David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

Something scratched nearby.

Blade, fatigued, slowly opened his eyes, then froze, involuntarily gawking.

Krill was standing in the bedroom doorway, a hulking monstrosity with his massive body tensed for a leap.

How the…?

Move! Blade’s mind screamed at him, and he swept the Commando up even as Krill jumped, firing, the slugs ripping into Krill’s thick torso, slowing the brute’s momentum, enabling Blade to roll aside and fall to the floor as Krill crashed onto the sofa.

Damn!

Blade pressed the trigger as Krill lunged at him, the brute’s left arm connecting with the Commando barrel and sending it flying from Blade’s desperate hands.

Krill snarled and grabbed for Blade’s legs.

Blade rolled to his left and swiftly rose to his feet, drawing the Vegas, as Krill stood and came toward him, hissing and growling. Come and get it, sucker! He aimed the automatics at the brute’s furious face, intent on doing to Krill exactly as he had done to Aria.

Fate, however, had other plans.

Blade took two steps backward, wanting to be sure of his aim, his entire attention concentrated on Krill. His feet collided with something hard and, startled, he glanced down, too late, as he tripped over a wooden chair and tumbled to the floor.

Krill roared and closed in.

Before Blade could regain his balance, Krill stood over him and grabbed his wrists. Blade vainly struggled to free his arms as the brute applied pressure, twisting his wrists and squeezing, forcing his wrists to bend at an unnatural angle.

Krill’s pointed fangs were exposed as the brute grinned at its enemy.

Blade had no other choice. He was forced to drop the Vegas.

Krill released Blade’s wrists and straightened, glaring, confident of impending victory.

I’m not finished yet, bastard! Blade drew his knees up to his chest and drove his legs upward, slamming his feet into the brute’s crotch.

He connected.

Krill shrieked and gurgled, almost falling, his huge hands cupping his groin area as he staggered away from Blade. The brute stumbled against the sofa and stopped, whining.

Blade heaved erect, whipping his Bowies out, and charged. He must act now, before Krill recovered!

Krill attempted to sidestep, unsuccessfully.

Blade barreled into the brute, bowling him over, and both of them fell onto the sofa.

Krill swung his right fist at Blade’s head.

Blade ducked, raised his right Bowie, and buried it to the hilt in Krill’s brawny chest.

Krill surged upward, roaring, enraged, trying to dislodge the man pinning him down.

Blade swept the left Bowie up, tensed, and plunged the blade into Krill’s body within an inch of his other knife.

Krill’s arms flapped wildly, his left catching Blade a glancing blow on the side of his head and knocking him onto the floor.

Blade rose, reaching for one of the Solingen throwing knives strapped to the small of his back. He’d lost one in the rat he’d killed in Bertha’s room. That left him with two throwing knives. One of his daggers was imbedded in Aria’s gut, leaving him with his last dagger, tied to his right calf.

Krill was motionless.

Was the brute faking?

Blade cautiously moved closer.

Krill’s eyes were closed, his body immobile. Blood was pouring from the bullet wounds inflicted by the Commando, and oozing around the Bowie knives, still protruding from the brute’s chest.

The damn thing was finally dead!

Blade sighed in relief and sat on the arm of the sofa, absently gazing at his fallen foe. Where did the brutes come from? How were the Watchers able to control them? A simple leash couldn’t be…

He stopped, staring.

In the heat of their conflict, he had never noticed Krill was still wearing the leash. It was draped over his left shoulder and dangled down his broad back. Krill, Blade surmised, must have broken loose from the Watchers, wanting revenge for Aria. So! The Watchers did not exercise complete domination over their savage charges.

What should he do now? Return to Hickok, Geronimo, and the others and warn them reinforcements were coming?

Blade’s eyes drifted across Krill’s neck as he began to rise, then suddenly he stiffened and leaned forward, peering closely at the brute.

It couldn’t be!

Dear Spirit! No!

But it was.

The leash was attached to Krill’s neck, affixed to a… wide… leather…

collar!

Blade, stunned, his mind spinning, sat up, pondering the incredible implications.

Was it possible? Was the story true after all? The mutate responsible for his father’s death reportedly wore a leather collar. Was there a connection between the Watchers and…

Blade abruptly realized Krill’s eyes were open, staring at him, gleaming with feral intensity. He tried to bring one of the Solingen knives into play, his reaction sluggish.

Krill snarled, bringing both of his granite fists sweeping in, crashing them against Blade’s head, boxing him on the ears.

Blade endeavored to rise, but his eyes rolled and he slipped from the sofa and landed prone on the floor.

The brute stood. It roared and gazed at Blade, licking its thick lips.

Krill bent over the prostrate Warrior.

Joshua was pulling guard duty at the door. Hickok and Bertha were resting near the bar. Morning was still an hour away, but already some of the early birds were chirping their optimistic greeting to a new day.

Something was going on near the park.

Joshua could see a flurry of activity at the edge of the park, but he couldn’t quite make out what they were up to. He turned toward the sleeping duo.

“Hickok!” Joshua called.

The gunman was instantly awake, his senses fully alert. He crossed the room and crouched next to Joshua. “What’s up?”

“The Watchers are engaged in a bustle of movement,” Joshua replied.

“Their motivation and intention are not readily apparent.”

“When’s your birthday?” Hickok unexpectedly inquired.

“What’s that have to do with anything?” Joshua demanded, surprised at the query.

“Oh, nothing much.” Hickok grinned. “Just thought I’d get you a dictionary from the library for your birthday. Your vocabulary is pitiful.”

“I do evince a certain propensity for rather grandiose forms of expression at times,” Joshua seriously admitted.

Hickok playfully slapped Joshua, on the back. “You’re all right, pard. Let me have a look-see.”

“Is somethin’ up?” Bertha asked sleepily, joining them.

“Don’t know yet,” Hickok responded. He peered outside. The Watchers were hastily doing… something… near the park.

“Did you hear anything on that radio?” Bertha questioned Joshua.

Joshua shook his head. “Just static. They haven’t made a call all night.”

“Bertha,” Hickok directed. “Go up on the roof. Wake up that lazy Injun if he’s asleep and see if you can tell what the Watchers are up to.”

“I can do it,” Joshua interjected. “Bertha’s arm shouldn’t…”

“Don’t you worry none,” Bertha interrupted. “I ain’t no invalid. Be back in a jiffy.” She left them.

“What do you think they’re doing?” Joshua asked Hickok.

The Warrior shrugged. “Who knows? We’ll find out soon enough. You can bet…”

The Watchers’ transmitter unit began sputtering and crackling, followed by a raspy voice speaking in precise, clipped phrasing.

“Charlie-Bravo-One-Three-Niner-Niner. This is Charlie-Lima-Two-Four-Seven-Seven. Do you copy? Over?”

Almost immediately, another man responded. “Roger, Charlie-Lima-Two-Four-Seven-Seven. We copy,” he said acknowledging receipt of the transmission. “What is your ETA?”

“Still set at eighteen hundred,” the first voice stated. “Has your status changed?”