David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

“Listen, pard.” Hickok faced Shane, smiling now. “Look me up after I get back. If you convince me you’re worthy, I’ll sponsor you. Fair enough?”

Shane, torn between disappointment and budding optimism, nodded.

“I’ve got to get my gear,” Hickok announced, and walked off.

Shane watched the Warrior leave. Worthy? How in the world could he prove he was worthy? An idea suddenly occurred to him, and he was momentarily stunned by the brilliance of his inspiration. It was fantastic!

If Hickok needed proof he was worthy, he would provide the proof, he would have it waiting for the gunman when Hickok returned. Shane grinned. If his deduction was correct, and Hickok intended to go after the Trolls, the Warrior would need to know where the Trolls were based, where their new headquarters was located. And wouldn’t Hickok be impressed, Shane reasoned, if he had the information, and maybe a few bear-hide tunics too, when Hickok arrived after his trip to the Twin Cities!

Shane abruptly became aware of Hickok waving at him.

“Adios, pard!” Hickok yelled. “You keep practicing.”

“You keep your head down!” Shane replied.

“You’ll see me again,” Hickok promised. “Next stop, the Twin Cities!”

It was the second day after their departure from the Home.

Blade was at the wheel, squinting from the glare of the afternoon sun, bright despite the tinted windshield. He kept the SEAL at a near steady rate of fifty miles an hour, carefully avoiding the many ruts and holes and cracks in the roadway. They were on Highway 59, cruising south. Fields and forest bordered the road.

“I’m glad we didn’t stop for lunch,” Hickok commented. “I can hardly wait to reach the Twin Cities.”

Hickok, Bertha, and Joshua were sitting in the back seat. Their jerky, water, provisions, and ammunition were piled in the rear of the SEAL.

Geronimo was sitting in the bucket seat across from Blade, studying their map.

“How much longer until we reach the Twin Cities?” Blade asked.

“Well, let’s see.” Geronimo ran his finger down the map, calculating their distance traveled and ascertaining the miles until the next town.

“We’ve already passed Plummer and Brooks and Winger. A place called Bejou should be just ahead about a mile or so.”

“I wonder if they will be as deserted as the others,” Joshua speculated.

“Kind of funny we haven’t seen any more Watchers,” Hickok noted.

“That’s not so unusual,” Bertha chipped in.

“How do you mean?” Hickok asked her.

“As far as we know, the Watchers only keep posts in the larger towns and cities. You won’t need to worry about runnin’ into them until the next big town.”

“The next town of any consequence,” Geronimo informed them, his eyes glued to the map, “is a place called Detroit Lakes. Had about seven thousand at the time the war broke out.”

“When will we reach it?” Blade wanted to know.

“Oh, it’s between forty and fifty miles from where we’re at right now,” Geronimo answered. “At the speed you’ve been driving, we should reach it in an hour or so.” He glanced at the watch on his left wrist, taken from a dead Watcher. “About three o’clock.”

“I hope we do run into some more Watchers when we reach Detroit Lakes,” Hickok said hopefully, adding in a low voice, “I have a score to settle and I aim to collect.”

“You won’t be collecting in Detroit Lakes,” Blade informed Hickok.

“How come?”

“Because we’ll be bypassing Detroit Lakes.”

“Are you running from a good scrap?” Hickok asked, a touch of annoyance in his tone.

“You know better.” Blade shook his head. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is. We simply can’t afford another delay, and another fight with the Watchers might wind up with some of us being seriously hurt, or worse. Is there one of you who doesn’t want to get back to the Home as quickly as we can?”

No one spoke.

“All right, then,” Blade continued. “We already bypassed Thief River Falls, and we’ll avoid any other potential Watcher outpost. The SEAL was constructed as an all-terrain vehicle, and it’s time we put it to the test.

We’ll head around those towns possibly inhabited by the Watchers. That way, we should reach the Twin Cities without being attacked.”

“Wait a minute, Big Guy,” Bertha interjected. “You mean to tell me we are gonna cut across the country?”

“We certainly are.”

“Lordy! I don’t like that idea too much,” Bertha protested. “We could run into the Uglies doin’ that! Or worse!”

“We’ll be protected inside the SEAL,” Blade said.

“You hope.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Who, me?”

“What about our meal this evening?” Geronimo questioned Blade. “Do you want me to bag some fresh meat?”

“No. We’ve got venison jerky and the canned food we took from the Watchers in Thief River Falls. When we run out of that, then you can hunt.

We’ll stop at night, for nature breaks, and that’s it.”

“You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?” Bertha tried to catch a glimpse of Blade’s face in the mirror.

“I do the best I can,” Blade replied.

“I think you’ll make a good Leader of your Family,” Bertha expressed her opinion.

“What?” Blade cast a sharp glance in her direction.

“Hey! Don’t get uptight. Big Guy. White Meat told me about you becoming the head of your Family some day.”

“White Meat has a big mouth.”

“What’s eating you?” Bertha inquired.

“Nothing,” Blade snapped. Plato’s predecessor as Family Leader was Blade’s father. Four years ago, after Blade’s father had been brutally torn apart by a mutate, Plato had assumed the awesome responsibility of heading the Family. It was customary for Leaders to select their preferred successor and Plato, to Blade’s extreme chagrin, had nominated him.

Blade vividly remembered the difficulties and hardships his father had faced, and he wasn’t certain he wanted the fate, the very lives, of over seventy people in his hands.

“Bejou ahead,” Geronimo stated, staring down the highway.

Bejou turned out to be another deserted, dilapidated town, devoid of all signs of life and habitation. So did Mahnomen, Ogema, Callaway, and Westbury.

“About ten minutes till Detroit Lakes,” Geronimo announced as they left Westbury behind.

“We’ll find a spot to leave the road soon,” Blade said.

Hickok, his head leaning against a window, was idly gazing up at the sky. He suddenly sat up. “What the blazes is that?”

“What’s what?” Blade caught Hickok’s reflection in the mirror.

“Stop the SEAL!” Hickok said urgently. “Get outside. Hurry!”

Without hestiation. Blade applied the brakes. He opened his door, prepared to jump out.

“Up in the sky,” Hickok stated. “Heading from north to south. Hurry!”

Blade ran around to the front of the SEAL, staring up at the blue sky.

Geronimo joined him.

“What did he…” Blade began.

“I see it!” Geronimo raised his right arm, pointing.

“See what?”

“It’s almost directly over us, bearing south. Do you see it yet?”

Blade did. A pinpoint of light streaking across the heavens on a southerly course.

“What is it?” Geronimo asked, fascinated.

“I don’t know,” Blade admitted.

“Do you hear something?” Geronimo cocked his head.

“No. Do you?”

“Yes. Can’t quite describe it. Like a very faint hissing or buzzing. Never heard anything like it.”

Blade and Geronimo stood rooted to the road, mesmerized as the dot of light continued to cross the sky.