David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

Blade’s attacker was a gigantic, lumbering brute. It slammed into Blade, sending him sprawling, the Commando flying to one side. The thing bellowed and jumped, aiming both heels at Blade’s head.

Blade instinctively rolled, avoiding the crushing blow. He automatically noted his assailant was only wearing a buckskin loincloth, that its thick body was burned black and pitted and scarred over every inch.

The thing roared and leaped, catching Blade around the neck in an iron grip. Its fingers closed in an inexorable vise.

Blade felt his body being lifted off the ground, his feet dangling and helpless. He tried to focus, to gather his wits. Concentrating, he brought his hands up, smashing them against the thing’s ears.

The brute ignored the blow.

Blade swung his arms again, his thumbs extended, plunging them into the short, squat neck.

The brute gurgled, but the choking hold did not slacken.

Blade tried another move, feeling his chest beginning to ache, his wind cut off, his lungs craving air. He held his hands in the Crane style of offense and stabbed them directly into the leering brown eyes.

The giant roared and released Blade, covering its eyes.

Blade drew his right Bowie, his motion practiced and fluid as he imbedded the blade in the brute’s chest to the hilt.

The thing uncovered its eyes and gaped at the knife sticking in its chest. It looked up at Blade. And grinned.

Blade, astonished, didn’t see the blow that sent him reeling to the ground. He felt blood filling his mouth and he rose to his knees, trying to regain his footing before it attacked him again.

Too late.

The brute clamped the neck choke on him again, twisting its fingers, this time attempting to snap the spinal column.

Blade’s vision spun.

Think, damn you, he told himself. Think! The worst reaction right now would be mindless panic. He couldn’t rise, the thing was holding him down. Even his strength was as nothing compared to this giant. He gripped his left Bowie. Out of the corner of his left eye he could see one huge, naked foot. It was the only possible target. He swung the knife backward and down, and he knew he had connected, knew the blade had sliced through the foot and stuck in the ground.

The brute shrieked and released Blade. It hopped up and down on one foot, trying to grab the Bowie and pull it free.

Blade sagged to the ground, wheezing, gasping for air. He tried to reach for the dagger on his right leg, but his fingers abruptly went weak, drooping.

Dear Spirit, no! He had to defend himself or he was as good as dead!

The thing had managed to grip the handle of the Bowie and yank. Blood spurted as the blade pulled loose. The brute held the knife up and appeared to study it for a moment, then it tossed the Bowie aside.

Growling, it pulled the other Bowie from its immense chest and flung the knife to the ground. Blade took hold of the dagger and braced himself. If the Bowie knives couldn’t affect this giant, what good would a dagger do?

The brute bent down, its long, hairy arms reaching for its intended victim.

Blade rammed his dagger into the creature’s throat and twisted, gratified when blood gushed over his arm.

The thing gurgled and gasped, pulling away from Blade. Now was his chance!

Blade leaped to his feet, scooping up one of his Bowies. He swung the big knife, slicing the brute’s midriff.

The creature had pressed its hands against its neck, striving to stem the flow of crimson. It roared as the Bowie bit into its stomach again and attempted to grab its assailant.

Blade dropped and stepped back, trying to pinpoint the brute’s must vulnerable point. He heard footsteps behind him.

“I heard all the commotion,” Geronimo announced. “Let me finish this thing for you.”

“Be my guest.”

The monstrosity came at them as Geronimo fired, voicing his war whoop. The shot struck the thing in the chest, blowing the flesh apart.

Incredibly, the giant staggered, but recovered and took two steps forward.

The Browning roared twice more, the ruptured chest spattering blood and flesh everywhere. This time, the brute went down, toppling like a felled tree.

“Are you seriously injured?” Geronimo asked Blade, concern carved on his face.

“I don’t think so,” Blade replied, breathing deeply.

“You look a mess.”

“Thanks.”

Geronimo walked over to the thing, staring in amazement. “What is this? It’s not a mutate. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Beats me.” Blade shrugged. He retrieved his weapons.

“Think there could be more of them?” Geronimo nervously asked.

Blade stopped, searching the nearby trees and grass. “Could be. I say we get back to the others.”

“Looks like they had the idea first.” Geronimo grinned, pointing.

Hickok and Joshua were running toward them, Hickok with his Pythons in his hands, Joshua holding a shotgun.

“What the hell is going on?” Hickok demanded as they ran up.

Blade nodded at the brute.

“What the blazes…?” Hickok began, fascinated by the hulk lying on the ground.

“Not another one!” Joshua exclaimed. He stood behind Hickok, and his view was obstructed.

“Not human anyway.” Hickok stepped to one side so Joshua could see clearly.

“What is it?” Joshua wanted to know.

“You tell us,” Geronimo countered.

They silently studied the creature, a dozen questions filling their minds.

“What do we do with it?” Joshua eventually inquired.

“Nothing,” Blade answered. His neck was throbbing and a headache was starting to form.

“We don’t bury it?” Joshua gasped at the shredded chest.

Hickok looked at Joshua and frowned. “Be serious.”

“I should know better by now,” Joshua admitted.

“Where’s your Henry?” Geronimo asked Hickok.

“Left it with Bertha when we heard the shots. She was still antsy over the rat deal. Thought she’d feel safer if she had the Henry.”

“Where’d you get that?” Blade inquired of Joshua, indicating the pump shotgun.

“Hickok gave it to me,” Joshua said sheepishly.

“I took it from the guy Geronimo shot yesterday,” Hickok informed Blade, “the one we first saw on the roof. It’s a Smith and Wesson Model 3000 Pump. You told him to get a gun. He doesn’t have any firing experience, and if he should decide to let loose…”

“I will not kill a brother or sister,” Joshua interrupted.

“…even if it’s just to warn us,” Hickok continued as if Joshua hadn’t spoken, “then the shotgun should suffice. A lot of firepower, but you don’t need to be able to hit a knothole at fifty yards to be effective with it.”

“Any ammo for it?” Blade asked.

Hickok nodded. “Yep. Found a dozen spare rounds, all slugs, in the Watcher’s pockets. Probably more in that storage room we found upstairs.”

“Good.” Blade surveyed the nearby foliage. “We’ll head back. If there is another one of these things lurking about,” he kicked the dead brute, “we’ll fare better if we stay in groups. So from now on, we only go outside in pairs. No one goes outdoors alone. Is that clearly understood?”

“You bet, pard,” Hickok replied.

“Absolutely,” Geronimo answered.

Joshua nodded his understanding.

“Okay. Let’s head back. Keep on your toes.”

They cautiously returned to their temporary headquarters. Blade took the point, alert for any unusual sounds or movements. His neck was beginning to swell and his throat felt dry. Some water would taste wonderful! He speculated on his attacker. What had the thing been? It appeared to be more human than animal, but it acted bestial in every other respect. Where did it come from? Was it an isolated freak of nature, or just one of a species? Why hadn’t they ever seen one near the Home?