David Robbins - The Fox Run

“Well, just try and take her, bastard!” Blade whirled, the Vegas extended, and fired four times at the shapes in the corn. They dived for cover.

Blade twisted for a shot at the one ahead of them.

It was gone.

“What the…” Blade gave Jenny a shove. “Run! Head for the cabins! I’ll be right behind you.”

Jenny tore off, making good speed, Blade on her heels, searching for any sign of the Trolls.

Forty yards to go and they’d reach the cabins.

Blade spotted a shadow slithering along the base of a row of bushes to their north and snapped off a shot. The shadow disappeared from view.

Thirty-five yards to safety.

Blade could hear shouting from the direction of the cabins. His shots had been heard; help would be on its way.

“Blade!” Jenny abruptly screamed, terrified.

Several black shapes had jumped up and engulfed her.

“Jenny! No!”

The Trolls were swarming on her, overpowering her.

Blade couldn’t risk a shot. The bullet might accidentally strike Jenny. He didn’t even break his stride as he dropped the automatics and drew his Bowies, making for the nearest looming shadow.

The Troll had turned to face Blade, the feeble moonlight gleaming on a metallic substance as it made a sweeping arc at Blade’s head.

Blade ducked and lunged, burying his right Bowie to the hilt in the Troll’s abdomen.

The Troll grunted and collapsed.

Blade surged upward, leaping at the second form.

“Blade!” Jenny was still fighting for her life.

A hard object unexpectedly crashed into Blade’s head from behind and he toppled to the turf, his senses swimming.

“Blade!” Jenny screamed, kicking one of the Trolls in the groin.

“Finish him off!” someone ordered.

Blade tried to concentrate, but his consciousness was jumbled. He realized he had dropped his Bowies.

Someone gruffly yanked his head back, pulling on his hair, nearly bending his neck to the snapping point, exposing his jugular.

At the same time there was the sound of a solid blow landing and a body fell to the ground.

“Finally!” said the voice of the first Troll. “Get her and let’s get out of here.”

Blade was struggling, trying to break free. His vision cleared and he saw a Troll towering over him, one arm upraised, a knife in hand, ready to strike.

Hickok and Geronimo were standing next to the SEAL, admiring the vehicle and discussing their impending departure, when all hell broke loose.

Although ordinarily most Family members would retire shortly after the onset of night, many of them were still awake, too excited over the recent developments to turn in. Plato was seated by a fire, immersed in the Operations Manual to the SEAL. The Omega Triad was on guard, the three Warriors on the west wall, alert for any danger. All was peaceful and quiet.

Until the four shots shattered the darkness.

Hickok and Geronimo spun, facing east.

“What was that?” Plato called to them.

“Came from near the cabins,” Hickok ventured.

“A bit past it, I’d say,” Geronimo said, assessing the distance.

A smallish figure darted up to them, a lean, wiry man with angular facial features and uncanny speed.

“Any orders?” asked his newcomer. He was carrying a katana, a long sword, at the ready.

Hickok glanced at him, wondering for the umpteenth time how any person could choose the name of a mongoose at their Naming.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the leader of the Beta Triad. Each Triad had its respective head, but each of the three other Triads, the Beta, the Gamma, and the Omega, were in turn led by the Alpha Triad in times of concerted action.

“Guard Plato,” Hickok directed. “We’ll investigate.” He ran off, Geronimo keeping pace at his side. They had placed the Henry and the Browning in the SEAL earlier, but they still had their other weapons.

A woman suddenly shrieked, the sound coming from their right, from the direction of F Block.

They stopped, mentally debating which way to go, when they heard Jenny yell Blade’s name somewhere directly ahead.

The two Warriors covered the ground at full speed, heedless of the risk of tripping and breaking a leg. They reached the cabins. A man and a woman were standing outside the front door of one cabin, the man with a rifle, the woman with a candle.

“What’s going on?” the man asked as Hickok and Geronimo passed him.

“If you find out,” Hickok shouted over his left shoulder, “let us know!”

There was another gunshot up ahead.

They heard Jenny scream again, closer this time.

Hickok was scanning the terrain, searching for any indication of movement. Where the blazes were they? What was going down?

Jenny, sounding scared, cried Blade’s name for the third time.

“Where are they?” Hickok snapped in frustration.

“There!” Geronimo tapped Hickok’s right shoulder and pointed.

Hickok spotted them. There was enough moonlight to reveal both Blade and Jenny was were down. Dark forms flitted around them.

Geronimo slowed a bit, drawing his cherished tomahawks.

Jenny was being lifted and carried by a pair of the flitters. There were six or seven milling about.

Hickok saw one of them standing over Blade, a knife in one hand. Blade suddenly thrust his right hand into the neck of his foe, his thick fingers rigid and extended. He surged to his feet and was immediately struck on the head again by another of the forms.

Time to even the odds a mite. Hickok stopped, crouched, and drew his right Python, the motion a blur, the Colt an extension of his body, firing two shots into one of the things looming above Blade. His friend was prone on the ground.

One of their attackers whirled and there was the crack of a revolver. His hurried shot went wild.

So! They had guns too! Whoever they were! Hickok returned the shot, his aim better. The thing clutched at its head and dropped.

Geronimo had borne a little to the right, and now he closed in, bearing down on one of the figures. They appeared to be men dressed in baggy robes of some sort.

There was the sound of commotion, gunshots and yells coming from the area of the Blocks. Were there more of them? What were they after?

Geronimo gave his war whoop and launched himself into the air, slamming into one of them, sending the figure sprawling to the ground.

Before it could regain its footing, Geronimo swung his left tomahawk, imbedding the edge in the skull of his foe.

The others were slinking off into cover. Jenny had disappeared.

Blade groaned and attempted to rise, getting to his knees, still unsteady.

Hickok was at his side, supporting him. “Whoa there, pard! Take it easy!”

“Jenny…” Blade mumbled. “Where’s Jenny?”

Hickok caught Geronimo’s eye and nodded due east.

Geronimo understood, heading after the ones who abducted Jenny.

“Jenny,” Blade said softly, struggling to stand.

“It’s okay,” Hickok tried to assure him. “Geronimo is going after her.

Those things don’t stand a chance against that red man.”

“Got to help her,” Blade stated weakly. His head throbbed and blood matted his hair.

“You’ve got to rest a minute,” Hickok said. “You won’t do her no good trying to catch up in this condition. Leave it to Geronimo.”

Geronimo was making his way through the cornfield, listening for the slightest noise, hoping his deductions were correct and the attackers were making for the east wall. But why had they taken Jenny? An answer occurred to him and he felt inexplicably cold. Great Spirit! It couldn’t be!

There was motion ahead. Someone was running through the corn, bearing east.

Geronimo increased his speed. Slowly he began to overtake his quarry, a solitary running form. Where were the others and Jenny? What if he didn’t catch up with them? Where were they from? How would the Family locate their lair? He needed one of them alive.