David Robbins - Citadel Run

“Are you okay?” Blade asked.

“Fine,” Hickok answered.

Geronimo nudged Rat’s corpse with his right foot. “He give you any problems?”

“Piece of cake,” Hickok replied. “How about you? Finish off those soldier boys?”

“We got them all,” Blade said, “then heard your shot and came running.” He paused. “We can’t waste any time. Take ten more men and watch the road. We’re leaving here in an hour no matter what.”

Bertha came running up to them.

“We’ve got to get back,” Blade stated, leading Geronimo off.

Hickok faced Bertha, reading the concern on her features, the affection in her eyes. “No hard feelings?” he inquired.

Bertha shook her head, suppressing the inexpressionable sadness she felt in her heart. “No hard feelings,” she acknowledged.

Hickok offered his right hand. “Shake on it?”

Her hand was damp as she gripped his and shook.

“Let’s head back,” he suggested.

They moved toward the tent in silence, Hickok experiencing a peculiar sense of remorse.

“Just you remember one thing,” Bertha finally spoke up, grinning devilishly.

“What’s that?”

“If you and your wife ever have a fallin’ out,” she vowed, “I’m gonna be on you like flies on garbage!”

“Remind me to talk to you about your analogies sometime.”

Nineteen miles northwest of the Cheyenne Citadel, resting that night after spending hours packing for their departure the next day, Adam Mason and his father and mother were relaxing on their front porch.

“I wish we didn’t have to leave our home,” Gail said, sorrow tinging her every word.

“We’ve been all through that,” Seth replied. “We don’t have any other choice. The Government will find us anywhere in the Civilized Zone. Yama is our only hope.”

“If he returns,” Gail retorted.

“He will,” Adam chipped in. “I know he will.”

“You hardly know the man, son,” Gail rejoined. “None of us really know him, and yet we’re all set to trust him with our very lives.”

“We don’t have any choice,” Seth reiterated.

“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Gail said.

Adam rose and stretched. “Don’t worry so much, Mom,” he advised.

“Yama will take good care of us. He’ll return. You’ll see.”

“I hope he hasn’t run into any trouble in the Citadel,” Seth commented.

“Yama can take real good care of himself,” Adam asserted. “You saw that. Nothing can kill him.”

Gail Mason suddenly cocked her head to one side, listening. “Shhhhh! Be quiet! Do you hear it?”

“I hear it,” Seth corroborated.

“So do I,” Adam ineterjected. “What is it?”

“Sounds like thunder,” Gail mentioned.

“That’s funny,” Seth said. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”

Adam, trying to get a fix on the distant rumbling, walked to the southern tip of the porch. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Come look at this!”

Seth and Gail hurried to the end of the porch.

“Dear Lord!” Gail cried.

The southeastern horizon was lit by a brilliant fireball.

“What is it?” Adam asked.

“I don’t know,” Seth admitted, “but whatever it is, I think it’s coming from the Citadel.”

Adam gazed at his parents with frightened, dilated eyes. “Could it be Yama?”

Neither one answered.

The attack, while it may have been anticipated, came from a completely unexpected source and caught them off guard and unprepared.

The convoy, embracing sixteen transports, one slightly shot-up jeep, and the SEAL, was two days out of the Twin Cities and stopped for an afternoon break at Floyd Lake, just east of Highway 59. The SEAL was parked near the water as Alpha Triad snacked on smoked venison and fresh water.

“I don’t like it,” Blade said to the others between mouthfuls. “We’re making too many stops. We should have been much further by now.”

“What did you expect with all the women and children along?”

Geronimo countered. “Children need potty breaks more often than adults, and water is essential.”

“I know,” Blade acknowledged. “It’s just that I have this uncomfortable feeling between my shoulder blades, like we’re being watched or something is about to happen. I can’t shake it.”

“You’re not the only one,” Hickok disclosed. “I can’t understand why the blasted Army hasn’t hit us yet. They’ve had plenty of opportunity. We didn’t even see one measly soldier in Detroit Lakes, and we know they were using it as a monitoring post once. What’s going on?”

“I wish I knew,” Blade stated. “I’m responsible for the lives of all these people, and I don’t mind telling you that this waiting is making me a bit antsy.”

“We’ve got company,” Geronimo mentioned.

Zahner and Bertha were strolling toward them. Bertha had opted to ride with Zahner.

“How much longer will we stay here?” Zahner inquired as the duo reached the Warriors.

“Until everyone has eaten and gone to the bathroom,” Blade revealed. “I intend to drive as far as we can tonight. The sooner we reach our Home, the safer I’ll feel.”

Bertha leaned against the SEAL and playfully winked at Hickok. The gunman pretended he hadn’t seen it, so she idly watched some white, fluffy clouds float by overhead.

“Any ideas why the Army hasn’t tried to stop us yet?” Zahner questioned them.

“We were just talking about that,” Blade replied. “Your guess is as good as ours.”

“Hey!” Bertha interrupted, pointing skyward. “Look at that!”

They all peered in the direction she was indicating and saw a bright pinpoint of light high in the sky.

“I learned about them when I was in Montana,” Blade detailed. “They’re called satellites and the Civilized Zone utilizes them to spy on other communities and towns. There are a few still up there, orbiting the planet, left over from before the Big Blast. That’s what that thing is. A satellite.”

“Don’t you remember?” Geronimo reminded them.

“We saw one before, on our first run to the Twin Cities. I even heard it.”

Zahner chuckled. “You can’t hear a satellite.”

“What? How do you know?” Blade demanded.

“I don’t know a lot about them,” Zahner readily admitted, “but I can remember talking with my dad, years and years ago, about the technology they had before World War Three. He mentioned satellites. Said they circle the earth way up there. Way, way up there. No way could you hear one.”

Geronimo, perplexed, was watching the spot of light in the blue sky. It was growing larger. “But I can hear that one,” he said disputing Zahner.

“So can I,” Hickok attested.

“I can too,” Zahner confirmed. “Funny, though. I know my dad told me you can’t hear a satellite with the human ear.”

Blade was staring at the growing sphere of light. Was Zahner correct?

Was it impossible to hear satellites? Why, he chided himself, hadn’t he bothered to research satellites in the Family Library after he had returned from Montana?

The light abruptly arced downward, accompanied by a raucous screeching.

At that instant, Blade abruptly recalled a book in the Library dealing with the history of aviation. One photograph, in particular, stood out vividly in his mind, and he knew, then, what it was. He knew it wasn’t a satellite, it wasn’t a harmless contrivance used for high altitude reconnaissance. It was something different, something deadly, a relic from the past sent to deliver a message of destruction from Samuel the Second.

It was a jet.