David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

“That’s your prerogative,” Blade informed her.

“My what?”

“He means it’s up to you,” Hickok explained. “You can do whatever you want to do.”

“You got that straight!” Bertha said. She noticed Hickok’s brow was creased, his eyes searching her face. “What’s the matter with you, White Meat? Why’re you lookin’ at me that way?”

Hickok shook his head. “I never took you for yellow.”

“What?”

“I never would have thought you’re a coward.”

Bertha reacted before any of them could move to stop her. She brought her left hand up and across Hickok’s mouth.

Hickok recoiled, more from surprise than pain. He touched his mouth with his right hand. “I reckon I had that coming.”

Bertha averted her gaze, twisting to stare out of the transport. “I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized, upset because she had lost control, and afraid it would happen again. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yep.” She pressed her forehead against the cool plastic. “Oh, God, help me!” she nearly whined. “I don’t know what to do. White Meat! I don’t know what to do!”

Hickok squeezed her shoulder in assurance. “We’re here with you, Black Beauty. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Bertha spun on them. “But there is!” she shouted. “Can’t you stupid sons of bitches see it yet? After all I told you? You just got no idea how bad it is out there! No idea!” She sagged against the seat. “And to think,” she said to herself, “I was out. I was safe and free!”

“You can stay here,” Blade told her. “We won’t hold it against you.”

Bertha glanced up at them, her eyes wet. “Maybe you guys wouldn’t, but I’d hold it against myself.” She tried a weak smile. “Besides, if we’re going to die, it might as well be together.”

“No one is going to die,” Hickok said.

Bertha gently traced a finger along Hickok’s mouth. “If you say so.”

“Then it’s settled,” Blade declared. “We go in tonight and get this whole mess over with.”

“On foot, or in the SEAL?” Geronimo asked.

“We’d be safer in the SEAL,” Hickok pointed out.

“Safer,” Blade agreed, “but conspicuous. The SEAL’s engine is quiet, but it still makes noise that could be heard a block away. It’s dark outside.

There’s no moon. If we used the lights we’d…”

“Lights?” Hickok cut him off. “We’d really draw attention to ourselves if we did that.”

“As I was about to say,” Blade continued, “before I was so rudely interrupted, if we used the lights on the transport, we’d be sending an invitation to everyone in the Twin Cities to come and check us out. Since attracting attention is the last thing we want to do, using our lights is positively out of the question. And although we would be safer in the SEAL, and the vehicle is bulletproof, it’s not indestructible and could be damaged by attackers.”

“So what’s your plan?” Geronimo inquired.

“We take 47 to the next turn,” Blade detailed, “find a spot to hide the SEAL, then proceed on foot. We’ll try and find what we’re looking for, and get back here by dawn. Bertha, you’re the one guiding us. How does my plan sound to you?”

“Just wonderful,” she said sarcastically.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You don’t think it will work?”

Bertha snickered. “If we were going by what I think, we wouldn’t even be here right now.”

“If you don’t want to come…” Blade began.

“We’ve gone through that!” Bertha said angrily. “I’m comin’ with you.

As far as your bright idea goes, sure, it sounds great.”

“Any suggestions you want to make?”

Bertha glared at Blade. She thought of one she wanted to make, but thought better of it. “No. Whatever you say sounds fine to me.”

“Okay. Recheck your weapons.” Blade started the SEAL and cautiously drove forward, at five miles an hour, seeking a secluded hiding spot for the transport.

The others went over their guns. Hickok had his Henry, Geronimo his Browning. Joshua had his pouch containing his Ruger Redhawk over his shoulders, and he was holding a Smith and Wesson shotgun in his hands, both provided by Blade with strict orders to carry them whether he liked the idea or not. Bertha had picked a Springfield Armory MIA, a rifle once owned by Watchers.

A stand of trees became dimly visible to their left, growing in the center of a field.

“Found what we need!” Blade angled the SEAL across the field and into the trees, driving far enough in to insure the vehicle would be safe from prying eyes. He reluctantly switched the ignition off. The SEAL provided a sense of security and an emotional link to the Family difficult to forsake, even briefly. “We’ll lock the SEAL and head off, making for the center of the Twins.” He grabbed his Commando from the console at his side.

“No-man’s-land,” Bertha said, shivering in the dark.

They climbed from the transport, Blade securing the doors. “It should be safe here,” Blade whispered as he joined the others at the back of the SEAL, placing the keys in his right front pocket.

“We hope, pard.”

Blade waved his arm and they crept through the trees until they reached the field. He scanned the field. The sky was moonless, the field cast in gloom, but some detail could still be differentiated.

“It’s so quiet,” Joshua murmured.

It was. No sound, except for the soft swishing of the leaves and the hissing of the wind.

Blade headed across the field, keeping his eyes on the black silhouettes of downtown Minneapolis. Some of those buildings appeared to be incredibly tall. What had they been called? A name from his studies came to mind: skyscrapers.

They reached State Highway 47.

Why not use it? Blade asked himself. They’d made good time, and it went directly into downtown Minneapolis. Just what they needed. Once they were there, Bertha could lead them to the places where they might find the items listed on the piece of paper in his left front pocket.

Blade led them at a trot, following 47 south. They came on an intersection marked by a bent, slightly rusted road sign. The top of the sign was dangling inches from the ground. Blade knelt by the sign, trying to read the imprint. Impossible. The paint on the lettering had long since worn off, and it was too dark to discern the names. He pressed his fingers against the sign, tracing the figures, a relatively easy task. They were at the intersection of 47th and 37th.

Geronimo crouched beside Blade. “I heard a sound,” he whispered.

“What? Where?”

“Up there,” Geronimo said, pointing ahead and to their left. “A deep grunt. Animal, I believe.”

“Keep on your toes,” Blade quietly directed the others as he stood and continued down 47th.

Two blocks elapsed. They passed several rows of former houses, each a vague blob in the darkness.

Blade spotted a wide area of vegetation to their left. The source of the animal grunt Geronimo heard? He gripped his Commando and peered into the night, seeking any intimation of movement.

Bertha grabbed Blade’s right elbow and he stopped.

“I forgot to tell you about the dogs,” she now informed him.

“Dogs?”

“Yeah. A lot of dog packs roam the Twins, hunting for anything they can eat. Including people.”

Maybe, Blade mentally noted, when the Twin Cities were evacuated, a lot of people had left their pets behind to fend for themselves. If so, how big would the canine population be by now?

“There’s other things,” Bertha added as Blade began to move.

“Other things?”

“I don’t know what you’d call ’em, or where they came from, but there’s other animals that kill humans, animals worse than the dogs.”