“I can’t leave you clowns alone for a minute.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You cow chips need someone to hold your hands and watch over you every second. I’m gone for a spell, and the Big Guy gets himself captured and you goof off.”
“I haven’t been goofing off,” Geronimo said indignantly.
“Have you tangled with any humongous cockroaches?”
“No.”
“Did you bump into any jumbo spiders?”
“No, but—”
“I bet you didn’t even stomp any Stompers. Why is it I always do all the work on these runs?”
“You’d better be careful,” Geronimo stated.
“Why?”
“At the rate you’re going, your nose will be ten inches longer by nightfall.”
“Why are you pickin’ on my nose?”
“I wouldn’t pick your nose with a ten-foot pole.”
“Excuse me,” said a voice behind them.
The Warriors stopped and turned.
“Do the two of you do this all the time?” Marlon inquired.
“Do what?” Hickok asked.
“Argue,” Marlon said.
“We never argue,” Geronimo responded. “We engage in enlightened discussion.”
“We do?” Hickok said.
“Yep. You babble, and I enlighten you on your mistakes,” Geronimo said.
Marlon chuckled and looked at the gunman. “I want to thank you again.”
“It was a piece of cake.”
“Melanie might be dead right now if not for you,” Marlon said. “She told me how you saved her.”
“She saved my hide too, so I reckon we’re even,” Hickok mentioned.
“Not quite. Anything I can do for you, I will,” Marlon pledged.
“How much longer until we’re there?” Geronimo inquired.
“Kiest Park? About ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I hope the Stompers are still hanging out there. They were last we knew,” Marlon mentioned.
“Ten minutes, huh? Then let’s vamoose,” Hickok suggested. He stared at the line of Chains strung out to their rear.
“Head out!” Marlon declared.
They trekked to the southwest, using the side streets and alleys, ever alert for Stompers or the Chosen.
“That army dude was really ticked off at you guys,” Marlon commented idly as they crossed Hampton road.
“Garber was a mite flustered at being left behind,” Hickok agreed.
“We didn’t have any choice,” Geronimo said. “At least one of our team has to survive to get word to General Reese. Garber may not like staying with Melanie and those three guards, but he knew we were right. If we don’t come back, he’ll be able to tell the general everything we’ve learned so far.”
“Which isn’t all that much,” Hickok noted.
“We know about the Chains and the Stompers,” Geronimo stated.
“But we know diddly about the blamed Chosen.”
“We know they have Blade, and that’s enough.”
Marlon glanced at Geronimo. “I should thank you again as well for tending to the spider bites.”
“You’ll need to watch Melanie closely for a week or so,” Geronimo advised. “She lost a lot of blood, which is the reason she fainted, but I don’t believe the spiders were poisonous. There was no discoloration or puffiness where she was bitten.”
“You think she’ll be all right?” Marlon inquired anxiously.
“I know she will,” Geronimo said. “In a month she’ll be as good as new.”
“I was so afraid I was going to lose her,” Marlon remarked.
“I know how you feel,” Hickok said.
“Have you ever lost a woman you loved?”
“Once,” Hickok replied, thinking of the Warrior named Joan, the woman he had loved years ago, before he met his wife. Joan had been slain by the vicious Trolls in Fox, Minnesota. Whenever he thought of her fate, he appreciated having Sherry all the more.
They continued warily, halting briefly five minutes later when a two-headed cat as big as a calf bounded across the road and vanished into a brownstone. They passed the building with their weapons ready, but the feline didn’t attack. Seven minutes later a tract of dense vegetation appeared ahead.
“Kiest Park,” Marlon announced, and held up his right hand so the column would stop. “What’s the next move?”
“Hickok and I will go into the park and look for the Stompers,” Geronimo proposed.
“And what if they decide to shoot first and ask questions later?”
“Leave it to me,” Hickok said. He slung the Henry over his left shoulder, hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt, and strolled forward.
“Wait for me,” Geronimo declared.
“You’re both nuts!” Marlon stated, watching them advance. He frowned, looked at the Chains, then scanned the park. “Damn idiots!” he muttered.
“They’ll get their fool heads blown off,” commented the third man in the line.
“Who asked you?” Marlon snapped, and hitched at his pants.
“What are you mad at me for?” asked the bewildered man.
“I’m not,” Marlon said brusquely, and sighed. “I want all of you to stay put.”
“Where are you going?” the man queried.
“Where the hell do you think?” Marlon retorted, and ran to catch up to the gunfighter and the Indian. “Wait for me.”
Geronimo glanced over his right shoulder as Marlon reached them.
“We have company.”
“Reeves knows me. We’ve yelled insults at each other a few times,” Marlon said. “He probably won’t open fire if he sees me with you.”
“We hope,” Geronimo responded. He slanted the Browning barrel at the ground and scrutinized the weeds, thickets, and trees. The Stompers had selected an excellent hideaway; no one could approach the park without being seen.
“Let me do the talking,” Marlon recommended.
“Fine by me,” Hickok said. “I just hope this Reeves hombre has some horse sense. We can’t afford to waste time.”
Geronimo saw a bush quiver although the air was perfectly still.
“They’re watching us.”
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Hickok said, and halted. “We’re lookin’ for the Stompers!” he called out.
Marlon stepped in front of the gunman. “You said I could do the talking.”
“Sorry. By my guest. My lips are sealed.”
“That’ll be the day,” Geronimo cracked.
“Here goes nothing,” Marlon said, facing the vegetation 15 yards off and squaring his shoulders. “Reeves! Reeves! You know who this is! I’ve come here to talk!”
No one responded.
“They might be out scrounging for food,” Marlon commented.
“Try again,” Geronimo prompted.
