David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

Where were they?

What were they up to?

In the silence, he realized the firing on the building had ceased. When?

Were his shots heard?

An M-16 abruptly chattered, the slugs biting into the ground at Blade’s feet.

Blade turned and ran, keeping close to the vehicles for cover. He passed the fourth jeep and reached the truck.

“This way!” a voice behind him shouted. “The one from the van is over here!”

Big mouth.

Blade paused and peered into the back of the truck. The front half was piled high with boxes. The rest was littered with straw and reeked of a musky animal smell.

“Quick!” a Watcher yelled. “This way!”

Blade popped out from behind the truck. A solitary Watcher was running toward him. He raised the Commando, sighted, and blasted the Watcher from shoulder to shoulder.

In the park, one of the brutes roared.

Blade jogged away from the vehicles. His best bet would be to find a house he could hole up in until morning.

“After him!”

“This way!”

“He got Tim and Clyde!”

Blade heard more voices being raised as he reached the end of the park.

The street he was on continued into a residential area. Good. With the park behind him, so were the brutes.

The guttural growl warned him of his error a split second before hairy arms encircled his waist and wrenched him into the air.

Blade instinctively surged against the constricting arms.

The brute snarled.

Blade dropped the Commando, realizing it was useless unless he could break free. He had to! If he didn’t extricate himself before the Watchers caught up with him, he was as good as dead.

If he wasn’t already.

Fangs suddenly sank into his right shoulder, and he arched his back, suppressing a scream, as acute pain tore through his brain.

No!

The brute was applying pressure to his waist, determined to crush the life from him.

Focus, he told himself! Focus! The Vegas’ were out of reach. He lacked the leverage to use his Bowies. His forearms, though, were loose. He reached across with his right hand and grabbed the dagger strapped to his left wrist, the hilt comforting in his grip as he swung his right forearm out and drove the point of the keen blade back and around his right hip.

He felt the blade make contact, driving deep into vulnerable flesh.

The brute shrieked and released Blade.

Blade tumbled to the pavement, scraping his elbow, and landed on his back. He twisted, facing the brute.

It was Aria.

The dagger was imbedded in her lower abdomen, immediately above the buckskin loincloth she wore.

“Bring the flashlight!” a Watcher ordered, perhaps thirty yards distant.

Blade knew he had to act, and act now.

Aria was doubled over, her fingers spread over her stomach. She looked at Blade and hissed, straightening and lunging for him, her teeth bared.

Blade drew the Vegas’ in a cross draw, pointed the pistols at the brute’s face, and fired at point-blank range, first the right Vega, then the left, two, three, four shots, directly into her head.

Aria rocked on her heels, her massive body swaying as she tried to focus her fading sentience.

Fall, damn you!

Blade shot her two more times.

The brute collapsed, sagging to its knees, then toppling over, sprawled in the street.

Blade bolstered his Vegas, retrieved the Commando, and rose. His right shoulder was throbbing, and he could feel his blood oozing down his chest and back. He shuffled off, passing several decayed structures. At an intersection, he bore right.

The sounds of pursuit had faded.

A white frame house, or the remains of one, attracted his attention to his left.

Blade crossed a weed-choked yard and cautiously entered the house through the front doorway. A door was on the ground next to the entrance. He sagged against a wall and caught his breath.

Outside, footsteps pounded in the street. A light appeared, bobbing as the Watcher carrying the flashlight ran.

There were four of them. They stopped ten yards from the house.

“Which way did he go?” one of them asked.

“No way to tell,” another replied.

“Did you see what the bastard did to Aria?” questioned still another.

“Aria, hell!” exploded the first one. “Who cares about her? The prick just wasted four of us !”

“I know who cares what happened to Aria,” said the fourth man. “Krill.

The captain has him leashed, but he’s hard to control. He’ll tear this sucker to shreds for what he did to Aria.”

“This guy could have gone in any direction,” commented the first Watcher. “Let’s leave him to Krill. We’ve got to secure the perimeter on the ones inside.”

The Watchers departed, walking slowly.

Blade stuck his head out the doorway, listening. He could barely distinguish their conversation.

“When did the captain say the reinforcements will arrive?” one of them was asking. “And how many are coming?”

“Forty troops,” answered another. “Tomorrow, about six in the evening.

These yokels don’t stand a chance!”

“Tell that to Aria and our seven dead mates.”

“We’ll teach them! No one messes with First Company. No one!”

First Company? Reinforcements on the way? They must have a radio with them. Damn! Blade leaned his head against the wall and closed his weary eyes. His right side and his right shoulder were tormenting him with piercing, burning pain. Dear Spirit, how they hurt!

So what should he do now?

Blade opened his eyes and stepped to the doorway. Should he try to return to Hickok and the others while it was still dark? Or should he wait until morning? What was the wisest course of action?

The matter was abruptly taken from his hands.

A huge, fluid, ebony shape drifted across the intersection.

Krill!

On his trail so soon?

Blade ran from the house and turned left, keeping to the middle of the street. Staying in the house would be suicide. Krill would have him boxed in, ripe for the kill.

In the open, at least, he had a slim chance.

Very slim.

With his ears tuned for the patter of feet behind him, Blade ran further into the stygian wasteland of Thief River Falls.

“It’s been so quiet for so long,” Joshua commented.

“I know,” Bertha agreed. They were lying on the floor by the front door, Bertha with her eyes at the jamb, alert for any indication of movement.

“What do you think they’re up to?” Joshua asked.

“I wish I knew,” Bertha replied. “I don’t like this sittin’ and waitin’ for something to happen. I’m the type that likes to make things happen.”

“Like Hickok,” Joshua noted.

“Like White Meat.” Bertha grinned. She glanced at the stairway.

“Where the hell is he anyway?”

“He must have fired the shot from the roof earlier,” Joshua speculated.

“He’d pull a stunt like that, for sure,” Bertha remarked proudly.

“I thought the Watchers would never stop firing at us,” Joshua mentioned. “There’s a high probability Hickok struck one of them.”

“You can bet your butt I hit one,” Hickok stated, coming down the stairs. “I always hit my targets.”

“Did you kill him?” Bertha inquired hopefully.

“Need you ask?” Hickok responded in a mock-hurt tone.

Bertha giggled. “You sure are somethin’ else, white boy.”

Hickok joined them on the floor. He peeked around the door. “Any sign?” he asked.

“Not a thing,” Bertha answered. “They’ve been quiet ever since the shooting earlier.”

“Did you hear the Commando?” Hickok questioned.

“How can you tell the difference?” Joshua wanted to know.