David Robbins - Dakota Run

“I don’t see any more coming,” Kilrane observed, staring in the direction of the hole. “Should we make our break for it now?”

“I see no reason to wait,” Geronimo replied. “Besides, I never expected to end my days on this planet as ant fricassee.”

“But even if we do make it out,” Cynthia mentioned, “where will we go?

Without the horses we wouldn’t last very long.”

“Care to place a bet on how much longer we’d last down here?”

Geronimo queried.

Cynthia shook her head.

“Still no sign of any ants,” Kilrane commented.

“May the Great Spirit be with us,” Geronimo said, and slipped over the edge of the crevice.

The tunnel remained empty.

Geronimo crouched, the Marlin ready, and motioned for the others to follow him with his left hand.

Kilrane came next, his lariat in his right hand.

Cynthia took a deep breath and jumped to the floor of the tunnel.

“It must have taken considerable effort to get me up to that crack in the wall while unconscious,” Geronimo stated, looking at Kilrane.

“It was tough,” Kilrane admitted, grinning. “Maybe you should go on a diet in case we ever need to go through this again.”

“You can barely see the crevice from the crater,” Cynthia interjected. “If we…”

A distant twittering carried to their ears.

“An ant!” Cynthia exclaimed.

“It’s coming from down there,” Geronimo declared, pointing down the tunnel shaft.

“Do we go for it or climb back up?” Kilrane demanded.

“Go!” Geronimo suggested, already in motion, running for the exit opening twenty yards off.

Cynthia and Kilrane were on his heels as they raced along the tunnel and reached the bottom of the pit. The rim of the crater appeared impossibly far off, and the smooth sides presented an almost insurmountable challenge.

“You two start,” Geronimo directed, waving them on. “I’ll hold the fort until you reach the top.”

“Why you?” Kilrane argued.

“You don’t have a rifle,” Geronimo reasoned, “and this baby would stop a charging elephant.”

“What’s an elephant?” Kilrane inquired.

“You’ve never heard of an elephant?”

“No. Why?”

Geronimo grinned. He kept forgetting others did not enjoy the same access he did to the invaluable wealth of information in the Family library.

“What’s an elephant?” Kilrane repeated.

“Just think of it as an ant with a whopper of a nose,” Geronimo said.

“Now get going!”

Cynthia was already striving to climb the pit, her feet slipping and sliding in the fine, loose dirt.

“I won’t leave you,” Kilrane balked.

Geronimo stared into the bigger man’s blue eyes. “I appreciate the thought, but you’ve got to go. I’ll cover for you as long as I can.”

“I’ve never deserted a friend in my life,” Kilrane said defiantly, “and I’m not about to start now.”

Geronimo noticed the compliment. “Please, Kilrane. Get Cynthia out of here. For me, as a personal favor.”

Kilrane glanced at the struggling woman.

frowned, and nodded. “All right,” he reluctantly growled, “but I’m coming back for you.”

For a moment, their eyes locked in silent understanding, and then Geronimo swung around, facing the tunnel. Cynthia had been right; he could just distinguish the rift they’d used as their refuge. He heard Kilrane attempting to negotiate the steep sides of the crater, but he steeled himself and locked his eyes on the fissure. If he glanced behind him to ascertain their progress in navigating the hole, his attention would be distracted from the tunnel for an instant, providing the ants with a momentary edge.

An experienced Warrior never gave an opponent the edge.

Geronimo’s mind wandered, his thoughts drifting to the Family and the Home. And Hickok. His best friend. It was funny, sometimes, how you never truly valued someone until deprived of his presence. All those years of brotherhood with Hickok, sharing the sweet and the bitter, the laughs and the tears, had resulted in an ingrained bond of affection, a mutual affinity predicated on a thorough understanding of one another. He fondly remembered the time Hickok tried driving the SEAL and nearly succeeded in planting a tree in the driver’s seat. Grinning, he recalled another time when Hickok was caught with his pants down, so to speak, about to take a leak when a mutate popped up.

Would he ever see Hickok again?

Or Blade?

Or Plato?

Or…

What was that?

There was vague movement near the crevice.

Geronimo dropped to his right knee and sighted along the Marlin. He could still hear Kilrane and Cynthia doing their utmost to reach the lip of the hole.

A pair of antennae became visible, swaying in the air.

Geronimo patiently waited, his finger on the trigger.

The head of an ant appeared, the insect hesitating, apparently endeavoring to identify the commotion in the hole.

Good.

Take your time, gruesome!

How long could he hold them off? Geronimo speculated. The Marlin might be able to down a few, but if they surged through the tunnel in any great number, all at once, there was no way he could keep them back.

The front section of the ant was now clearly in sight.

Geronimo suddenly had an idea. What if he was able to kill a couple of the things? Maybe, just maybe, their bodies might block the tunnel for awhile. At least, long enough for Cynthia and Kilrane to make good their escape.

Would it work, though?

There was only one way to find out.

Geronimo aimed between the two antennae, held his breath, and fired.

The blast of the Marlin was deafening in the confines of the tunnel, and Geronimo was aware of a ringing in his ears as he levered his second round into the chamber.

The ant staggered with that first shot, then plowed ahead, emanating a high-pitched screeching as it attacked.

Geronimo fired again, this slug ripping into the ant’s right eye and tearing through its head.

The ant almost stumbled, but it recovered and lurched forward, its jaw working frantically.

So!

The head was a weak spot!

Geronimo quickly shot a third time, aiming between the antennae again.

The ant dropped to the floor of the tunnel, its antennae flapping overhead, twitching and quivering.

Geronimo, elated, hastily reloaded the three spent shells from his bandoleer.

The Marlin was effective against the creatures! It meant he could buy Kilrane and Cynthia more time, if his ammunition held out. He could…

Something was moving in the tunnel behind the dead ant.

Geronimo squinted, peering into the passageway. So soon?

A second ant was pushing the body of the first aside as it struggled to squeeze past, twittering like crazy.

The ants must possess a remarkable communications system.

Reinforcements were probably on their way, rushing to repel the intruders. How many? Ten? A hundred?

Did it matter?

Geronimo sent three shots into the head of the second ant. This one thrashed and clutched at the sides of the tunnel before collapsing alongside the first.

This isn’t so hard, Geronimo thought. Like shooting ducks on a pond from a blind.

A third red ant started to climb over the dead duo.

Geronimo sighted and fired, the recoil slamming the Marlin’s heavy stock into his shoulder.

The third ant reared and snapped at the ceiling.

Geronimo reloaded, keeping his eyes fixed on the ant.

The third ant was struggling to press past its fallen comrades.

Geronimo shot again, aiming above the insect’s left eye.

The ant abruptly collapsed onto the deceased pair, kicking spasmodically.

No time to lose!

Geronimo ejected the spent round and replaced it. He couldn’t afford to be caught empty when the big rush came.