David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

The SEAL eased along the streets, Blade turning at random, first right, then left, and everywhere it was the same.

Kalispell was deserted.

“Which way?” Blade asked Geronimo, nodding at the map on the console.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Geronimo replied. “The map is of the state of Montana. It includes inserts of Great Falls, Billings, Butte, and Missoula, but not Kalispell. Pick any direction you want.”

“Rainbow?” Blade glanced over his right shoulder.

Rainbow was absently staring into the distance, her mouth slightly open, her gaze blank.

“I have a suggestion,” Star offered.

“What?” Blade queried her.

“I have an uncle living on the shore of Flathead Lake. Maybe he’s still there.”

“Wasn’t he in Kalispell with the others?” Blade inquired.

“Nope.” Star shook her head, her long hair flying. “He refused to leave his cabin. He probably hid until the army left. He’s real good at hide-and-seek.”

“Flathead Lake is south of Kalispell,” Geronimo mentioned, grinning.

A rusted street sign, leaning at an acute angle to the pavement, appeared ahead.

“Let’s see where we’re at,” Blade said, stopping the SEAL. The letters on the sign were faded, but legible. “We’re at the corner of West Montana and North Main,” he informed the others. He swung the SEAL right onto Main, heading south.

“I hope my uncle is home,” Star stated hopefully.

Rainbow was still lost in her own little world, traumatized by the disappearance of her tribe.

The SEAL crossed railroad tracks and entered the downtown district.

“This building over here,” Blade said, reading a faint sign on a wall, “was the Flathead Community College.”

“A lot of stores over here,” Geronimo remarked. “It doesn’t look like this part of town was damaged very much.”

The transport was in the intersection of Main and Fifth when Star suddenly pointed to their left. “What’s that?” she asked excitedly.

Blade had seen it too. A shadow flitting across the wall of a nearby building. He braked the SEAL.

“What was it?” Geronimo questioned.

Blade shrugged. “I better investigate. You stay here with Rainbow and Star, and keep the doors locked. I’ll leave the SEAL running. You might need to take off, fast.”

“I won’t leave without you,” Geronimo asserted.

“Do whatever is necessary to protect the SEAL,” Blade directed. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I wish Hickok was here to watch over you,” Geronimo said, smiling.

“Since when do I need a baby-sitter?” Blade demanded in mock irritation.

“According to Hickok,” Geronimo rejoined, “from the moment you wake up in the morning until you go to sleep at night. Otherwise, you’re fine.”

Blade laughed. “Thanks.” He opened his door and slid to the street, gripping the Auto-Ordnance Model 27 A-1 in his right hand.

“I don’t understand why Plato didn’t send one of the other Warriors with us to compensate for Hickok’s absence,” Geronimo commented.

“He wanted to send Rikki,” Blade related, “but I vetoed the idea.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll explain later,” Blade promised, closing the door and moving away from the SEAL. He recalled his argument with Plato over a suspected power-monger in the Family, someone who wanted to oust Plato and assume the mantle of leadership without Family approval.

Before Alpha Triad departed for the Twin Cities, Plato had pledged he would reveal the identity of the culprit after they returned. In a rare violation of his word, still peeved because Alpha Triad had failed in its mission to the Twin Cities, Plato had refused to give Blade the power-monger’s identity when Blade had returned. He had cited as his reason a need for additional proof. Partly out of petty spite, Blade had then declined to take Rikki-Tikki-Tavi with them to Kalispell. Outside of Hickok and Geronimo, Blade trusted Rikki the most. Rikki, as Beta Triad leader, would be in charge of the Family Warriors with Blade gone, and if the power-monger were stupid enough to instigate a rebellion while Blade was away, thinking it might be easier, Rikki would promptly prove him wrong and slice him into teensy-weensy pieces with his katana.

I did right, Blade told himself, by leaving Rikki with the Family.

He was fifteen yards from the transport, standing in the center of Fifth Street, the wind ruffling his hair.

Someone… or something… was watching him.

Blade felt the short hairs at the base of his neck tingle as he searched the nearest buildings. A century of neglect had taken its toll. Windows were cracked, dust covered everything, and the stores were in abject disrepair.

Dust?

What about tracks?

Blade moved to his left, scanning the sidewalk.

Nothing. A few leaves, rusted cans, and other trash.

From somewhere ahead came a distant scratching noise.

So! Someone was playing games.

Blade cautiously walked east on Fifth Street, his gray eyes constantly surveying his surroundings, the A-1 at the ready.

Something rattled for a few seconds, then abruptly ceased.

Keep it up, sucker! Blade grinned. Someone was in for a big surprise!

The wind was picking up, blowing the dust into the air.

Blade reached the intersection of Fifth and First Avenue East, according to a street sign.

A loud knock sounded to his left, north on First Avenue East.

Blade hesitated. If he continued, he would lose sight of the SEAL. But what choice did he have?

As an added incentive, the knock was repeated.

Blade walked to the middle of the street, his finger on the trigger of the A-1.

Where are you?

Doors and windows on this street were intact, and most of them were closed, except for a large window on the second floor of a building to his right. It was conspicuously open.

Accident or design?

Blade edged toward the building with the open window. Was one of the Flatheads still in Kalispell, hiding in fear? Or had the Citadel army left someone behind to ensure any stragglers were disposed of? Or was it a trap to…

A slight click came from the vicinity of the open window.

Blade aimed the A-1 at the shadowy aperture.

A tiny pebble fell to the sidewalk below the window.

Damn!

Blade whirled, knowing he’d fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. The pebble had been tossed at the brick wall near the window to distract him, to divert his attention from the real attack. He was still trying to turn when powerful arms encircled him from behind, pinning his arms to his side and rendering the A-1 ineffective.

Something growled in his left ear.

Blade dropped the A-1 and surged, his mighty muscles straining, against the restricting arms. His face reddened and his veins bulged as he applied his full strength, calling on all the resources of his massive, superb physique.

No go.

The thing still held him fast.

Hot breath was tingling the nape of his neck.

Blade realized the thing’s face must be directly behind his head. He relaxed for a moment and dropped his chin onto his chest.

From behind him came a low, unnatural, sibilant voice. “What you do?”

Dear Spirit! What in the world had a hold of him?

Blade suddenly attempted to break free again, every fiber of his being stretched to the limit. At the same instant he drove his head backward and felt his cranium connect with his assailant’s face.

The thing released him.

Blade ducked aside and crouched, instinctively drawing his right Bowie, turning to confront his enemy, prepared for anything.

Or so he thought.

Blade hesitated, gaping in astonishment at his attacker. It was the size of an average man, on the lean side, and essentially humanoid, being bipedal and possessing two arms and a face, but after that any human resemblance ended. Its skin was light gray and leathery, its nose narrow and pointed, and its ears tiny circles of flesh on either side of a bald, hawk-like skull. The mouth was a thin slit, and the eyes endowed with a bizarre hypnotic effect because of bright red pupils. The creature was naked except for a brown loin cloth covering its genitals and a metal collar around its squat neck.