Liberty Run

Chapter Seventeen

“Where do you think your friends went?” Libby asked.

“I don’t know,” Bertha admitted.

“Maybe they split on you,” pudgy Eddy suggested.

“And left the SEAL here?” Bertha rejoined.

They were standing next to the transport. The sun was just cresting the eastern horizon. None of the Claws had been able to sleep after the incident with the nocturnal Hunter. Shortly before daybreak, Cole had recommended finding Bertha’s friends. Libby and Eddy came along. The rest were told to remain in the cabin.

“They’ll be back,” Cole said.

“If they don’t get racked,” Eddy commented.

Bertha glanced at Pudgy. “Boy! Ain’t you the cheery one!”

“What the hell do I have to be happy about?” Eddy responded.

“How about getting out of there, for one thing,” Libby remarked.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” was Eddy’s retort.

Bertha leaned against the SEAL. The doors were locked, and only Blade had a key. There was nothing she could do, nowhere she could go, until Blade and Sundance returned. But who knew how long that could take?

They must have departed for Philadelphia last night! She was slightly miffed they had gone on without her. But she knew the Big Guy pretty well, knew he wouldn’t allow anything to interfere with the mission.

Usually. There had been that time in Thief River Falls.

“So what do we do now?” Libby inquired. She, like Cole and Eddy, carried an AK-47.

“We wait for my buddies,” Bertha stated.

“How long? A day? A week?” Eddy asked.

Cole glared at Eddy. “Shut up,” he snapped.

Eddy did.

Bertha studied Cole. The Claw leader had been abnormally silent on the trek from the log cabin. What was he thinking about? The prospect of living at the home? Of delivering the Claws from a savage existence of survival of the fittest?

“We could leave one of us here,” Libby proposed, “and the rest of us could wait at the cabin.” She paused. “I don’t like leaving the younger ones alone.”

“They can take care of themselves,” Eddy said.

Cole stared in the general direction of their hideout. “Libby, you can stay here with Bertha. Eddy and I will go back.”

“Fine by me,” Libby stated.

“Hey!” Eddy said. “Do you guys hear something?”

Bertha suddenly did, and an icy sensation crept over her skin.

Gunshots. Coming from the…

“The cabin!” Cole shouted, and was off, racing at breakneck speed.

Libby and Eddy took off after him.

Bertha clutched her M-16 and followed. The three Claws were able to traverse the terrain at an uncanny speed. Years of practice had endowed them with exceptionally fleet feet and remarkable skill at negotiating obstacles in their path. She was able to keep Libby and Eddy in sight, but couldn’t gain on them. Her forehead began hurting again. She’d examined the wound during the night. There was a ragged two-inch gash along her hairline,, but otherwise she seemed to be fine. She doubted she had a concussion. Her head had sustained tremendous blows in the past. Hickok liked to say it was the hardest head he knew of. But what did he know?

The distant gunfire attained a crescendo. Screams and shrieks were distinguishable.

Bertha abruptly forgot all else in her concern for the Claws. She hadn’t considered them to be in any grave danger until that very instant. After all, those kids had spent years surviving in the wilderness of Valley Forge, fighting Hunters and other Packrats, stealing food and guns and whatever else they required. She knew there existed a violent rivalry among the Packrat gangs for control of the large but limited tract of land comprising Valley Forge. But the Packrats were, for the most part, young children, and she’d never seriously considered them as being decidedly deadly.

She was about to have her impression changed.

Bertha was still hundreds of yards from the log cabin when the shooting died down. A ghastly screech reached her ears, then all was unnaturally quiet. She ran a little faster. Eddy and Libby were about 20 yards ahead of her. They reached the field at the bottom of the burned-out hill and started across. Bertha was breathing heavily, and her left side began hurting as she neared the base of the hill. Ignoring the pain in her side, she took a deep breath and plunged forward across the field.

Cole was nowhere in sight, but Libby and Eddy were 30 yards in front of her.

Bertha poured on the steam, and was again only 20 yards behind the duo when they entered the trees.

Someone screamed.

Bertha clutched her M-16 in both hands and jogged into the woods. She darted through the brush and among the trees until she spied the clearing and the cabin, and then she halted, stunned.

The log cabin resembled a sieve. The door had been shot to pieces, riddled with bullets until whole sections had fallen off. The windows had fared worse; all of the glass panes were gone, and the edges where chipped and pockmarked. Even the cabin walls had been perforated again and again and again by heavy-caliber slugs. Bodies were everywhere. Bodies of the Claws. Most of them were congregated near the door, as if they’d been gunned down in the act of fleeing the cabin. A few had tumbled into the pit. Blood soaked the ground.

“Lordy!” Bertha exclaimed, walking up to the clearing.

Cole was on his knees to the left of the cabin door. The body of the young girl, Milly, was cradled in his lap. Her forehead had been blown off.

Tears streaked his cheeks as he rocked back and forth. His lips were trembling. “No!” he cried. “No! No! No!”

Libby and Eddy stood near the pit. Libby appeared to be in a state of shock. Eddy, by contrast, was livid, his pudgy features contorted in rage.

“They’re… all… dead!” Libby stated in a dazed, surveying the massacre.

