David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

“He said Maggot’s ass is grass,” the man answered.

“None of you know me,” Hickok continued. “I’m not from the Twins. I’ve seen the way you live, and it sucks! I’ve heard many of you feel the same way.”

The Porns were silently digesting every word.

“Do you want to change the way things are?” Hickok swept them all with his intense gaze. “You don’t have to live like animals, never knowing if you’ll live through the day! There is hope! There’s always hope! And I’m here to offer it to you. The people in the place where I come from might be willing to help you, but only if you’re willing to help yourselves. We won’t do it all for you! Spread the word! Talk it over amongst yourselves! Make up your minds. Get all the Porns together and take a vote. I’ll stick around a while longer, until I hear from your new leader on your decision.”

“Our new leader? I thought you said you wouldn’t be our head,” a man noted.

“I’m not your new leader,” Hickok repeated.

“Then who the hell is?” a woman demanded.

Grinning from ear to ear, Hickok turned and faced Bear.

It took Bear a moment to get the message, his eyes widening when he did. “Now wait a minute…” he started to protest.

Hickok raised his right arm over Bear’s head. “Say hello to your new leader!” he shouted.

“You crazy motherfucker!” was all Bear could think of to say.

Four Porns escorted him into a vast chamber on the first floor of the Riker Manufacturing Complex. The room was packed with over a hundred excited Porns. In the center of the north wall, on a salvaged, cushioned chair, sat a huge black, a Winchester on his lap. Six armed men stood nearby.

The escort stopped five yards from the chair.

“This is the one,” the patrol chief announced. “We found him this morning. Said he had to talk with the leader of the Porns.”

Bear studied the newcomer. He wore black clothes, the traditional garb of the Horns. His brown hair was worn long, and he covered his face with a full beard.

“Now why would a Horn want to see me?” Bear asked, suspecting a trick. Possibly the honky was a Horn assassin. “Did you check him for weapons?” he quickly demanded of the patrol chief.

“Sure did. Bear.”

The newcomer stepped forward, smiling. “Greetings, Brother Bear. My name is Joshua, and I bring a message from Reverend Paul.”

“Say what?”

“Before I go any further, I should elaborate,” Joshua said. “Despite my appearance, I am not a Horn. I come from another place…” Joshua stopped short, startled, as the black leaped from the chair and grabbed him by the front of his shirt.

“Wait a minute! What’d you say your name was?” Bear anxiously queried.

“My cognomen is Joshua.”

“But is that your name?”

“One and the same.” Joshua grinned.

“And you’re from the Home?”

Joshua, surprised, drew back. “How did you know that?”

“Ain’t you a friend of Hickok?”

“Hickok!”

“Yeah. Don’t you know him? Ain’t you one of his pards he keeps talkin’ about?”

Joshua gripped Bear’s shoulders. “Hickok is here?” he asked, his face lighting up.

“He sure is,” Bear replied. “He’s restin’ right now, and recovering from his wounds.”

“Is he hurt?” Joshua demanded, his concern flaring.

“Hey, take it easy, Joshua! You’re hurtin’ my shoulders.” Bear pried loose from Joshua’s hold.

“Is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s doin’ all right,” Bear stated. “He was shot and jumped by rats and beat on, and he even managed to get pissed on, but, ’cept for that, he’s just fine.”

“Where is he?” Joshua eagerly scanned the chamber.

“He’s in another room, sleepin’. Don’t you worry none,” Bear assured Joshua. “We ain’t about to let anything happen to him. Hickok is the best thing that’s happened to the Porns since who knows when!”

“You sound as if you really care for him,” Joshua observed.

Bear smiled, nodding. “I do. He’s the one who got me here, as head of the Porns. If the old head, Maggot, was still kickin’, you’d be dead right now.”

“What happened to Maggot?” Joshua inquired. “I was told he was in charge here.”

“Who told you that?”

“Reverend Paul.”

“Ahhh. Well, Reverend Paul ain’t up on the latest. Maggot is dead.”

“Did Hickok kill him?”

Bear chuckled at the memory. “Sure did. He marched Maggot down to this pit under the building and made him stand on a beam for a while, drippin’ his blood into the pit.” Bear laughed.

“I don’t understand,” Joshua confessed. “He bled to death?”

“No. No, man.” Bear contained his mirth with difficulty. “After a while, see, after the pit was filled with ’em, with hundreds and hundreds of the bastards, attracted by all the blood, Hickok gave Maggot a little shove and down he went. Right into the middle of ’em.”

“The middle of what?” Joshua still didn’t comprehend.

“Rats, man. Hundreds and hundreds of rats. They’ve probably cleaned him to the bone by now.”

“Hickok did that?” Joshua asked, horrified.

“Yeah. And you know what?” Bear leaned over, lowering his voice confidentially. “I think Hickok enjoyed it. He stood by the pit for the longest time, watchin’ them rats eat Maggot.”

Joshua shuddered simply imagining the scene.

“Yeah, I know.” Bear noticed the tremor. “I couldn’t stand to look at it either. The way Maggot was screamin’ and beggin’ for mercy and all.

Pitiful.”

“Have you seen my other friends?” Joshua thought to ask, to change the gruesome subject. “Blade, Geronimo, or Bertha?”

Bear shook his head. “Nope. We haven’t, and all the Porns been told to be on the lookout for them.” He draped his right arm across Joshua’s shoulders. “Now what’s this message you’ve got?”

Armed messengers, bearing white flags, shuttled among the three factions, exchanging proposals and counterproposals, and two days later a consensus was reached. A momentous summit meeting of the leaders of the Porns, the Horns, and the Nomads would be held at noon the next day in Nomad territory. Nomad turf was selected for several reasons. The general animosity between the Porns and the Horns, a century of accumulated hatred, might erupt into violence if either side ventured onto the other’s turf. The leaders pledged the meeting would be conducted peacefully, but they entertained reservations about the self-control of some of their followers. No-man’s-land was out of the question, simply too dangerous. The Wacks weren’t invited, the prevalent belief being it would be a waste of time, not to mention the certain loss of a messenger, if an invitation were extended to the crazies. The only area remaining was Nomad turf, the ideal choice. The Nomads were comprised of former Horns and Porns, all tired of the incessant fighting, all eager for an end to the hostilities. The Nomads were particularly receptive to the summit conference, and Zahner guaranteed the safety of all parties concerned. The Nomads had established a summer camp on the eastern shore of Moore Lake, comprised of crude huts and makeshift tents. This camp was picked as the summit site.

At noon, under the rules previously agreed upon, each leader, accompanied by two cohorts, climbed a grassy knoll in the center of the camp. Guards were posted around the perimeter of the knoll to insure privacy and prevent any attacks. At the top of the knoll, under the bright sun and blue sky, four wooden benches were positioned in the shape of a square. The Nomads, Zahner and two associates, sat on the eastern bench.