David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“Don’t know,” Geronimo responded softly. “Don’t like it either. Let’s get this to the SEAL.”

They hastily loaded the last piece of equipment into the vehicle.

“I saw someone,” Star announced as Geronimo walked around to the driver’s side and prepared to climb up to the driver’s seat.

“What did you see?” Rainbow asked.

“Faces,” Star informed them. “At a window on the second floor. At least two or three.”

“Were they soldiers from the Citadel?” Rainbow questioned, glancing up at the windows.

“Couldn’t tell,” Star stated.

Geronimo hefted the FNC, debating his course of action.

Rainbow noticed his thoughtful expression. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking!”

“Stay in the SEAL,” Geronimo ordered. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Why?” Rainbow demanded. “You have the stuff from the lab. Why risk going back in there?”

“Whoever is in there,” Geronimo reasoned, “may know something about Blade’s disappearance. I’ve got to find out.”

“But what if something happens to you?” Rainbow objected.

“Stay in the SEAL. Keep the doors locked. You’ll be safe inside the transport, and no one can see inside, remember. So wait for your chance and slip away. There may still be some of your tribe in the vicinity of Kalispell.” Geronimo detected the vague outlines of a face peering from a tinted second-floor window. The face withdrew a second later. “Find your tribesmen,” Geronimo advised. “There’s bound to be a few who escaped the Citadel army.”

“This is stupid!” Rainbow groused.

“Be careful, Geronimo,” Star urged him.

“Keep the doors locked.” Geronimo ran to the front entrance, paused to ensure mother and daughter were safely tucked inside the SEAL, and ducked into the ominous interior.

“Hickok! Wake up!”

The urgent voice was besieging his pounding head, assaulting his sluggish, returning senses with a nagging insistency. “Hold the fort!” he said, his lips and tongue feeling thick and awkward. “Not so loud.”

“Wake up, damn you!”

The gunman slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on the ground, his head cradled in Sherry’s lap. The sun was high in the sky. “My aching head!” he muttered. What hit me? A two-ton meteorite?”

“Goldman,” Sherry answered, smiling. “Thank God you’re alive! I was beginning to think you’d never come around.”

“How long have I been out?” Hickok asked her.

“You were out almost a full day,” Sherry answered.

“What?” Hickok abruptly sat up and promptly regretted the motion as another searing pain lanced his head.

“He knocked you out yesterday afternoon,” Sherry explained, “about this same time.”

“Goldman did this to me?” Hickok gingerly rubbed a nasty bump on his right temple.

“Sure did,” Sherry confirmed. “He hit you, remember? And said he wanted to learn if you could do without breathing?”

“I vaguely recall it,” Hickok said, struggling to clarify his fuzzy memory.

“I couldn’t believe what you did next.” Sherry grinned. “Why did you do it?”

“What did I do?”

“You looked at him and said you could do as well without breathing as he was able to do without any brains,” Sherry replied.

“And that’s when he slugged me?” Hickok asked.

“Sure did. As hard as he possibly could. I thought you were dead,” she stated, concern reflected in her green eyes.

“This noggin of mine is as hard as granite,” Hickok boasted.

“Lucky for you,” Sherry mentioned. She reached out and gently stroked his injured temple. “It must hurt like crazy.”

“That’s an understatement,” Hickok muttered. “Looks like I owe Goldman,” he growled.

“First the Trolls, now Goldman.” Sherry frowned. “You’re real keen on revenge, aren’t you?”

Hickok simply nodded, flinching as he did so, squinting at her.

“Did you ever hear of forgive and forget?” Sherry asked him.

“I have a friend,” Hickok told her. “Name of Joshua. Old Josh is real big on the forgiveness stick. He’s always trying to convince me to forgive my enemies, to love them as I would have them love me. Nice ideal, but I wouldn’t be sitting here right now if I’d followed his advice. To answer your question, nope, I ain’t much for forgiveness. I prefer to do it to them before they do it to me, and if they do it to me first and leave me alive, I aim to ensure they never do it to anybody else again. Savvy?”

“What?”

“Do you understand?” Hickok inquired.

“Unfortunately, all too well,” Sherry responded.

Hickok opted to redirect their conversation. “Where the blazes are we, anyway?” For the first time he glanced around.

“We’re at the Mound,” Sherry informed him.

Hickok’s eyes widened in disbelief.

They were at the northern edge of a huge clearing, surrounded by a dozen Moles standing ten yards away. The clearing itself was several hundred yards in circumference and dominated by a massive structure in the center of the clearing, a gigantic mound.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Sherry queried him.

“Incredible,” Hickok acknowledged.

The Mound was at least seventy feet high and one hundred wide, constructed of a dark, heavy clay, packed into a tight, cohesive, sturdy dome. Windows dotted the outer surface, and entrance was gained through doorways imbedded in the base of the Mound at thirty foot intervals.

“How…?” Hickok began, glancing at Sherry.

“Silvester told me a little while you were out,” Sherry said. “The Moles have been working on this thing since the war. They get their clay from near the Upper Red Lake, about three miles south of here. Remember that man Silvester told us about, the one named Carter? Well, he started the whole thing when he came out here to escape the nuclear exchange.

Apparently, Carter and his followers didn’t have the material needed to build a genuine shelter, so they improvised by digging some tunnels and piling tons of dirt and clay on top of the tunnels for protection and insulation. The Moles have been expanding it ever since.”

“Speaking of Silvester,” Hickok said, glancing around, “where is our klutzy pard?”

“Goldman and Silvester went into the Mound this morning,” Sherry revealed. “Goldman said they were going to bring a man here to check us out.”

“What did he mean by that?”

“Beats me.” Sherry shrugged. She gazed at the Mound and pointed.

“Look! Here they come now.”

Hickok spotted them. There were a number of Moles, primarily women, outside the Mound. Some were tending to children, others hanging clothes on ropes tied between two poles, and still others idly engaged in animated discussion. Except for the presence of armed guards ringing the Mound, the scene was tranquil and pleasant.

Almost reminds me of the Home, Hickok mentally noted.

Goldman, Silvester, and another Mole were approaching, still one hundred yards distant.

“How did I get here?” Hickok asked Sherry.

“A pair of Moles carried you,” Sherry replied.

Carried? Had they found his backups? Hickok pretended to pat dust from his buckskins as he felt for the Mitchell’s Derringer under his right sleeve and the C.O.P. under his pants, above his left ankle. Both were still there. Thank the Spirit!

“You preening for Goldman?” Sherry asked innocently.

“Anyone ever tell you,” Hickok rejoined, “you have a warped sense of humor.”

“Just everybody.” She grinned.

“How did they carry me?” Hickok asked her.

“What?” Sherry seemed surprised by the question.

“I’m curious,” Hickok stated. “How?”