“Reeves! This is Marlon! We came here in peace to talk! Can you hear me?”
A tall, brown-haired woman wearing jeans and a leather jacket stepped into view next to a tree. “How do we know this isn’t a trick?” she demanded, gazing past the trio at the Chains 50 feet away.
“Who are you?” Hickok asked.
“Cathy.”
“Where’s Reeves?” the gunman queried.
“He’s here.”
“Then why doesn’t he show himself? Is he a wimp or a man?” Hickok asked caustically.
Marlon leaned close to the gunfighter. “I’m supposed to be doing the talking! If you get Reeves mad, we’ll never pull this off!”
“I won’t say another word,” Hickok said.
“Where have we heard that before?” Geronimo quipped.
Two men emerged from the undergrowth accompanied by Cathy. The first stood well over six and a half feet in height and weighed in the vicinity of 250 pounds. Matted shoulder-length black hair hung from his head. His eyes were beady and brown. A dirty, torn gray shirt and overalls bulged at the waist, suggesting budding corpulence. He held a double-barreled shotgun in his pudgy hands.
By contrast, the second man seemed to be all skin and bones. His blue shirt and jeans clung loosely to his thin frame. A shock of blond hair crowned his brow. Clasped firmly and tucked against his right side was an Uzi.
The woman called Cathy had a semiautomatic pistol, resting in a flapped holster on her right hip.
“I’m Reeves!” the large man declared. “Who claims I’m a wimp?” He came within six yards of the trio and halted.
“No one said you’re a wimp,” Marlon answered quickly.
“Bull! I heard this jerk call me a wimp!” Reeves growled, and wagged his left thumb at the gunman.
“Simmer down, manure-mind,” Hickok said calmly. “We wanted to get you out in the open, that’s all.”
Reeves glanced at the Chains, then at Marlon. “Why? What kind of game are you playing? I’m warning you. One word from me and the Stompers will blow you away.”
“This isn’t a game. It isn’t a trick,” Marlon said. “We’re here on serious business. I want to offer you a truce so we can join forces against the Chosen.”
The head of the Stompers blinked rapidly, his mouth slackening in amazement. “Say what!”
“You know as well as I do that the only way we can beat the Chosen is if we combine our gangs,” Marlon stated. “We’re planning to take them on, and we need your help.”
“You’ve never asked for our help before,” Reeves noted suspiciously.
“Why now?”
“The Chosen have captured a friend of ours,” Geronimo interjected.
“We intend to rescue him.”
“And who the hell are you?” Reeves snapped. “I’ve never laid eyes on you or the chump in the buckskins.”
“We’re from the Family,” Geronimo answered.
“The what?”
“The Family is an ally of the Civilized Zone.”
“So? Who cares? Your friend means nothing to us,” Reeves said.
“They can help us if we’ll help them,” Marlon declared.
“How can these turkeys help us?” Reeves queried.
“We can assist you in relocating to the Civilized Zone if you’ll aid us in freeing our friend,” Geronimo mentioned.
The thin man with the Uzi took a half step forward. “Relocate? You’d help us get out of Dallas?”
“That’s right,” Geronimo assured him.
“What’s the Civilized Zone like?” Cathy asked.
“Compared to Dallas, it’s paradise,” Geronimo told her.
Reeves snorted. “How do you know we can trust these pricks? They could be feeding us a pack of lies.”
“I trust them,” Marlon said.
“Oh, now that’s encouraging! As if we’d believe you,” Reeves responded, and laughed.
Marlon’s features reddened. “Listen, Reeves. You know that I hate you as much as you hate me. I wouldn’t be making this offer if it wasn’t genuine. The last thing in the world I’d ever want to do is ask you for help.
I know what you’re like.”
“Then you know you’re wasting your breath,” Reeves said.
“Maybe we should listen to them,” the thin man ventured.
“No way, Dan,” Reeves stated emphatically.
“But if they’re serious, this is our chance to get out of this hellhole,” Dan commented.
“No.”
“What about those of us who have kids?” Dan asked the hulking leader.
“Your kids will be fine. We’ll look after them like we always have,” Reeves replied.
“But there are fewer and fewer of us every month,” Cathy said, chiming in.
“Now don’t you start!” Reeves said. He glared at Marlon. “You came all this way for nothing, sucker! Don’t get lost on your way back.”
“I think we should agree to help them,” Dan declared stubbornly.
“Tough. You’re not the head of the Stompers. I am,” Reeves stated arrogantly. “As long as I’m the top dog, what I say goes.” He started to turn.
“Hold the fort there, ugly,” Hickok suddenly spoke up.
“What the hell do you want?” Reeves snarled.
Hickok looked at the thin man. “If you were in charge of the Stompers, you’d help us?”
“That’s right,” Dan responded.
What transpired next happened so swiftly that those who witnessed it were shocked speechless by the brutal abruptness of the act. The gunfighter’s right hand blurred as the right Python swung up and out, and with the booming of the Colt a hole materialized between Reeves’s eyes and the rear of his cranium erupted in a spray of blood and brains. He fell straight backwards, like a mighty oak toppling over in the forest, and thudded on the ground.
The gunfighter twirled the Python into its holster and smiled at the Stomper named Dan. “Congratulations. You’re now in charge.”
Dan gawked at the blood oozing from the hole in Reeves’s forehead.
“You shot him!” he blurted out.
Stompers converged on them from the park.
Hickok walked over to the thin man. “You’d best snap out of it. The next move is up to you.” His voice lowered menacingly. “And you’d better make the right move, and pronto, or I’m liable to lose my temper.”
Dan glanced at the gunman, at those hands hovering near the pearl-handled Colts, and gulped.