David Robbins - The Fox Run

“Relax,” Hickok ordered. He faced Geronimo. “You with me?”

“You’ll require someone to cover your butt,” Geronimo replied.

“Don’t forget me,” Joan told them.

“I want you to stay with the SEAL,” Hickok directed.

“Not on your life.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. I’m a Warrior too, and you’re not going to pamper me just because…”

“You’ll be safer here,” Hickok said, interrupting.

“There is nothing you can say or do,” Joan gravely informed him, “to prevent me from coming along. I owe those women in there.”

“I don’t know…” Hickok hesitated.

“She has a point,” Geronimo said, siding with Joan, “and you know it.”

Hickok sighed, resigned to the prospect. “Okay. But I can’t understand what I see in such a contrary female!”

“What about us?” Clyde inquired.

“You three stay inside until we get back,” Hickok said.

“Why can’t we come?” Cindy implored.

“Too dangerous,” Hickok explained. “Besides, we don’t have enough guns to go around.”

“I have my own gun.” Clyde hefted his rifle, a Sako Classic Sportier in 30-06 caliber. “And I’m going along too. I’ve hated the Trolls for more years than I can remember. I won’t pass up this chance to get even!”

“How many rounds you have, old-timer?” Hickok asked.

Clyde lifted a small leather pouch from the floor. “About forty. Don’t use the rifle much anymore, except for emergencies. We kill our game with the bow and the spear.” Those two weapons, along with their other meager possessions, were piled in the rear section of the transport.

“You can come,” Hickok told Clyde.

“What about us?” Cindy inquired.

“You two stay here with the SEAL,” Hickok directed.

“That’s not fair!” Tyson protested, pouting.

“Get your spear,” Hickok said, glancing at Tyson, then at Cindy, “and your bow, and prepare for the worst, just in case. If the Trolls manage to get by us, they’ll attack the SEAL.”

“And you want us to defend it?” Tyson questioned hopefully.

“As long as you can,” Hickok said. “But if too many Trolls attack, if you see it’s hopeless, both of you hightail it out of here. Understood?”

Only Cindy nodded.

“Understood?” Hickok repeated, looking at Tyson.

“I don’t like running,” Tyson grumbled. “But I won’t let the Trolls get Cindy either!”

“There’s hope for you yet, boy,” Hickok stated.

“Let’s get to it,” Joan urged, holding the Commando in her lap. Four extra clips were thrust in her pockets.

“All set,” Geronimo announced, clutching the Browning. He had strapped a bandoleer across his left shoulder.

“You’ll need this.” Cindy retrieved the Henry from the storage area and passed the gun to Hickok.

“Do you see that ammo belt back there, to your right?” Hickok guided her.

“Here it is!” Cindy swung the Henry’s ammo belt around, almost clipping Tyson.

“Hey! Watch it, stupid!” Tyson groused as he ducked aside.

“Sorry.” Cindy giggled.

“Thanks.” Hickok leaned forward and secured the ammo belt directly above his cartridge belt for the Pythons.

“You look like you’re going to a war,” Cindy joked.

“We are,” Hickok reminded her. “Let’s do it.” He opened his door and slid out, Geronimo doing likewise on his side.

Joan followed Hickok, pausing at the door, waiting for Clyde.

“You two kids take real good care of yourselves,” Clyde said to his children.

“We will, papa,” Cindy promised.

“You protect your sister,” Clyde ordered Tyson.

“Tyson and I will be fine,” Cindy stated. “Just watch out for your own self.”

“If something should happen to me…” Clyde began.

“Don’t talk like that!” Cindy didn’t want to hear it.

“Okay.”

Joan watched as Clyde kissed Cindy on her cheek. He went to exit the vehicle, paused, then quickly kissed Tyson.

“Don’t worry,” Joan assured the anxious teens. “I’ll take care of your father.”

“Sometime this year!” Hickok announced.

Hickok locked the doors, pocketed the keys, and smiled at Tyson and Cindy. “You use this lever to close the windows,” he demonstrated as he spoke, reaching in the open driver’s window, “and this latch to open the door—”

“We’ve seen you do it a bunch of times,” Cindy informed him.

“Good. I’ve locked the doors, so if you roll the windows up and someone tries to get it, winter will get here before they get inside.”

“We’ll do fine,” Tyson said, his eyes on his father.

“Be seeing you, pard,” Hickok stated. He joined Joan, Geronimo, and Clyde, crouched in the full grass ten feet in front of the vehicle. Behind him, Cindy and Tyson clambered into the bucket seats, Cindy on the driver’s side, Tyson on the other, and stuck their heads out the windows.

“They’re good kids,” Clyde said proudly.

“Sure are,” Hickok confirmed. “Now let’s get to business.” He motioned for Geronimo to bear right. “Fan out. Form a skirmish line.” He waved Joan and Clyde to his left. “Stay low. Move in on the gate. Go!”

“The Spirit be with us,” Joan offered, moving away. She winked at Hickok and blew him a kiss.

The three Warriors and the aged farmer advanced across the field until they were ten yards from the gate. Hickok raised his left arm and rested on his right knee, signaling a stop. There was still no sign of life in Fox.

What the blazes was going on here? Had the Trolls abandoned the town?

If so, why? Where the heck was Blade? It didn’t make sense!

Hickok gripped the Henry and risked standing erect, scanning the fence and the buildings.

Nothing.

The others warily followed his lead, converging on the closed gate.

“If the Trolls have left,” Joan whispered as they joined together, voicing her innermost fear, “and they’ve take the women, what will we do?”

“It appears like any other deserted town,” Geronimo observed.

“Only it smells worse,” Clyde corrected.

“We search the town,” Hickok ordered. “Look for any sign of Blade and the women.”

“All you can hear is the wind,” Clyde marveled.

“Wait a second!” Geronimo froze, his head cocked.

“What is it?” Clyde asked.

“Quiet!” Geronimo snapped. He walked to the gate, opened it, and stepped inside, the others on his heels.

“Let us in on it,” Hickok said.

“Sounds. Faint.” Geronimo was pacing in a circle, testing the intensity and the distance. “Lots of voices. Yelling.”

“Where?” Hickok asked.

Finally Geronimo was certain. “That way.” He pointed. “They must be inside a building,” he speculated.

“All of them?” Joan queried skeptically.

“Let’s find out,” Hickok said, leading the way along a narrow street, bearing east. Several blackbirds flapped on the roofs overhead.

“I’ll get my revenge for Bess yet,” Clyde stated, bringing up the rear.

Hickok’s senses were primed, his eyes never still, as they made for the subdued din. Two rats scurried across the road ahead. A pile of human feces littered a doorway.

The clamor was louder.

The street they were on ended at a large structure, as rundown as the rest, with two great swinging doors, both closed.

“It’s coming from in there,” Geronimo whispered, saying the obvious.

Hickok stopped at the corner of the last building before an open, paved lot between them and the swinging doors. He didn’t like the setup. They would be vulnerable as they crossed to the doors, and anyone inside would spot them in an instant.

The uproar was increasing.