David Robbins - The Fox Run

The Troll with the sword turned to run.

“Leaving our shindig so soon?” asked the gunman. He shot the second Troll in the back of the head. “That leaves you.” He swiveled, pointing the Python in his right hand at the Troll with the broken nose. His left Colt was still in its holster.

Buck backed away. “No, mister! Please! I don’t want to die!” he pleaded.

Joan struggled to her knees, her gaze fastened on his face. “Hickok.” She whispered the name, her eyes brimming with love and tears.

“Please! Don’t!” Buck held his hands in front of his body, as if they could offer some protection from the inevitable.

“You sure are a wimp, pard,” Hickok stated. The Python roared and Buck was slammed into the drop-off, a red hole gaping in the center of his forehead. “Never could abide wimps,” Hickok commented, twirling the Colt into its holster. He jumped from the bank and landed beside Joan.

“Howdy, ma’am,” he said. “Can you use a lift?”

Joan sobbed and clutched at his legs.

Hickok dropped to one knee and held her. “Hey, it’s okay! I didn’t realize. I’m here. You can let it all out.”

The silence of the forest engulfed them as she quietly cried in his arms.

Gradually, the birds and other wildlife resumed their daily activities, their patterns of living disrupted by the intruding humans and the shattering gunfire.

Blade and Geronimo appeared on the bank.

“So here you are,” Geronimo said, the Browning in his hands.

“We heard the shots,” Blade explained, the Commando at the ready.

“Thought maybe a wasp attacked you while you were relieving yourself,” Geronimo added. He moved to inspect the dead Trolls.

Blade walked over to Hickok and Joan. “Is she all right?”

Joan raised her tear-streaked countenance and nodded. “Just very tired and sore,” she told him.

“Is Jenny with you?” Blade asked hopefully.

Joan shook her head. “Just me. I escaped to tell you the Trolls are heading east, to a place called Fox.”

“We know,” Hickok informed her.

“You know?”

“We caught one of the Trolls,” Blade elaborated. “We prevailed upon him to tell us where you were being taken.”

“Remind me sometime,” Hickok said, squeezing her left shoulder, “to tell you how we did it. You might want to employ the technique yourself some day.”

Geronimo joined them. “The Trolls are dead.”

“Was there any doubt?” Hickok asked.

Blade stood, debating their next move. “We’ll collect any weapons and toss them in the back of the SEAL. Joan, if you’re not up to it, Hickok can take you to the Home and Geronimo and I will go to Fox to rescue the other women.”

“I feel up to it,” Joan declared.

“Are you sure?” Blade pressed her. “It looks like your right shoulder has been cut. You’re completely bushed. We can manage without you.”

Joan gritted her teeth and rose to her feet, Hickok by her side, supporting her. “I’m going with you, Blade. I’ll have some time to rest up before we reach Fox. Did I hear you right? You’re using that vehicle we dug up?”

Blade nodded.

“Even better. You won’t really need me until we reach Fox.” She paused.

“I’ve got to go. Blade. I owe it to my sisters I deserted…”

“You didn’t desert them,” Hickok quickly objected. “You did what you had to do.”

“I still feel like a deserter,” Joan said softly. “You must let me come with you.”

Blade found three pairs of eyes focused on him, awaiting his decision.

Instinctively, he wanted to send her back to the Home out of harm’s way.

But she was a Warrior; she knew the consequences. In addition, he did not know how many Trolls there were. Another good gun might come in handy. “Okay,” he told them. “You come along. We’ll need you.”

Hickok hugged Joan. “Let’s get you to the SEAL. I’ll tend to your wound.”

They trekked toward the transport, parked forty yards away to the west.

“How did you find me?” Joan asked Hickok as they walked arm in arm.

“By accident,” Hickok explained. “It’s like Geronimo said. I needed to relieve myself. Blade stopped, and I was watering this tree when I heard someone shouting and laughter. Naturally I came to investigate and found you.”

“I’m glad you did.” She stretched and pecked him on the cheek.

“These Trolls are going to pay for what they’ve done,” Hickok promised, his lips a compressed line. “I owe them.”

Up ahead. Blade was fighting waves of sadness. Finding and rescuing Joan was great, but she reminded him so much of his beloved Jenny it hurt. Both were blondes; Jenny had green eyes, Joan blue; Jenny was inches shorter than Joan, but fuller of figure; Joan’s facial features were broader, her frame more muscular; both women were attractive and intelligent. Every time he looked at Joan, he saw Jenny. Just what he needed to keep his mind on the matter at hand!

Morning on the third day after the assault on the Home.

Saxon raised his arm for the column to halt. They were on top of a sloping rise. Below them, a narrow valley meandered for a mile, ending in a cluster of buildings.

“Fox!” Saxon announced for the benefit of his wary captives.

Jenny peered at the distant town. They were almost there, and still no sign of any Warriors. Where were they? Had something happened to Blade? Was that the reason their rescue hadn’t materialized?

The eleven Trolls and seven women tramped down the rise.

“At last!” one of the Trolls exclaimed. “Home at last!”

Saxon glanced at Jenny. “You women will get to rest tonight. You’ll need it. Tomorrow is the testing for your services.”

“What is this testing you go through?” Jenny asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Stupid woman!” Saxon guffawed. “It’s you women who are tested, not us.”

“What type of tests?”

“You’ll see,” was all Saxon would say.

The sun climbed as they crossed the verdant valley.

“I’m getting scared,” Angela whispered.

Jenny smiled at her reassuringly. “We’ll make it.”

Shouts sounded in the town as they drew near. The Trolls had erected a wooden fence, encircling the northern half of Fox, with gates in the middle of each side. Faces, most of them bearded, appeared at the western gate and it was hastily flung open.

“Not as fancy as your big wall,” Saxon said, indicating the fence as they approached, “but it and the fires keep the pus heads out.”

“Pus heads?” Jenny repeated.

“You’ve got to know what the pus heads are,” Saxon said. “They are all over the place. We saw one yesterday, remember?”

Jenny understood now. “We call them mutates.”

“What?”

“Mutates.”

“From now on,” Saxon instructed her, “you will call them pus heads.”

“If I don’t?” Jenny defiantly countered.

“I’ll feed you to Wolvie or Runt or Momma,” he threatened her.

“Who are they?”

Saxon chuckled. “You’ll see them soon enough.”

Dozens of Trolls poured through the gate and surrounded the newcomers, many of them lecherously leering at the women.

“I think we’re in big trouble,” Mary stated.

The throng moved inside the fence and along several streets until they reached a paved square in the center of the town. A small platform was standing in the middle of the square. Saxon jumped onto the platform and held his arms aloft.

Silence descended.

“As promised,” Saxon bellowed, “we have returned with more women!”

A great cheer went up among the assembled Trolls, mixed with clapping and whistling.

Saxon motioned and they quieted.