David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

“What?”

“How the blazes are you going to handle yourself? What will you do if you’re attacked? Will you defend yourself? You refused to carry a gun on this trip! Hell, man, you even refused to study Tegner.”

While the Warriors were required to take the Tegner classes, using Bruce Tegner’s books, each one filled with step-by-step diagrams and instructions and photographs of every movement and position, the martial-arts courses were optional for other Family members. Many elected to pursue the disciplines for other than combative objectives: some for health reasons, a few because of peer pressure, and others for a simple form of diversion. Whenever new classes were ready to begin, the individual members would be asked if they wanted to enroll. In recent years, one person had consistently refused to participate: Joshua.

“I have my reasons for not studying Tegner.” Joshua said.

“I’d love to hear ’em,” Hickok said, goading him.

“Will you leave him alone?” Blade took his eyes from the road for a moment to glare at Hickok.

“No,” Hickok said stubbornly. “We should get this out in the open.”

“This isn’t necessary,” Blade commented.

“It isn’t?” Hickok retorted. “You’re the one who spoke up against him coming along in the first place. You have a fair idea of what we can expect on this trip. Our lives are at stake. We need to know that the other person is going to back us up in critical situations. We need to know exactly where Joshua stands.”

Blade opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it.

“Okay, then.” Hickok faced Joshua again. “Now that the objections are disposed of, let’s get to the point. Can we rely on you, Josh? Will you back us up in a pinch?”

“I’m not certain how to answer that,” Joshua replied.

“A yes or no would be nice,” Hickok suggested.

“If only it were that easy,” Joshua began, selecting his words carefully.

“You want to know if I’ll back you up in a crisis? The answer is yes, if the situation does not call for any active violence on my part. I…”

“No violence?” Hickok snapped angrily. “In case you haven’t noticed yet, this is a violent world we live in.”

“I have indeed noticed,” Joshua responded patiently. “The world is full of madness and violence. It literally surrounds us. We’re swimming in a sea of negative attitudes and reactions. You must come to appreciate my position.”

“Which is?”

“I will not permit myself to become tainted by the insanity around me. I will not participate in a violent act. I will not kill a brother or sister, or a potential brother or sister. I will not allow the corruption outside to infect my inner state of being.”

“Noble sentiments,” Hickok stated. “I want you to be more specific. If we were attacked by a mutate, would you kill it to save us?”

Joshua’s brow furrowed.

“Would you?”

“I’m thinking.”

“Great. We’d be dead by the time you made up your mind to help.”

Hickok shook his head.

“I have never faced the situation you hypothesize,” Joshua continued. “I would not want to see any of you harmed and would do whatever I could to aid you, short of killing the mutate.”

“And just what the hell do you think a mutate would do to you?” Hickok exploded. “To any of us? They live for one reason, and one reason only. To kill! To kill anything and everything! It’s their nature!”

“Their nature,” Joshua agreed, “but not mine. Not ours.”

“Men kill,” Hickok growled. “Some men even like to kill.”

“Men function on an animal level of existence, like the mutate does,” Joshua agreed. “We must accept the truth of being children of the Spirit, and when we do we come to realize that this relationship makes every man and woman a spiritual brother and sister. We are all part of the same cosmic Family. The Spirit loves us all, equally. The Spirit is no respecter of persons. If we believe we are all children of the same Creator, how can we harm one another? The greatest commandment is to love the Spirit and one another.”

“You’re straying from the point,” Hickok said testily. “We were talking about a damn mutate.”

“Mutates must function according to their given natures. We must function according to ours. Mutates can not know the joy of communion with the Spirit. We can. Once we do, the experience changes us for all eternity. We are filled with a sense of wonder and happiness. Our souls are at peace. The idea of hurting another being becomes morally and spiritually repugnant.”

“In other words,” Hickok said, jumping in when Joshua paused, “we can’t rely on you when the chips are down.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You sure as hell did, Josh. You sure as hell did.”

They rode in uncomfortable silence until Blade detected a change ahead. “Look!” he urged them.

Highway 11 came to an abrupt end twenty yards ahead. Their path was blocked by a huge, steep trench, at least thirty feet across and equally as deep, with nearly vertical sides.

“What the blazes caused that?” Hickok questioned.

“It’s been there a while,” Geronimo noted. “Look at the vegetation in it, the grass and weeds and even some small trees.”

“Maybe a flash flood washed it out,” Blade speculated.

“It appears almost man-made,” Joshua commented absently.

“Do we try to go through it?” Hickok inquired.

“Let’s get a closer look.” Blade drove the transport to the very edge of the gully.

“Blast!” Hickok snapped. “Those sides drop straight down.”

“I can’t risk it,” Blade announced. “We could end up damaging the SEAL. We’ll have to go around it.”

“Head north a ways,” Hickok suggested. “It can’t be that long.”

Seven miles later, Geronimo leaned over Hickok’s seat. “Don’t you get tired of being right all the time?”

“There?” Joshua exclaimed, pointing. A section of the trench had collapsed, providing a natural bridge. Without hesitation, Blade crossed over. He glanced north, observing the gully continued until it was out of sight. The SEAL plowed through a wall of weeds and he applied the brakes.

“Highway 59!” Hickok stated, excited. “We found it!”

As with Highway 11, a century of abandoned neglect had taken a toll.

Potholes pitted the surface. Erosion had produced cracks and etched crazy cobweblike designs everywhere. Despite the wear and tear, sufficient roadway existed to permit the SEAL to navigate.

“All the roads must be in the same shape,” Blade said thoughtfully.

“Not exactly perfect, but we’ll make better time than if we had to travel cross-country.”

“Do you want to stop now or keep going for a spell?” Hickok asked. The sun was directly overhead. “Unless one of you objects,” Blade responded, “I see no reason to stop for a midday meal.”

“All right!” Hickok slapped his right thigh. Blade turned the transport toward the southeast, toward the Twin Cities. He drove faster, a bit more confident. The engine purred flawlessly.

“I wonder how many days it will take us to reach the Twin Cities?”

Hickok was studying the Atlas. “If we run into any more of those trenches, it will take us forever.”

“Did you hear something?” Geronimo inquired. He cocked his head to one side, listening.

“Just the sound of the SEAL,” Hickok answered, still looking at the map of Minnesota.

“No, not that,” Geronimo said emphatically. “Something else, something nearby.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Blade said, agreeing with Hickok. “You sure you heard something?”

“Positive,” Geronimo confirmed.

“Maybe it was that moose,” Hickok said, grinning, “belching.”