David Robbins - The Fox Run

“Only sincere, caring people can reciprocate genuine affection,” Plato said, disputing Joshua’s contention.

“So you believe all creatures respond to love?” Rikki queried Joshua.

“I do,” Joshua confirmed.

“Then,” Rikki winked at Plato, “the next time you come across a mutate, run up to it and give it a big hug. Let me know how it responds.”

“Trolls aren’t mutates,” Joshua argued. “They’re persons, like us.”

“Not like us.” Rikki shook his head. “I happen to think we smell a lot better than your average Troll. Did you get a whiff of the one we caught?”

“I’m shocked by your attitude,” Joshua said, frowning. “Are all Warriors so callous?”

“I can’t speak for the others,” Rikki replied, “only myself. I believe in the reality of the Spirit, Joshua. I believe in love. But I’m a Warrior, and I’m conditioned to confront the dangers of our everyday existence, to protect our Family and this Home. I can’t go into a fight worrying about possibly killing a brother or a sister, a fellow cosmic child of the Creator. It’s either them or me, and I can guarantee you, if I have anything to say about it, it won’t be me!”

“I’m thankful I’m not a Warrior,” Joshua said quietly. “I am repulsed by violence.”

“The Elders are wise,” Plato interjected. “We would not permit you to become a Warrior. It is diametrically opposed to your very nature. You are an excellent Empath. Be happy with that.”

“I think I will make myself useful,” Joshua stated, turning. “I will pray for the Alpha Triad, for their success and safe return.”

Plato sighed, watching the flowing water. “They’ll need his prayers. They’ll need all the help they can get.”

“There it is!” Clyde exclaimed.

Fox was up ahead, several of the weather-battered buildings visible through the trees.

Hickok was driving, Geronimo in the other bucket seat, and Joan sat on the console between them. Clyde, Cindy, and Tyson were in the back seat.

“What’s the plan?” Joan asked Hickok.

The gunman braked the transport and glanced at Geronimo. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Geronimo shook his head.

“What? Why not?”

“I’m still trying to recover from the shock of getting here alive!”

“Will you be serious?” Hickok requested.

“This was your idea,” Geronimo stated. “I thought you had it all worked out.”

“Not quite,” Hickok acknowledged.

“How much did you work out?” Joan inquired.

“Getting here.”

“That’s it? The extent of your big plan?” Joan looked at Geronimo. “I’m beginning to see what you mean.”

“I’ve been here before,” Clyde spoke up. “I might be of help.”

Hickok twisted in his seat. “What’s the layout like, old-timer? Do they have patrols and guards?”

“They have guards,” Clyde recalled. “Posted at the gates.”

“What gates?” Hickok questioned.

“Well, it’s like this.” Clyde leaned forward and gestured with his hands as he spoke. “This road cuts through the town, sort of divides it. The Trolls, though, only use the northern part. They’ve fenced it in and put gates in the middle of each side. We’ve seen guards at the gates, but never saw a patrol, just hunting parties and raiding parties. You can’t see it, but on the other side of these trees is a big field. It’s on the west edge of the town. To the north of Fox is more deep forest, and to the east some hills.

That’s about it.”

Hickok pondered the information.

“What now, mighty mind?” Geronimo asked.

“I don’t like the looks of the highway ahead.” Hickok evaluated the terrain. “Some of those buildings are awful close to the road. The Trolls would be on us before we saw them coming.” He turned and surveyed the trees to their left. “Clyde, do you think we could get the SEAL through those trees to that field you mentioned?”

“Might be a close fit in places,” Clyde answered. “But you should be able to make it.”

“Good.” Hickok slowly accelerated, easing the vehicle off the highway and into the woods, avoiding the tree trunks. Limbs scraped against the SEAL’S body as the transport brushed by.

“I take it you now have a plan?” Joan queried Hickok.

“Yep.”

“And it will work?” Geronimo quipped.

“Piece of cake,” Hickok stated. “We drive out in the center of the field and wait for the Trolls to see us.”

Everyone watched Hickok, waiting for additional details. Finally, Joan broke the silence.

“That’s it?” she asked, incredulous. “That’s your plan?”

“Isn’t it a stroke of genius?” Hickok nodded, grinning.

“You know,” Tyson said to no one in particular, “I’m beginning to see why the one with the dark hair, Blade, is in charge of you guys.”

“You’re lucky,” Hickok warned Tyson, “I’ve got my hands on this steering wheel.”

“What are all those?” Cindy questioned, pointing at the dashboard.

Hickok glanced to his right. She was indicating a row of toggle switches in the center of the dash. These switches were not mentioned in the Operations Manual. There were four of them, each with a single letter etched below it: M, S, F, and R. Blade intended to ask Plato about them upon their return.

“Beats me,” Hickok admitted. “Just don’t touch them. Don’t touch anything in here unless I tell you otherwise.”

“Getting back to this great plan of yours,” Joan interjected.

“Yes?” Hickok squeezed the transport between two saplings.

“How is waiting in the middle of a field going to help Blade?”

“Easy,” Hickok replied. “If we park in the field, we’re bound to draw the Trolls to the west fence. They’ll be curious, but a mite afraid because they’ve never seen anything like the SEAL.”

“And with most of the Trolls watching us,” Joan completed the line of reasoning, “Blade will be free to find Jenny and the others and maybe even sneak them out of Fox. I’m impressed! You’re not as dumb as I thought you were!”

“Ouch,” was all Hickok said in response.

“What happens if the Trolls charge the SEAL?” Clyde queried.

“We get the hell out of there,” Hickok answered. “I was told this critter is bulletproof, so we shouldn’t be in any danger.”

“Look!” Cindy shouted, gesturing with her left arm. “The field!”

Hickok stopped the vehicle. They could see the field through the trees.

“Hold onto your hats,” he advised, and drove the transport out of the protective cover of the foliage onto the exposed open field.

“Who’s wearing a hat?” Tyson asked.

The SEAL was forty yards from the west gate, the dilapidated structures clearly visible.

“I still say the Trolls will charge us,” Clyde stated, worried.

Hickok halted the vehicle, leaning forward and peering through the windshield. “Where are the guards at the gate?”

“I don’t see any sign of life.” Geronimo was studying the western fence and the buildings.

“They’ll see us, any moment,” Joan assured them. “Wait and see if they don’t.”

They didn’t. Time passed, and nary a sound or movement from Fox.

“What’s going on here?” Clyde demanded. “This ain’t right.”

“You’re telling us, old-timer,” Hickok agreed. “Any ideas?”

“They’re holding their annual Troll picnic and wilderness frolic,” Geronimo suggested, “and no one is home.”

“They had to have spotted us by now,” Joan stated. “What gives?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out,” Hickok said, twisting the key, turning the engine off.

“You shouldn’t of done that!” Clyde nervously declared.