David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

Bertha rose, her legs stiff, clutching the Springfield. She cautiously stepped around in front of the bush and onto University Avenue. Bodies of Wacks were scattered along the road and on both sides. Bad news. Bodies would attract vermin, rats and dogs and worse. She had to get Hickok on his feet and get him back to the SEAL, or at least to a safe hiding place.

Water was what she needed.

A crow flew in from the south, circling over the bodies, cawing its find to its brothers and sisters.

Bertha walked north on University Avenue, searching for water, for anything she could use to revivify Hickok. Three blocks passed and she stopped, loath to go any further, to stray too far from the gunman.

To her left stood a decrepit office building, two stories high. The windows were busted, the doors long gone. Before the war, a fountain had delighted passersby with a ten-foot-high jet of spray. Now the fountain basin served as a large catch bowl for rainwater.

Bertha ran to the basin and dropped to her knees. This was just what she needed, but how would she carry the water back to Hickok? She glanced around, frowning, disappointed, because there was nothing she could use.

“Planning to take a bath, Bertha?”

Bertha spun, seeing she was covered by a man with a rifle and two other men with bows, the arrows notched and aimed at her. She recognized the six men surrounding her.

“Say, there, bro! How does it go?”

“Don’t give me any jive, honey,” the man with the rifle said. “Stand up. Real slow.”

Bertha did as she was told. “What’s the matter with you, Tommy? Is this any way to treat your old friend Bertha?”

Tommy, like the others, was dressed in shabby, grungy clothes. His black hair was long, past his shoulders, and he sported a beard.

“Old friend Bertha?” Tommy repeated, his finger on the trigger. “We all thought you was dead. We haven’t heard from you in weeks. Z took it real hard. He thought you’d been wasted by the Watchers or the Uglies.”

“And here I am.” Bertha beamed. “Alive and kickin’!” She could sense their suspicion, their wariness, and she couldn’t blame them. She’d feel the same way if the situation were reversed.

“Very strange,” Tommy stated. “Here we all think you’re dead and gone, and look at you! New clothes! A beaut of a gun! And you’re lookin’ healthy and well fed! Someone’s taking good care of you, aren’t they, babe?”

“I don’t have time to talk right now.” Bertha took a step toward them.

Tommy jerked the stock to his shoulder. “Not one more step, Bertha! I’m warning you.”

Bertha thought of Hickok, alone and defenseless, needing her. “I ain’t got time to explain,” she said impatiently.

“Boys,” Tommy told the others, “if she takes another step, put an arrow into her.”

“Tommy! It’s me, Bertha!” She angrily stamped her right foot. “What the hell is the matter with you?”

“The only reason you ain’t already dead,” Tommy informed her, “is because we was friends, once.”

“Tommy…”

“Don’t press it!” he warned her. “Just put that gun on the ground. We’re takin’ you back to Z. There’s a lot of questions he’s gonna want to ask you, sweet cheeks.”

“Maybe she’s gone back to the Porns,” one of the other men suggested.

Tommy nodded slowly. “I done thought of that. Which is why we treat her like we would any enemy… or traitor!”

“I ain’t no traitor!” Bertha snapped.

“Oh? How do we know that?”

“Tommy, listen to me…”

“Not now. We ain’t got the time. We heard a lot of shooting last night and came for a look-see. The Horns and the Porns might do the same.

We’re headin’ back, and we’re takin’ you with us.”

“I can’t go with you.”

“You ain’t got much choice, honey.”

Bertha weighed the odds. They weren’t good. If she tried to buck them, they’d get her before she could fire a shot.

“I don’t like the way she’s just standing there,” another Nomad said.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” added yet another.

“You heard them,” Tommy said to Bertha. “I’m real sorry, babe, we got to treat you this way. You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” she agreed. “But you’ve got to let me explain…”

“Not now. Tell it to Z. Drop the gun.”

“Tommy, listen.” Bertha took a step towards him.

One of the bowmen let fly.

“No!” Tommy shouted at the same instant.

In what seemed like slow motion, Bertha watched the brown shaft come at her, the feathers spinning as the arrow covered the fifteen yards between the bowman and her. The point, a nail imbedded in the top of the shaft with the flattened head removed and filed to a sharp edge, glistened in the sunlight, coming closer and closer and…

The arrow slammed into Bertha’s body, slicing into her above her right breast, penetrating, the impact twisting her to the side, stunning her.

“Damn!” Tommy fumed. “She wasn’t going to hurt us!”

“But you said to shoot if she came at you,” the bowman protested.

Bertha recognized the man who had fired. Vint. He always was an asshole!

Tommy ran up to her. “Bertha! You okay?”

The shock was spreading, numbing her. She sagged, her legs weakening.

Tommy caught her. “Damn! Look at all that blood!”

Bertha’s mind was spinning. She vainly attempted to focus. “Tommy…”

“I’m here. We’ll get you back and take care of you.”

“No. No,” she said weakly. “Listen. Got to help…”

“We’ll help you,” he assured her.

“No. Not me. Help him. Got to help him.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Help who?”

“Help… him. Hurt. Help White Mea…” She went limp in his arms.

“She’s out,” one of the Nomads announced.

“I can see that!” Tommy spat.

“Do you really think she went over to the Porns?” Vint asked.

“After what Maggot did to her?” Tommy shook his head. “Not likely.

This poor girl has the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever seen!”

“I’m sorry I hurt her,” Vint apologized. “I always liked her. I was just doing what you told me.”

“Yeah.” Tommy sadly stared at Bertha. “Me and my big mouth. Let’s get out of here! She needs help.”

“What about the other one she mentioned?” another Nomad brought up.

“Who knows?”

“Maybe someone was with her. Maybe he’s around here somewhere, and needs help.”

“If he does,” Tommy said, “it’s too bad for him. We can’t take the time to look all over the place. Whoever she was tryin’ to tell us about is all on his own.”

Geronimo was greatly relieved when dawn finally broke. He stood and stretched. Joshua was still unconscious, and rest was best for him in his condition. Geronimo yawned. He could use some sleep himself. He’d give Joshua another hour, then wake him, minister to the injury, and begin tracking the Wacks.

An idea occurred to him.

If Joshua had dropped the Smith and Wesson somewhere between their hiding place and University Avenue, he might be able to find it and leave it with Joshua. That way, he could take the Browning with him. He’d need the firepower if he caught up with the Wacks. If? If he didn’t, Blade was dead.

Joshua still had the leather pouch containing the Ruger Redhawk draped over his right shoulder. He’d need more than that, if left alone.

Joshua wasn’t experienced with guns, and the shotgun would serve him in better stead.

Geronimo crouched and headed for the road, keeping low, moving rapidly from cover to cover, pausing to listen and look at the slightest noise. He reached a parking lot and froze.