David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

“Thanks just the same.”

Hickok eased his body to the ground.

Geronimo leaned forward. “Hey, you be careful in those trees.”

Hickok smiled. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“Just wouldn’t want you to get bitten on the ass by a mutate when you pull down your pants. The poor thing might die of blood poisoning.”

Geronimo smirked.

Hickok made a show of rolling his eyes upward. “Why do I even bother?” He ambled off.

“He’s got the right idea,” Geronimo agreed, climbing out.

Everyone relieved himself, they consumed a meal of bread and water, and the second day’s journey began.

“Any idea how far the first town will be?” Blade asked Hickok when they were finally under way, as they passed the dead biker.

“Won’t know until I find out where we are on Highway 59,” the gunman replied.

They rode in silent expectation. Blade acquired new assurance as he easily avoided ruts and holes in the road. At frequent intervals they would encounter sections of crumpled, buckled roadway, and Blade would make a brief detour along an adjacent field, rejoining the highway when its condition improved.

“Can I drive some today?” Hickok asked.

“Please, spare us!” Geronimo threw in. “I want to…” He paused, straining forward. “Look!”

Blade slowly applied the brakes, bringing the SEAL to a stop. A small, rusted sign stood at the side of the road. It read HALMA.

They were parked on a small rise. Below, the highway descended to a small town. Or, the remains of one. Even at a distance of a quarter mile, they could tell the buildings were in dilipidated shape.

“Think it’s inhabited?” Joshua asked.

“We’ll soon find out.” Blade eased the transport ahead. “Everyone keep alert.”

Geronimo passed out the long guns, handing Hickok his Henry and placing the Commando Arms Carbine on the console next to Blade. He picked up his Browning, insured it was loaded, and released the safety.

Joshua was apprehensively watching the proceedings.

Hickok bent over and picked up two items from the floor at his feet.

“Here.” He turned and gave the items to Joshua, who instinctively took them before he fully realized what they were.

The Ruger Redhawk and the leather pouch.

“What am I to do with these?” Joshua demanded, offended.

“Didn’t you learn anything yesterday?” Hickok asked sadly.

Joshua dropped the gun and the ammunition pouch onto the floor. “I won’t use a gun,” he stated stiffly. “‘Thou shalt not kill,’” he quoted from Scripture.

“Suit yourself, pard,” Hickok replied, frowning.

The SEAL was nearing the outskirts of Halma. At close range, they could see all of the buildings had sustained moderate damage. Roofs were blistered, partially gone in many instances. Walls were broken, cracked, and crumbling. Broken windows were everywhere.

“Think it got caught in the Big Blast?” Hickok speculated.

“Doubt it.” Blade stopped the SEAL, mentally debating whether to drive into Halma or reconnoiter on foot. He opted for driving in. “Not enough destruction.”

“Where’d everyone go?” Hickok asked.

“Who knows?” Blade drove forward, his nerves tense. “The Family records say that the government forced mass evacuations after the War.

Maybe everyone had to leave.”

Halma turned out to be completely deserted, all signs denoting it had not been inhabited for a long, long time. They stopped at the southern edge of town, pondering their next stop.

“What’s the next town?” Blade asked.

“Hmmm.” Hickok ran his index finger down the map. “Another small one called Karlstad. About five miles or so.”

“Here we go.” Blade gunned the SEAL.

Karlstad, situated at the junction of Highway 59 and 11, was another Halma, abandoned, in disrepair, obviously not used for years.

“Do you detect a trend here?” Hickok asked as they sat in the SEAL, parked in the center of town.

“Will every place we come to be like this?” Geronimo wondered.

Blade sighed. “So what’s next?”

Next turned out to be Strandquist, seven miles south on Highway 59, exactly like Halma and Karlstad.

“This is depressing,” Hickok commented. “I’m keyed for action, and we can’t find a living soul in these parts.”

“Don’t forget the guy on the motorcycle,” Blade reminded him. “He had to come from somewhere.”

“Where? Mars?”

Eleven more miles brought them to a small community named Newfolden.

“This is becoming monotonous,” Hickok cracked in disgust. “I’d hoped we’d fine someone by now. Where did the government evacuate everyone to anyway?”

“Somewhere in the southwest,” Blade commented absently. Another ghost town? How many would they come across like this? “What’s the next one?”

“You sure are a glutton for punishment.” Hickok checked their location.

“The next one was bigger at the time of the Big Blast. Had about ten thousand people. Known as Thief River Falls. Map shows a small regional airport. We’re heading for the big time now!”

Blade drove on. “How many miles?”

“Seventeen.”

The SEAL doggedly ate up the distance.

“Have you noticed,” Geronimo observed at one point, “that we haven’t seen much wildlife so far? A few birds, and a few miles back I spotted a herd of deer. That’s been it.”

“What’s so strange about that?” Hickok asked.

“Just think of all the animals around the Home. I expected to find wildlife abundant here too. This area clearly escaped the brunt of the Big Blast. Why aren’t there more animals?”

“Maybe the critters are afraid of this contraption.” Hickok gave the dashboard a whack.

“Could be,” Geronimo agreed, sounding doubtful.

Blade too had deliberated the same question. Geronimo was right.

There should have been more wildlife. Were the animals avoiding the highway for some reason? Why would they do that? So many questions. So many unanswered questions.

“There! Up ahead!” Geronimo broke into his reflection.

Thief River Falls, two hundred yards distant, the first buildings visible around a small curve.

Blade braked the SEAL.

“Looks as run down as the others,” Hickok mentioned.

Blade sighed. The few buildings he could see were shabby ruins, pitiful remnants of their former splendor.

“We’re bound to encounter civilization sooner or later,” Joshua chimed in optimistically.

Blade nodded grimly, driving ahead. The SEAL reached the outskirts of Thief River Falls.

“I’ve got a feeling…” Hickok levered the next round into the chamber of his Henry.

Blocks passed, building after broken building.

“Listen,” Geronimo said quietly, leaning forward.

“I don’t hear anything,” Joshua stated.

Blade did. He stopped the transport.

“What the blazes is it?” Hickok asked, rolling down his window.

“Music,” Geronimo suggested.

Blade rolled down his window. The Family owned over a dozen assorted musical instruments. Guitars, drums, a trumpet, trombone, and others.

Those members with musical aptitude were encouraged to spend as much time as possible cultivating their talent. Many a night passed with the entire Family gathered to listen to one of its few remaining sources of entertainment.

These sounds were different. Music, yes, but harsher, more strident notes than any the Family instruments could produce.

“It’s coming from up ahead,” Geronimo said, “from the center of town.”

Blade slowly drove the SEAL in the direction of the music.

“If we do find someone,” Joshua said, “will you permit me to talk with them before you commence firing?” He was looking directly at Hickok.