David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

Joshua began laughing, an emotional release to the recent events, his mirth uncontrollable.

“What’s so funny?” Bertha inquired, trying to understand.

“Nothing,” Joshua managed to reply, before the laughter doubled him over.

“I’m sure glad you can laugh while I suffer,” Bertha said harshly.

Joshua immediately straightened, the thought of her injury sobering him.

“That’s better.”

“How bad is it?” he asked, taking her left arm and examining the bite marks.

“I’ve been hurt worse,” she answered. “You know, Josh, White Meat sure was right about you.”

“How do you mean?”

“No offense meant,” she said, inadvertently flinching when he accidentally touched a tender spot near her wound, “but you are one strange dude!”

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Joshua said, sighing, gazing at the dead brute, “at the rate we’re going, by the time this trip is done, I probably won’t have much strangeness left in me.”

“You’ll be normal like the rest of us?” Bertha asked.

“You call yourselves normal?”

“I can’t get over it!” Hickok laughed uproariously, despite the lancing agony in his head. “I just can’t get over it!”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Joshua dryly commented. “I believe we get the picture.”

“Old Josh actually blows away one of those critters! Incredible!” Hickok couldn’t seem to stop laughing.

“It wasn’t so funny for those who were there,” Bertha observed stiffly.

“Sorry, Black Beauty,” Hickok apologized. “But if you knew Josh like I know Josh, you’d be plumb amazed at him shooting that thing. Say, what are we going to call them disgusting vermin anyway?” he called out to Blade, who was driving the SEAL back to the concrete building in the center of Thief River Falls.

“I don’t know what they were,” Blade replied.

“They sure were ugly brutes,” Bertha stated, frowning.

“Then that’s what we’ll call them,” Blade said.

“What?” Joshua asked. “Ugly? I thought that was the name the people in the Twin Cities used for the mutates.”

“It is,” Blade confirmed. “No, I mean we’ll officially dub the creatures we’ve encountered the brutes. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“The brutes?” Geronimo smiled. “It certainly is a scientific title, I’ll say that. Plato would be proud of you, Blade.”

“Do you think there are any more?” Bertha nervously inquired.

“Probably,” Blade admitted. “Whatever the brutes are, I doubt there were just the two we killed in existence. There are bound to be more.”

“Where the blazes do they come from?” Hickok wanted to know.

“If I knew that,” Blade responded, driving at a sedate pace, “I’d qualify for a position as a Family Empath.” He searched for Joshua in the rear-view mirror. “By the way, Joshua, I’m proud of the manner in which you handled yourself during the attack on poor Bertha.”

“It wasn’t much,” Joshua said softly, embarrassed.

“To the contrary,” Blade disagreed, “it was a major step for you to take.

What pleases me most, though, is that you finally brought your psychic abilities into play. It was about time.”

“I require relative quiet and a minimum of distractions to properly focus my mental capabilities,” Joshua explained. “Since we left the Home, everything has happened too fast. There’s been barely time to catch my breath.”

“Well, pard,” Hickok spoke up, “don’t expect things to change much during the rest of this trip. We seem to attract trouble like horse manure attracts flies.”

“You always did have an eloquence with words.” Geronimo chuckled.

“We’re here,” Blade announced, braking the transport in front of the Watchers’ former headquarters and parking at the foot of the front steps.

“So what now?” Bertha questioned.

“We tend to your wounds,” Blade replied, exiting the SEAL, “and hold a conference.”

Joshua, over their vociferous objections, forced Hickok and Bertha to recline on blankets next to the bar, Bertha on her mattress, Hickok by her side on the floor. The bites on Bertha’s arm were deep, and some of her flesh had been torn away by the hungry brute, but the injury wasn’t life threatening. Joshua solicitously cleaned the bites, placed a portion of herbal remedy over the exposed areas, and bandaged her arm with strips of clean cloth.

“Thanks, Joshua,” Bertha said affectionately as he finished.

“The least I could do,” Joshua responded, blushing.

“There you go again.” Bertha grinned. “You must have too much blood in your body, or something.”

“Hey!” Hickok interrupted, winking at Bertha. “Quit your flirting and check me out, okay, pard?”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Joshua said indignantly. “I never do.”

“You should try it sometime,” Hickok recommended. “It’s good for what ails you.”

“Speaking of which,” Joshua retorted, “let’s check and see what’s ailing you.”

“I can answer that one,” Geronimo interjected from his guard position at the front door. “His problem is a lack of brains.”

Hickok started to speak, but Joshua placed his left hand over the gunman’s mouth. “Be quiet,” he directed. “I can’t do this properly if you keep squirming.”

“I should take advantage of this while I have the chance,” Geronimo remarked.

Joshua’s gentle fingers probed Hickok’s wound above the right eye.

“Quite a nasty gash,” he said, “and you’ve lost some blood, but overall, I’d say you’re in good shape. Just try to avoid any sudden movements.”

“Does that mean he should keep his mouth shut?” Geronimo inquired.

“You can actually feel a draft when those lips of his start to fly.”

Hickok glared at Geronimo.

“And I wouldn’t worry about his injury.” Geronimo threw in another zinger for good measure. “Not if it’s his head. Whatever they hit him with probably broke.”

“That does it,” Hickok declared, pushing Joshua aside and rising to his feet. “I’m not a wimp. I’ll be all right.” He abruptly began swaying and gripped the bar to steady himself.

“I did warn you about sudden movements,” Joshua stated.

Blade, seated at the table, finally entered the conversation. “Nathan, lie down,” he ordered. “Don’t push yourself.”

“Yeah, White Meat.” Bertha smiled up at him. “Snuggle bunnies with me!”

“We must discuss our next move,” Blade advised as Hickok sat on his blanket, “and decide if we head for the Twin Cities in the morning or return to the Home.”

“The Home?” Geronimo repeated.

“Your Home?” Bertha said hopefully.

“Bertha,” Blade thoughtfully addressed her. “You keep telling us the situation in the Twin Cities is very dangerous…”

“You white boys just ain’t got no idea what the Twins is like!” Bertha broke in. “They are sheer murder!”

“…so we need to be at optimum effectiveness when we arrive there,” Blade said, continuing his train of thought. “Which we are not.”

“I can hold my own, pard,” Hickok mentioned. “Don’t worry none about me.”

“I’ve got to think of all of us,” Blade answered. “We must also consider the importance of our mission and the SEAL. I can’t see us going into the Twin Cities with Bertha and you at less than your best.”

“You mean you’re taking me to your Home?” Bertha asked, wonder in her voice.

“I have no choice,” Blade replied gruffly. “Besides, look at all the supplies we’ve taken from the Watchers. The generator is invaluable. We’ll dismantle it, load it and all the rest into the back of the transport, and return to our Home. We’re not that far. We’ll be back by the second day.