David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Silvester commented, his voice muffled because his face was pressed against the grass, “I think you’re right!”

As it turned out, the initial mileage estimates on the distance between the Family’s Home in Minnesota and Kalispell, Montana, were overestimated. Blade kept a meticulous log of each run the SEAL made, and according to the odometer the actual mileage was slightly less than eleven hundred miles. “One thousand and thirty-three miles,” Blade announced as he braked the transport on a low rise two miles northeast of Kalispell, just past Evergreen.

“I can’t believe we made the trip so quickly,” Rainbow commented.

It was the morning of the fifth day after their departure from the Home. Blade silently thanked the Spirit that the trip, except for the incident with the scavengers, had been trouble free. By carefully detouring around the larger towns, driving cautiously during the day and maintaining an average speed of only fifty miles per hour, and hiding the transport in dense brush at night, they had reached the vicinity of Kalispell with surprising ease. The area, as Rainbow foretold, was unscathed by the nuclear war, the flora and fauna evident in prolific profusion, a natural paradise.

Only one element was absent.

“Where are all the Citadel men?” Star asked her mother.

“That’s a real good question,” Blade remarked.

Rainbow was leaning forward, searching in every direction, her expression one of intense bewilderment. “I don’t understand it,” she said softly. “There’s no sign of the army from the Citadel, and we should have encountered them by now.”

Geronimo, his window rolled down, poked his head outside and felt a cool breeze caress his brow. “There’s no sign of anyone,” he noted. “I did spot tire tracks and, from the appearance of that field over there, the one with the crushed vegetation and the fresh ruts, a large body of men was here. But they’re gone now.”

“I don’t understand,” Rainbow reiterated.

“Geronimo,” Blade directed, “see if you can determine how recent those tracks are.”

Geronimo nodded, grabbed the FNC, and jumped from the SEAL. He ran to the field and knelt, studying the earth and running a handful of dirt through his fingers.

Blade glimpsed Rainbow in the mirror, unconcealed resentment distorting her features. “Something wrong?” he inquired.

“You like bossing him around, don’t you?” Rainbow asked.

“What?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed,” Rainbow stated. “You treat him like he’s your slave.”

“You’re nuts, lady!” Blade snapped. “I’m Alpha Triad leader, and Geronimo is one of the Warriors in my Triad. It’s my job to give orders. It’s what I was trained for. Geronimo’s never complained.”

“He wouldn’t!” Rainbow retorted.

Blade twisted in his seat and faced her. “What’s with you; Rainbow? I’ve seen how you treat Geronimo. You’re trying to wrap him around your little finger, play on his sympathy and his affinity for his Indian heritage. Why?”

“Maybe,” Rainbow said, her tone bitter, “I think Geronimo will be better off with my tribe than with your Family.”

“Why?”

“He belongs with his own people,” she said.

“The Family are his people,” Blade told her.

“The Family are mainly whites!” Rainbow hissed.

Blade, startled by the venom in her voice, nodded. “I think I’ve finally figured you out.”

“Oh?”

“Yep. You remember that neat speech you gave several days ago, about how you didn’t hate me personally for the crimes the white race inflicted on your people?”

“What about it?” Rainbow asked testily.

“You were lying through your teeth, Rainbow. The real reason you want Geronimo to live with your tribe is because you can’t tolerate the thought of any Indian living in harmony with the whites. You’re a bigot, Rainbow. Nothing more, nothing less than a disgusting, spiteful bigot!” Blade sadly shook his head. “I pity you, woman.”

Rainbow’s face reddened, her lips quivered in silent rage, and she was about to explode when she abruptly stiffened, relaxed, and smiled. “That’s quite interesting, Blade. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Geronimo opened his door and climbed into the SEAL.

“What’s the verdict?” Blade asked him.

“My guess would be about a hundred men bivouacked in that field for three months or so, judging from the volume of traffic. There are a number of fire pits and a latrine trench.”

“How long ago did they leave?” Blade questioned.

“Oh—” Geronimo glanced at the field again. “I’d estimate at least four weeks. Not much less. The ground reveals two heavy rains since their departure, and an exact time frame is difficult to gauge.”

“Four weeks!” Rainbow exclaimed. “That can’t be!”

“If Geronimo says it has been four weeks,” Blade said, “it has been four weeks.”

“Close to it,” Geronimo affirmed.

“But where did they go?” Rainbow questioned. “Why did they leave?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Blade stated. He started the transport toward Kalispell.

Geronimo saw the confusion and worry Rainbow was experiencing and attempted to soothe her. “Anything could have happened,” he mentioned.

“The army from the Cheyenne Citadel might have run out of supplies and returned to their fortress. Or maybe they simply grew tired of trying to starve your tribe out of Kalispell. Your people could have launched an assault of their own and driven the army off, couldn’t they?”

“I suppose,” Rainbow said doubtfully.

“There is another possibility,” Blade interjected, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to control his simmering anger over Rainbow’s attitude toward the Family.

“What’s that?” Geronimo asked.

“The Citadel array defeated the Flatheads and left the area.”

“Mom?” Star inquired in alarm. “Do you think Blade is right? Did the Citadel army kill our people?”

Blade felt a twinge of regret for baiting Rainbow at the child’s expense.

“No, honey. Don’t worry!” Rainbow comforted her daughter. “I’m sure our people are okay.”

“We’ll soon know,” Blade said.

The SEAL was still a mile from the outskirts of Kalispell. The highway was not severely damaged and clear of obstructions, enabling Blade to keep the transport in the center of the road, his senses alert for any threat or indication of an ambush.

“I hope my people don’t fire on us before they realize who we are,” Rainbow voiced her concern.

Blade slowed, proceeding at a snail’s pace, just in case.

“I still haven’t seen a sign of anyone,” Geronimo observed.

“What’s that?” Star suddenly cried, pointing straight ahead.

The road at the edge of town was littered with debris, old wooden crates and rusted metal drums, ancient furniture and useless appliances, and various other items, all scattered over the ground on either side of the highway.

“It’s one of the roadblocks we constructed,” Rainbow explained.

“Or was,” Blade amended. “It looks like something broke through.”

“Oh, no!” Rainbow said, fearfully clasping Star. “No!”

Blade scanned the buildings they passed, detecting evidence of a recent battle; some of the structures displayed gaping holes in the walls, many of the windows were shattered or riddled with bullet holes, and discarded cartridges of various calibers littered the ground. The Flatheads had put up a terrific fight before their defeat. It was odd, though, there weren’t any bodies. Would the Citadel army take the time to cart off all the corpses and provide a proper burial? Highly unlikely.