David Robbins: Citadel Run

“I recall it well,” Joshua stated.

“It may not make no nevermind to you, pard, being the spiritual type,” Hickok pointed out, “but when I heard that little bit of information, I thanked the Spirit I wasn’t born way back then. I couldn’t imagine not being allowed to strap on my Pythons whenever and wherever I wanted.”

The gunman frowned. “From what Plato told me, those folks back then were near regulated to death. They had more laws than a mangy dog has fleas! And why do you reckon it was that way? I’ll tell you. Plato said there were two big reasons for all those laws. First, the folks back then suffered from a pitiful lack of self-control and discipline. They might have everything in the world they could possibly want, but guess what? They always wanted more. The parents and the kids were all the same. They thought life owed them a living. They thought they could do pretty much as they pleased, and half of them didn’t follow half of the laws most of the time anyway. But the leaders kept slappin’ on more and more laws to compensate for the absence of self-control on the part of the people.”

Hickok stopped and looked at Geronimo. “Any sign of movement out there?”

“Nothing,” Geronimo answered, his eyes constantly sweeping their surroundings. “You keep talking. This history lesson of yours is… fascinating.”

“The second reason for all the laws was the quality of leadership they had,” Hickok continued. “Plato says they didn’t select their leaders based on which one was the wisest, like we do. They voted in leaders based on which one had the cutest smile, the best clothes, or just a name they liked.

Plato says they were actually paying these mediocre types thousands and thousands of dollars a year to make laws, and you can bet, when someone’s being paid that much money to make laws, that’s exactly what they’re going to do, whether laws need to be made or not…”

“Say, Blade,” Geronimo interjected, “do you suppose we could ask Plato to permit Hickok to teach American History after we return to the Home?”

The gunman disregarded the sarcasm. “One last thing, Josh. You mentioned something about people back then not trying to kill you every chance they got. Well, pard, they didn’t have to kill you, because back then they had other, subtler, ways of gettin’ you. The ones in control, the ones with all the power, found it real easy to dominate the ordinary folks, what with all the laws they passed. The power-mongers could break you into tiny pieces, could take your home from you and even your own family, and do it all proper and legal-like, and there was nothing you could do about it. Folks back then were forced to conform—to fit into a dictated social mold, as Plato called it—whether they liked the idea or not. Oh, sure, they could buy all the things they wanted, and live in a fancy home, and have kids and all, but only so long as they payed their taxes on time and obeyed all the laws. But try to be different, try to be unique, try to be your own person, and they’d pounce on you quicker than a fox on a rabbit.” Hickok shook his head. “No, sir. You can have those times. I’m plumb tickled to be living right here and now!”

Joshua stared out his window, reflecting on the gun-fighter’s words.

“You know,” Geronimo chimed in, “I think that’s the longest speech I’ve ever heard you give.”

“I was a mite long-winded,” Hickok acknowledged.

“What worries me,” Geronimo said gravely, “is that it actually made sense! What do you think. Blade?”

“What worries me,” Blade replied, “is that no one has shown up yet. The Nomads had to hear the gunshots. We’re not that far from their camp. Why hasn’t someone come? What’s going on?”

“Why don’t we mosey on over to their camp and take a look-see?” Hickok suggested.

“I love a man who has a way with words,” Geronimo said, chuckling.

“Hickok has the right idea,” Blade said. “We’re here to let these people know the Family has agreed to assist in relocating them in a town near our Home and to help them organize for their departure in the spring. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can all get back to the Home and our wives.”

“I’m for that!” Geronimo heartily assented.

Blade started the SEAL and drove slowly forward, on the alert for any more Wacks. He was becoming increasingly disturbed by the absence of people, with the notable exception of the Wacks. What had happened?

They should have seen someone by now!

As he drove, Blade reminisced. He remembered Hickok and Joshua promising the leaders of the Nomads, the Porns, and the Horns that they would return in a month with word on whether the Elders had accepted the relocation proposal. So what if they were a month or so late? Surely the leaders would have understood and been patient about the delay?

The leaders.

Zahner was the leader of the Nomads, the group in control of northern Minneapolis. The Nomads numbered about two hundred, the smallest of the three main factions.

A man named Bear led the Porns, literally handed the leadership after Hickok had eliminated their former leader. Numbering six hundred or so, the Porns were the largest group, but compared to the Nomads and the Horns, they were the least organized.

The Horns were headed by Reverend Paul, with approximately four hundred followers based in St. Paul. The men always dressed in black, the women were inevitably modestly attired, and they all practiced a devout lifestyle as befitted their religious beliefs.

The exact population of Wacks was unknown, as was the identity of their new leader, if they had one. Blade had seen their last chief consumed by a mutated monstrosity.

“Do you think it’s possible,” Geronimo speculated, “the truce broke down, that the sides are at war again?”

“Could be,” Hickok concurred. “We took too blasted long getting back here!”

“It wasn’t our fault,” Blade noted. “The Kalispell thing came up, and then Geronimo had that spot of trouble in South Dakota.”

“It’s good the Kalispell thing did come up,” Geronimo added.

“Otherwise, we might never have found the medical and scientific items Plato needed. As it is, because we did locate the equipment in Kalispell, we won’t need to bother looking here in the Twin Cities. We can concentrate on the matter at hand and get to the Home that much faster.”

“What do you intend to do about Bertha?” Blade asked Hickok.

“I thought we dropped that subject earlier,” the gunman said bristling.

“I’m only asking as your friend,” Blade emphasized. “You know that.”

“Reckon I do,” Hickok grumbled, “but I still wish everybody would stop bringing her up. Fact is, I’m not sure how to handle her. I’ve never had a problem like this before, and I sure as blazes never want one like it again.

“Suit yourself,” Blade said.

Hickok lapsed into moody silence, contemplating his problem. How the dickens was he going to tell a woman who loved him, Bertha, that while he was gone he had up and married another woman? With Bertha’s personality and temperament, she might put a knife into his gut out of sheer spite!

How’d he ever get into this blasted fix?

Alpha Triad had rescued Bertha from some soldiers stationed in Thief River Falls. Bertha, a resident of the Twin Cities and one of the Nomads, had tried to find an escape route from the former metropolis. The soldiers from the Civilized Zone—the Watchers, as the people in the Twin Cities referred to them—had had the city bottled up, with troops stationed at strategic points along all the primary arteries. Zahner, the Nomad leader, had sent Bertha, one of his best fighters, to attempt to locate a way out of the Twin Cities and away from the incessant warfare among the different groups. She had been captured by the soldiers and was being held at Thief River Falls when Alpha Triad had saved her. Refusing to return to the Twins, she had gone with Alpha Triad back to their Home. Later, she had changed her mind and accompanied the Warriors and Joshua on their initial foray into the Twin Cities. She had been injured and Hickok had last seen her lying in a tent, bandaged, recovering from her wound but emotionally distraught over his aloofness.