knew it!” Bertha said sorrowfully. “I just knew it! You don’t care about me the way I care about you! Am I right?”

“That’s part of it,” Hickok admitted. “I do care for you, Black Beauty, but as a real close friend.”

“I don’t believe it!” Bertha exclaimed. “You feel about me the same way I feel about Bear! I guess the joke’s on me!” She gazed tenderly into his eyes. “But it ain’t the end of the world! It means I still have a chance!

Somewhere down the road you and I could still be an item! Right?”

“Wrong,” Hickok blurted out, and then he mentally berated his stupidity.

“Wrong? Why wrong?” Bertha demanded.