David Robbins - Thief River Falls Run

Hickok crouched and whirled, his left Colt still gripped in his sweaty palm. Had one of the Watchers returned? If so, the Watcher had made a mistake because he still had some fight left in him and…

He froze, his eyes widening.

It was a massive male brute, caked with dried blood, its beady eyes ablaze, its gleaming teeth dripping with pink saliva. Wounds covered its torso.

Hickok managed to get off one shot before a brawny fist sent him to the ground.

The brute stood over its prey, clenching and unclenching its hands.

Neither of them were the one he wanted.

Krill was after Blade.

Voices, raised in alarm, sounded to his rear.

Krill ran to the park, angling for the point where the vegetation bordered the street. A huge tree was closest to the roadway, and Krill slid behind the trunk as two men, Blade and another, raced by.

“It’s Hickok and Bertha!” Geronimo exclaimed as they sighted their friends.

“But how…” Blade slowed, confused. They’d caught a glimpse of the four Watchers making their getaway in a pair of jeeps, two soldiers to a vehicle. The remaining pair of jeeps, and the truck, were abandoned.

Unless Hickok miscounted, the Watchers were all accounted for. So who had knocked Hickok and Bertha unconscious?

Krill roared as he sprang, reaching Geronimo in a single bound and slamming the Warrior to the pavement.

Blade raised the Ruger and fired once, the slug penetrating the brute’s right chest area, the impact tugging Krill to the right, but the brute stayed on its feet and kept coming, snarling. Blade was caught in a bear hug and lifted off his feet. He jammed the barrel of the Ruger into Krill’s right ear and pulled the trigger.

The Ruger was empty. He’d used five rounds on the two Watchers.

Krill growled as he attempted to crush the life from Blade. The brute smiled when Blade smashed the revolver barrel against his face. Krill wanted Blade to know there was no way to escape the inevitable. Krill desired sweet revenge for Aria.

Blade bashed the brute again and again, splitting the skin and busting the crooked nose, and still Krill maintained his pulverizing hold. He dropped the Ruger and crammed his palms under the brute’s chin, striving to force the thick neck backward, to snap the spine. Krill’s bullish neck barely budged.

Geronimo was suddenly there, one of his tomahawks in his right hand.

He shouted his war whoop and plunged the tomahawk into the brute’s neck.

Krill, shocked, enraged, flung Blade aside and pounced on Geronimo.

The brute’s neck injury was pouring blood, but Krill ignored the laceration and heaved the struggling Warrior into the air, completely over his head.

Geronimo landed with a pronounced thud.

Blade, lying on his right side, striving to collect his breath and gather his energy, glanced around. Hickok and Bertha were lying still, both rendered unconscious. Geronimo, momentarily stunned, was prone and motionless.

It was all up to him.

Blade labored to rise, his battered and bruised body sluggish in responding.

Krill was watching Blade, grinning and waiting.

“You must want me real bad,” Blade muttered. He was astonished when the brute nodded.

“You can understand what I say?” Blade said, gawking.

Krill’s smile widened.

“But that’s impossible…” Blade mumbled.

Krill pounced, reaching Blade in a single mighty bound. His huge hands gripped Blade’s head and he began tugging, intending to literally tear Blade’s head from his body.

Blade reacted automatically, reaching up and gouging his thumbs into the brute’s eyes.

Krill released him and stumbled aside, rubbing his watery eyes, trying to clear his blurred vision.

Blade cast about for a weapon. He spied one of the tomahawks, on the ground near Geronimo, and ran to it, grabbing the handle, never stopping as he turned and closed on Krill, sweeping the tomahawk all the way back and, as he reached the brute, jumping as high as he could into the air while crashing the blade onto the top of the brute’s head, completely burying it in Krill’s cranium.

The brute sagged and collapsed on its knees, barely conscious.

Blade stepped back as Joshua ran up, holding the Browning. “Finish it off,” Blade ordered. When Joshua went to object, Blade savagely poked him in the chest. “ Finish it now !” he shouted.

Startled, bewildered at Blade’s attitude, Joshua reluctantly placed the barrel against the brute’s ear and pulled the trigger.

They were gathered in the headquarters building while Joshua ministered to their injuries.

“Josh the brute-slayer!” Hickok was teasing. “Has a ring to it!”

“Please.” Joshua grimaced. “Don’t remind me!”

“Wait until the Family hears about this,” Hickok remarked. He was lying beside Bertha, near the bar. Blade was at the table, Geronimo standing guard.

“Please,” Joshua addressed Hickok. “Don’t inform the Family.” He was bandaging Blade’s wounds.

“Why not?” Hickok demanded.

“I simply don’t want to be known as a…” he paused.

“As a killer,” Hickok said, finishing the sentence for him.

“Exactly.” Joshua nodded.

“You get used to it,” Hickok informed Joshua.

Joshua stopped his ministrations and stared into Hickok’s eyes. “Unlike you, I could never get used to it. Never.”

“If that’s what you want,” Hickok said, shrugging, “it’s fine by me. It’ll be our little secret.”

“So what’s our next move?” Geronimo inquired.

“Do we have any choice?” Blade answered, flinching as Joshua applied a compress to his right shoulder.

“The beast took quite a bite out of you,” Joshua noted.

“Yeah,” Bertha cracked. “He and I have a lot in common!”

“As I was about to say,” Blade commented, “I don’t think we have any other choice. As I see it, we head for our Home instead of the Twin Cities.

Anyone disagree?”

No one spoke.

“Fine.” Blade nodded. “The Twin Cities will wait for another week or two, while we rest and recuperate.” He stared at the floor, reflecting. It was funny. First, he had wanted to reach the Twin Cities as quickly as possible, and he had even persuaded Bertha to go along against her better judgment. Then, after Hickok and Bertha had been hurt, he had prevailed on them to return to the Home, using the pretext of their injuries, when in reality he wanted to see his darling Jenny again and ferret out the power-monger in the Family. It was as if he had looked for an excuse, any justification, for heading back. Now there was nothing else they could do.

With three of them seriously wounded, the Twin Cities were definitely out of the question. It was funny, sometimes, how things worked themselves out.

“What about the truck and those jeeps?” Geronimo asked.

“What about them?” Blade inquired.

“Do we take one of them with us? The Family could really use another vehicle,” Geronimo stated.

“Who’d drive it?” Blade inquired.

“I could do it,” Hickok chimed in. “I’ve driven the SEAL before, you know.”

“Except for one thing,” Blade commented. “When Geronimo and I examined them earlier, I discovered both of the jeeps, and probably the truck too, are not like the SEAL.”

“How so, pard?” Hickok questioned.

“The SEAL is what Plato called an automatic,” Blade reminded him.

“The Watcher’s vehicles are not automatics. They’re the old shift variety, using something called a clutch. I don’t know how to drive one of those. Do you?”

“No,” Hickok admitted. “But I could learn.”

“We don’t have the time,” Blade said. “It’s almost noon.”