David Robbins - The Kalispell Run

“Sit here a moment,” Blade directed, placing her in the other bucket seat. He clambored into the rear section, hoping they were there.

They were.

His prized Bowies and the Auto-Ordnance Model 27 A-1 were piled in one corner. He picked up the big knives and strapped them around his narrow waist. Hefting the A-1, he climbed up front.

Star’s eyes were filled with tears again. “I’m sorry for what my mom was going to do to you,” she said softly. “I didn’t want her to do it. I didn’t want her to shoot Geronimo. It wasn’t right. You’re our friends.” She began sniffling.

“You bet we’re your friends,” Blade assured her. He leaned toward her.

“Listen, Star. I’m very sorry about what happened to Rainbow. I wish there was time to give her a proper burial, but there isn’t. We must get out of here. The shooting and the explosion might attract other soldiers, or worse. Can you stop crying? Can you be strong? We must get Geronimo and take off. Okay?”

Star struggled to compose her shattered emotions. “I’ll try my best, Blade.”

“Good.” He reached for his door, staring thoughtfully at the toggle switches.

“Is something wrong?” Star inquired, noting his gaze.

“I was just wondering what the other three toggle switches do,” he replied.

“Want to test them?” Star offered, reaching for the one marked F.

“No!” Blade grabbed her hand before she could touch the switch. “We’ll discover the purpose for the F, S, and M after we return to the Home.”

“You’re taking me back with you?” Star asked hopefully.

“Of course.”

“You won’t leave me here?”

“Why would we do that?” Blade queried her.

She lowered her head in shame. “After… after what my mom did, I thought…”

“We’re not going to hold what your mom did against you,” Blade said, cutting her off. “You’re welcome to return with us. It’s up to you.”

Star glanced up, smiling. “Thank you. I’d like to, very much.”

“Good. Now stay put. I’m going to get Geronimo.” Blade opened the door. “And don’t touch anything,” he stressed over his left shoulder as he exited the transport, closing the door behind him.

Dear Spirit! What was that awful stench?

He alertly moved to the front of the SEAL. His right foot bumped something, and he stared at his feet, repulsed. The grisly remnant of an arm, from the elbow to the fingertips, was on the pavement, its skin charred and blistered, strips of burnt uniform still attached. He stepped over the arm and studied the grill.

Nothing. No indication of the mechanism responsible for destroying the jeep and the soldiers.

There must be a recessed compartment, Blade reasoned, hidden from casual view until one of the toggle switches was thrown, then covered again after the armament discharged. Perfect for foiling any unwanted inspection.

One important question remained. Why wasn’t the SEAL’s weaponry mentioned in the Operation’s Manual they had discovered inside the transport after they had excavated the vault housing the vehicle? An answer occurred to him, and although it was sheer speculation and would be impossible to confirm, it seemed logical, even probable.

Kurt Carpenter, the Home’s Founder and the money behind the development and construction of the SEAL, had deliberately buried the transport in a special chamber. He had been afraid some of the Family members might give in to temptation and steal the SEAL, perhaps to search for loved ones or relatives in distant cities who might have survived the war. Carpenter had hidden the transport before his selected couples arrived at the survival site. Thereafter, knowledge of the SEAL was passed by word of mouth from one Leader to another. It was customary for a Leader to choose a successor shortly after assuming office, and to privately relay the information concerning the transport. Carpenter intended for the SEAL to be used only when absolutely necessary, and it devolved to Plato, a century after Carpenter had secreted the vehicle, to decide that the premature senility was a bona fide emergency demanding the utilization of the SEAL.

What if, Blade conjectured, there had been a breakdown in communications? What if one of the Leaders had failed to pass on the information about the armament in the transport? He tried to recall. Had any of early Leaders died soon after taking over the reins, perhaps before relaying word on the…

Where was Geronimo?

Blade faced the forest, scanning for movement, Geronimo was able to walk. He should have appeared by now. Surely he had seen what happened to the Citadel soldiers? So where…

“Looking for something, yes?”

Blade spun to his right, his fingers on the trigger of the Auto-Ordnance.

Gremlin was calmly standing at the side of the highway, cradling Geronimo in his spindly arms. The creature’s neck and face bore vivid scorch marks, and the center of the neck was bleeding.

“What have you done to him?” Blade demanded, gliding toward them.

“Nothing, no,” Gremlin replied. “Found him, yes? Back in the trees.

Think he’s hurt bad, yes?”

Blade stopped three feet from the creature. “You expect me to believe you?”

Gremlin’s expression saddened. “You do what you want, yes?” He lowered Geronimo and deposited him on the road, then wheeled and angrily stalked off, heading north.

Blade glanced at Geronimo. He was breathing regularly, evidently passed out, possibly from his loss of blood.

Gremlin was ten feet away.

“Gremlin! Wait!”

Gremlin ignored him and continued walking.

“Damn your pride, man! I said wait!”

Gremlin suddenly froze, turning slowly. “What did you call me?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?” What did it mean? “I said damn your pride, man, wait and talk to me a minute.”

Gremlin covered the space between them in a rush, and before Blade could prevent him, he clasped Blade’s shoulders in his skinny hands and smiled. “Thank you, Warrior.”

Blade was astounded by Gremlin’s reaction. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear there were tears in Gremlin’s eyes. “What did I do?”

“Called me a man, yes? First to do so since… since operation.”

“You mean to tell me…” Blade could scarcely believe it. “…you are a… man?”

Gremlin nodded, his face a study in abject sorrow.

“But how?”

“Doktor,” Gremlin hissed between clenched teeth.

“How could he do such a thing? It isn’t possible.”

Gremlin motioned at his body. “Wish it weren’t, yes? Doktor is wicked, is evil, evil scientist. Chemistry his specialty. Performs vile experiments, yes?”

Blade wanted more information on the nefarious Doktor, but a higher priority beckoned. “Gremlin, I want you to tell me more latter. Right now we’ve got to get out of here. Other soldiers might have heard the explosion and come to investigate. Will you give me a hand with Geronimo?”

Gremlin placed his right hand on Blade’s left forearm in a gesture of friendship. “First, must tell, yes?” He touched his neck with his left hand.

“You free me, yes?” he said in an awestruck manner. “Can hardly believe it. Freedom.” He visibly sobered. “Wanted to thank you from bottom of heart, yes? You saved Gremlin, no? Gremlin always in your debt.”

Blade was touched by Gremlin’s evident sincerity. He felt an impulse to explain his original motive wasn’t to free Gremlin, but to kill him, then thought better of it. Why rock the boat when things were finally going his way?

“Will you give me a hand?” Blade asked, bending over his fellow Warrior.

Gremlin positioned his hands under Geronimo’s shoulders. “Where do we go from here?”