David Robbins: The Kalispell Run

“We made it!” Rainbow voiced her relief as the transport raced away from the scavengers.

Unexpectedly, Blade wrenched on the steering wheel, slewing the vehicle to a stop, its sleek structure positioned across the highway.

“What are you doing?” Rainbow demanded.

“What’s he doing?” Star echoed her mother.

The scavengers, elated at this turn of events, charged the SEAL en masse.

Blade glanced at Rainbow and Star. “Nobody,” he growled, “attacks us with impunity.” He looked at Geronimo and grinned.

The scavengers were running toward the transport, giddy at the prospect of its impending capture.

“Ready?” Blade asked Geronimo.

Geronimo nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Too bad Hickok couldn’t be here. He’d appreciate this.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Rainbow angrily inquired.

Blade hastily rolled down his window, scooped up the Auto-Ordnance, and pointed it at the approaching scavengers.

The scavengers in the front rows of the pack saw what was coming and tried to slow, to stop, to get out of the way, but the ones behind them pushed forward, oblivious to the danger.

Blade, smiling, let them have it.

The Auto-Ordnance bucked as the first rounds ripped into the scavengers, the slugs decimating the front rows, the scavengers tripping over one another as legs became entangled in falling bodies and limbs flew every which way.

Geronimo flung his door open and stood, his feet on the sideboard, the FNC supported by the roof for a better aim. He fired into the rear ranks of the scavengers, venting his war whoop.

The scavengers broke. Those still alive and able fled, disappearing into the forest. The road was covered with dead or dying scavengers, moaning and groaning and pleading for assistance.

Blade and Geronimo ceased firing.

“With a hundred like you two,” Rainbow commented, “my people could easily defeat the Citadel army.”

Blade placed his Auto-Ordnance on the console and wheeled the SEAL

on its westward course, slowly picking up speed.

Geronimo slid into his seat and closed the door, keeping his eyes to their rear. “No sign of pursuit,” he mentioned.

“I don’t expect any,” Blade remarked.

“When you think about it,” Geronimo commented, “we’ve been pretty lucky so far.”

“How so?” Blade asked.

“That was the first time we were attacked on this trip,” Geronimo noted. “We’ve been keeping on the highway too, right out in the open.”

“Not too surprising,” Blade said. “The wild animals shy away from the SEAL for some reason. Even the mutates, like that one we spotted yesterday afternoon, seem to sense the transport is not a living thing and avoid it. As for the Watchers, they prefer to congregate near inhabited areas and maintain their outposts in the larger towns. If we can avoid a Watcher patrol, we will probably reach Kalispell in one piece.”

“Probably?” Rainbow questioned.

“You never know,” Blade stated fatalistically.

“I’m hungry,” Star announced.

Blade glanced at Rainbow, “Why don’t you give her some jerky. Take some for yourself too. We won’t stop until it’s almost dark. I want to go as far as we can today.” Because, he reflected, the sooner we reach Kalispell, the faster I can return to my darling Jenny.

Rainbow nodded and turned to her rear. A glass jar, filled with venison jerky, was on top of a pile of supplies in the rear section of the vehicle. She picked up the jar, unscrewed the lid, and handed a strip of meat to her daughter.

“Thanks, Mom,” Star said, dutifully expressing her gratitude.

Rainbow removed another piece of jerky and bit into it. “Do either of you want some?” she inquired of Blade and Geronimo, her mouth full of venison.

The two Warriors shook their heads.

“But I would like to ask you some questions,” Blade said.

“What’s on your mind?” Rainbow replaced the jar in the back of the transport.

“What’s life been like for your people” Blade queried her. “Since the Big Blast, I mean?”

“Since the war?” Rainbow thought a moment. “My parents told me it was real rough right after the war. There were shortages of everything. But then things changed.”

“Changed?” Blade echoed. “How?”

“The white man was gone,” Rainbow elaborated. “Evacuated from all the towns and cities by the Government and moved south.”

“Why weren’t your people evacuated?” Blade interrupted.

Rainbow shrugged. “Beats me. We were left to fend for ourselves. After the tribal leaders organized, after the initial shock passed, we discovered we could do a lot better on our own, better than we did under white rule.

Western Montana was not hit by any of the nuclear missiles, except for Great Falls, hundreds of miles to the southeast of Kalispell and the Reservation. The prevailing winds blew the Great Falls fallout to the east, away from us. My people found themselves exactly as they had been before the white man arrived in this country: living in fertile land teeming with game and abundant water. We reverted to a simpler lifestyle, living as the Indian had for centuries before the coming of the whites. My people became hunters and tillers of the soil. We rediscovered our heritage and our dignity. Within a generation after the war, alcoholism, once a rampant problem, was almost eliminated.” She paused, then stared at the passing scenery. “My people discovered they were better off without the whites. Of course,” she stressed, “all of this happened before I was born, but my parents and grandparents told me all about it. We are a free people now, and we will never submit to the white man’s rule again!”

“Your people have stayed on the Reservation?” Blade inquired.

“We spread out some,” Rainbow replied. Many moved north and east and settled around Flathead Lake.”

“You said before,” Blade pointed out, “that Kalispell has been deserted all these years. Why didn’t your people just move into Kalispell or one of the other towns?”

“Because they belonged to the white man,” Rainbow said distastefully, “and we want nothing to do with anything belonging to our former masters.”

“You sound bitter,” Blade observed.

“Can you blame me? I know our history. The whites lied to us, murdered us, stole our land, and then forced us to live on a small parcel they so graciously offered. My people were little more than slaves! What hypocrites the whites were! They proudly claimed they released the black man from bondage, while at the same time they kept the red man confined to the reservations. No, my people want nothing to do with the white man or anything belonging to the white man! Be thankful we’re the way we are. It’s the only reason the hospital in Kalispell went untouched all these years.”

“What about this Cheyenne Citadel?” Blade questioned her. “Are all the people living there white? Do you have any idea who these people are, and why they’ve sent an army to attack you?”

Rainbow glanced down at her daughter. Star was asleep again, curled up on the seat, her head resting on Rainbow’s lap. “We know very little.

The Cheyenne Citadel is a fortress. We believe the people living in the Citadel, and those south of it, in what was once called Colorado, are the descendants of the ones the Government evacuated at the outset of World War Three. Once, years ago, before I was born, one of these people, a fugitive, came to live with my tribe. He told us about his life…”

“Your tribe didn’t kill him?” Blade interjected.

“No. Why should we?” Rainbow responded, puzzled.

“He was white, wasn’t he?”

“You’ve misunderstood,” Rainbow stated. “We don’t hate individual whites. I don’t hate you. We can’t blame you for what happened centuries ago. It’s the bastards who were running your Government—the crooked politicians, as they were called—and the bigots and the greedy fleecers. It’s their memory we despise. So long as one Flathead remains to tell the story to our children, my people will remember. And, remembering, we will never become slaves again!”