David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

“No!” Blade remembered. “Damn! Stay here!” he told the others, and he was out the door, running for the SEAL, exposed as he covered the dozen steps in front of the building. True night hadn’t descended yet, and the twilight revealed eight armed men, all attired in green military uniforms, coming toward the SEAL.

“Waste him!” someone shouted, and the air came alive with the crackle of automatic rifle fire and the buzz of the bullets as they narrowly missed Blade.

“Blade!” Joshua shouted, about to rush outside when a strong hand gripped his left arm and shoved him aside.

Blade felt a slug tear into his right side and he twisted, almost going down, but he regained his footing and stumbled against the transport. He reached for the door as two men appeared, one coming around each end of the SEAL, their guns leveled, their fingers on their triggers.

Hickok suddenly entered the fray, looming tall at the top of the steps, his Pythons already in his hands. The Colts fired, and the two men near Blade collapsed in unison, one of them clutching his head as he fell.

Blade yanked the door open and sprawled inside, closing the door behind him. He reached over and locked the passenger door, then his own.

The windows were rolled up. He was protected inside the bulletproof body of the SEAL.

Hickok dodged into the building, a spray of gunfire biting into the concrete wall near his body, narrowly missing him.

Abruptly, all went quiet.

“Whew!” Bertha whispered as they crouched near the doorway. “That was close!”

“I’m surprised they’re not firing at the SEAL,” Joshua remarked. “Do you think they know it’s bulletproof?”

“Doubt it,” Hickok replied. “They probably want the SEAL for themselves,” he deduced, “and it wouldn’t be too smart to blast it to shreds.”

“Think they’re more Watchers?” Joshua asked.

“You can bet on it, Joshua my man,” Bertha nodded. “I’ve seen their type before. Some of the Watchers wear uniforms, some of them don’t.

Beats me why.”

From upstairs, from the roof, came the blast of the Browning. Outside, a chorus of automatic fire retaliated.

“Geronimo!” Hickok stated. “What the blazes is he doing?”

“Why don’t you go up and ask him, White Meat?” Bertha advised.

“Where’s your shotgun?” Hickok inquired, glancing out the door. The Watchers weren’t in his line of view.

“By my mattress,” Bertha answered.

“Get it,” Hickok said. “Can you guard this door while I run upstairs?”

“Can birds fly?” Bertha retorted. She scrambled across the floor, scooped up the Smith and Wesson, and returned.

“Josh, where’s your Ruger?” Hickok looked at Joshua.

“I have it on the bar,” Joshua responded distastefully.

“Good. If one of those Watchers tries to get in here while I’m on the roof,” Hickok told him, “do to them exactly what you did to the brute trying to eat Bertha.”

“I don’t know if I could,” Joshua confessed.

“This is no time to wimp out, pard,” Hickok snapped. “You’ve finally found your balls. Don’t lose ’em now!”

Joshua moved toward the bar.

“Hold tight, Black Beauty,” Hickok said to Bertha. He pushed off the floor, grabbed his Henry from near the bar, and ran up the stairs, his eyes adjusted to the dim interior of the building.

Geronimo had placed a stepladder he found in one of the rooms under the trap door, situated in the center of the hallway.

Hickok reached the ladder and carefully climbed to the roof. A cool breeze struck his face as he emerged. The roof was flat, square in shape like the building itself. A foot-high concrete lip ran around the edge of the roof, providing cover for anyone who might need it.

Geronimo was huddled at the front of the roof.

“Don’t shoot!” Hickok whispered as he slid forward on his hands and knees. “I know how jumpy you Injuns are!”

“If I’d known it was you,” Geronimo rejoined as Hickok reached his side, “I definitely would have shot first and asked questions later.”

“What’s the layout?” Hickok asked. He cautiously peeked over the concrete lip. Only the lead jeep still had its lights on, focused on the SEAL.

The park and the surrounding streets were impenetrable in the darkness.

“When they first came in,” Geronimo stated, “I could still see pretty well. There were four Watchers for each jeep, and two more in the cab of the truck. With two dead, that leaves at least sixteen, plus however many were in the back of the truck. Two of the jeeps have machine guns mounted on them. Any idea what type of rifles they’re carrying?”

“Think so.” Hickok nodded. “They’re packing M-16’s. We’ve got two in our armory, and I’ve fired them a couple of times.”

“I wonder what they’re up to,” Geronimo said. “They’re so quiet down there. I spotted one a bit ago and tried to get him, but I think I missed.

These guys are professionals.”

“They probably won’t try anything tonight,” Hickok thoughtfully speculated. “They know this area, and particularly this building, very well.

After all, they’ve been using it for who knows how long. A concerted rush on the front door, the only means of entry, would be certain suicide.

Especially in the dark.” Hickok paused. “I think they’ll wait for daylight, then make their move.”

“What’s to stop them from tossing a grenade in here in the middle of the night?” Geronimo questioned.

“Plenty. These guys might believe we have some of their friends as prisoners. They must also think their supplies are stashed upstairs. How could they possibly know we’ve moved all their gear? They can’t. No, I doubt they’ll try anything until morning.”

A loud animal roar suddenly rent the night.

“What the blazes…” Hickok muttered.

“It came from the park,” Geronimo guessed. “Maybe it’s a mutate! It could do our job for us.”

“Where’s the screaming and the gunfire?” Hickok asked doubtfully.

“Don’t think so. Don’t like it either.”

“I wish we knew how Blade is doing,” Geronimo said, glancing down at the transport. “Why did he run out there anyway? I was on my way up here, and I heard the shooting begin. By the time I reached this spot, Blade was getting into the SEAL. Why?”

“He forgot to lock it,” Hickok explained.

“Well,” Geronimo reflected aloud, “he should be safe as long as he stays put. Think he’ll try to sneak back in here tonight?”

“If he’s able.”

“What’s that mean?” Geronimo asked.

“I think he was hit,” Hickok stated.

“You sure?”

Hickok nodded. “Almost positive. Saw him react like he was struck in the side.”

“And we can’t see inside,” Geronimo remarked.

“Sure can’t, pard,” Hickok said.

“So we have no way of knowing what condition he’s in,” Geronimo reasoned.

“Sure don’t,” Hickok agreed.

“For all we know,” Geronimo stated apprehensively, “he could be dead.”

“Damn!” was Hickok’s only response.

He was fortunate he wasn’t dead, Blade mentally told himself as he gingerly felt his right side, immediately below his rib cage, to ascertain the extent of the damage inflicted by the slug. There appeared to be a long furrow, maybe a quarter inch deep, along his side. There was bleeding, but the wound didn’t demand prompt treatment. Besides, he had other priorities to consider.

What should he do now?

The bulletproof transport would shield him, but how long could he afford to remain inside the SEAL? The Watchers were undoubtedly concocting their plans for an assault on the building, most likely at dawn.