David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

Bertha sank to the mattress, trembling.

Hickok dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. “Come on, Black Beauty. It’s dead and gone. You can relax.”

Bertha struggled to sit up, glaring at each of them. “Don’t you fools understand?”

“Understand what?” Hickok answered her.

“About rats.”

“What’s the big deal over one rat? We see them from time to time around our Home, but they’re no problem.”

“This ain’t your Home, White Meat,” she reminded him. “In the cities it’s different. I didn’t think they would be in a small town like this, but I guess I was wrong. You should see them in the Twins!” She shuddered.

“Millions and millions of them. Mostly they keep to themselves in the sewers and underground tunnels, but they come up from time to time, roaming the streets, hunting.”

Blade recalled an earlier statement she had made. “Do the rats eat the Wacks you were telling us about? You said the Wacks use the underground too.”

Bertha was staring at the vent. “They eat each other, far as I know,” she replied absently. “The Wacks got fire, though, and the rats don’t like fire none. They’re terrible, but they can’t hold a candle to the roaches.”

“The roaches?” It was Joshua’s turn to ask, perplexed.

“The cockroaches,” Bertha responded. “More cockroaches than a person could count.”

“Don’t tell me the bugs are dangerous?” Hickok cracked.

Bertha gazed at Hickok. “I pity you, White Meat. You got so much to learn. You can stomp a Wack easy enough, if they don’t nail you first. Even the rats can be stabbed or shot or clubbed for as long as you got your strength. But the cockroaches! How you gonna fight a horde of bugs only six inches long and two inches wide?”

“How big?” Blade interjected, doubting he’d heard her correctly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geronimo leave the room.

Bertha raised her hands and held them the proper distance apart. “This long.”

Hickok whistled. “How the blazes do you stand living in the Twin Cities?”

“I can’t stand it,” she answered, “which is why I want out. I don’t never want to go back there. No way.”

“Whatever you decide,” Blade told her. “Just keep in mind we could really use your help. We need a guide, someone who knows their way around the Twin Cities. Someone who could help us find the things we’re looking for.”

Bertha shook her head. “No way, man. I’d have to be stone cold crazy to go back there.”

“Won’t Z be expecting you back?” Hickok asked her.

“Hey, White Meat,” she said, shrugging, “it’s a dog-eat-dog world. Z won’t miss me. If I hadn’t got myself caught by the Watchers, maybe I would have gone back and reported it. But I did get nabbed, and I had a lot of time to think while they was beating me and burning me and poking me, and I made a decision. Bertha, I told myself, if, by some miracle, you get out of this mess, then there ain’t no way, no how, you’re going back to the Twins. I tell you, I’d be crazy to go back there!”

Blade could see the subject distressed her. “Whatever you say,” he stated. “You get your rest. We’ve decided to stay with you until you can take care of yourself. Then we’ll be leaving for the Twin Cities.”

“Can’t you leave it alone?” she pleaded. “Can’t you just go back to this Home you’re from and forget the Twins?”

Blade shook his head. “No. A lot of people, people we love dearly, are relying on us. We must get to the Twins.”

“White Meat told me you got a woman waiting for you,” Bertha said, trying another tack. “Don’t you want to see her again?”

“Of course I do,” Blade replied, an edge to his voice.

“Well, you won’t if you go on the way you are,” Bertha ventured. “None of you will come back from the Twins.”

“We’ll take that chance.” Blade spun and left the room. He hurried downstairs, his anger building. How dare she remind him of Jenny! He walked outside.

Geronimo was holding his Browning, leaning against the front of the SEAL. He noticed Blade’s expression.

“You okay?” Geronimo solicitously inquired.

“Fine,” Blade replied, too quickly, the word a growl in his deep chest.

Geronimo turned away, knowing his friend all too well. Blade was known for a long fuse, but when he blew, watch out! His temper was renowned in the Family. Geronimo grinned, remembering the time Blade took on an entire pack of wild dogs with just his Bowies in his hands, his face flushed with pure rage, determined to hack the canines to pieces! A firm hand fell on his left shoulder, and he turned.

“Sorry,” Blade said simply.

“No problem.”

Blade smiled and strolled off. He headed west, skirting the park, thinking of Jenny. Was she up already? Was she still pining for him?

Would she cry herself to sleep at night until he returned? Dear Spirit, how he missed her! He wanted to get this damn trip over with as fast as humanly possible and return to the Home!

The bright sun on his face brought him up short. He gazed upward, watching several white clouds drifting eastward. The sky was tinged with a shade of gray today, as it sometimes was. Periodically, the entire sky would turn a somber shade of cement gray, the air filled with tiny particles of ash and dust.

Blade’s mind drifted, recollecting the Family records concerning the aftermath of the Third World War. Carpenter had been delightfully surprised the fallout at the Home was minimal. He had expected to see higher concentrations, particularly if the missile silos in North Dakota were hit with ground blasts of ten megatons or more. Fortunately for the fate of the Home, at the time of the Soviet attack on the North Dakota missile fields, the prevailing winds at the forty-thousand-foot altitude, the air currents responsible for the primary distribution of the fallout, had been bearing in a southeasterly direction, not toward the east. So the Family had escaped the brunt of the fallout. It could not, however, avoid other inevitable consequences of a nuclear war.

The thousands of nuclear explosions had forced huge amounts of dust and ash into the atmosphere. Volcanic activity had abruptly increased, becoming widespread. A dark cloud had choked the sky for over five years, eventually dispersing. Now, a century later, the conditions were nearly similar to before the Big Blast, except for periodic clouds of volcanic residue.

Another repercussion of the thermonuclear conflict was the reduction of the ozone layer. The nitrogen oxides created by the mushroom clouds ate at the ozone, causing solar ultraviolet levels to rise tremendously. For a decade after the war, anyone who ventured outdoors without adequate protective clothing had suffered a prompt, blistering sunburn. Certain plant strains had been completely eliminated.

All of these memories filtered through Blade’s mind as he gazed up at the sky.

A rustling of tree leaves drew his attention to his right. He twisted, studying the tree, an oak with wide, sweeping branches. The rustling had stopped.

Blade looked over his shoulder. He was out of sight of the concrete building, standing near the park. The undergrowth was dense and prolific.

His senses suddenly shrieked a warning, trying to alert him that something was amiss.

But what?

Blade gripped the Commando in both hands and approached the edge of the park.

Was it a mutate?

Blade crouched near a clump of tall grass, scanning the shadows, prepared.

He thought.

A huge, gnarled, brown hand unexpectedly parted the grass, exposing a face filled with malevolent intent.

Blade caught a brief glimpse of two large brown eyes, of a large, crooked nose, almost beaklike, of a gaping mouth filled with pointed teeth, and his nose was overwhelmed by an obnoxious stench, just as the thing pounced.