“How?” Eddy demanded. “Where were the guards? We posted guards before we left!”

“Maybe,” Libby said, her eyes watering, “maybe the guards were killed before they could sound the alarm.”

Eddy pointed at the log cabin. “And what the hell did that? Those walls were thick! They could stand up to an AK-47! That’s why we picked this place. But look at them! Look at the size of those holes!”

“Who cares about the holes?” Libby asked, sniffling.

“I do!” Eddy rejoined. “I want to know what the hell I’m going up against when I catch up with whoever did this!”

“What?” Libby said, glancing at Eddy.

“You heard me!” Eddy declared. “They can’t have gotten far! I’m going after them right now!”

Libby grabbed Eddy’s left arm. “No! You can’t!”

“And why the hell can’t I?” Eddy retorted.

“You won’t stand a chance,” Libby protested.

Eddy motioned toward the corpses. “And what chance did they have, Libby? Look at them! Some of them weren’t even armed! We can’t let the bastards who did this get away!”

“No,” Libby objected. “That isn’t the way.”

“Yes, it is!” Cole thundered, rising to his feet, his face an iron mask.

“Eddy’s right! We’re going to waste the sons’ of bitches responsible for this!”

Libby took a few steps toward Cole. “But, Cole…”

“There’s no buts about it!” Cole cut her off. “We’re going to avenge them!” He pointed at Milly’s pathetic body. “This was our fault, Libby! We owe it to them!”

“Our fault?” Libby repeated. “How was it our fault? We’ve left the younger ones alone before. Burt was with them, and he was twelve. He knew the score. All of them did! So how do you figure this was our fault?

We weren’t even here!”

“We should have been,” Cole said softly.

“But we weren’t,” Libby persisted.

Cole pressed his right hand on his forehead and looked around. “We were all so damn excited about getting out of here! About finding a place where we could live free! And we forgot where we were! We forgot what could happen if we dropped our guard.”

“But you did everything you could have done!” Libby said. “You can’t blame yourself!”

Cole wiped his hand across his eyes. When he stared at Libby, his gaze was flinty. “Can’t I?” He paused, sighed wearily, then inspected his AK-47.

“Eddy and I are going after the bastards. Are you coming?”

“We don’t have to do this!” Libby pleaded. “We can still leave with Bertha and her friends!”

Cole glanced at Bertha. “This isn’t your fight. You don’t have to come.”

“There’s nothin’ I can do to talk you out of goin’?” Bertha asked.

Cole shook his head. “Don’t even try. You’d be wasting your breath!”

Tears were flowing down Libby’s face. “Cole! Please! You know what will happen!”

Cole gazed into Libby’s eyes. “I know.”

Bertha didn’t know what to say. She knew Cole was determined to get his revenge. What could she do to stop him, short of shooting him herself?

She admired him, even felt a peculiar kinship to Cole. Maybe, she speculated, it had something to do with her gang days in the Twin Cities.

Oh, her life had been different in several ways. Cole and many of the other Packrats had come from good homes where they usually had enough food and even enjoyed some luxuries. Luxuries like decent clothes, and shoes, and even schooling. The Packrats had lost it all when their parents had been executed or imprisoned by the Communists. Bertha and her companions in the Twin Cities had never had it so good, never enjoyed even the basic necessities on a regular basis, never known what it was like to have a stable home environment in their early years. But in others respects, her former gang and the Packrats had a lot in common. There were always enemies out to get them, and no one outside the gang could be trusted.

You survived if you were quick and alert. You died if you slipped for an instant. Under such harsh conditions, strong bonds were forged. Deep friendships. And in Cole’s case, the affection was compounded by the fact many of the Packrats were so young, so vulnerable, and had relied on his judgment. Bertha saw the anguish on his face, and recognized she couldn’t begin to appreciate the depth of the torment he must be feeling.

Libby turned to Bertha. “Please! Don’t let them go!”

Bertha frowned. “There’s nothin’ I can do.”

Libby uttered a whining noise and covered her eyes with her left hand.

Eddy was checking his AK-47.

“Eddy,” Cole said.

“Yeah?” Eddy responded.

“Find their trail,” Cole directed, and entered the cabin.

Eddy smiled. “You got it.” He began searching the ground near the edge of the woods.

Bertha moved over to Libby and draped her right arm across the girl’s shoulders.

“I don’t want him to go,” Libby mumbled. “He’ll be killed!”

“Maybe not,” Bertha said.

Libby looked up, her eyes red, her cheeks moist. “Yes, he will! I just know it!”

“You love him, don’t you?” Bertha asked gently.

Libby sniffed and nodded, glancing at the cabin.

“Does he love you?” Bertha inquired.

“I don’t know,” Libby admitted. “I think so. I feel he does, in my heart.

But he’s never shown it. Never come right out and said he does. I don’t know why. Maybe he’s afraid. Afraid of losing me like he did his mom and dad. You don’t have any idea what it’s like to love someone, and not have them love you!”

Want to bet? Bertha almost said. Instead, she held her peace, contemplating her own relationship with the Family’s superlative gunfighter, Hickok. But could she justify calling it a relationship? She’d pined after that dummy for what seemed like ages! And where had it gotten her? True, Hickok had been the first man she’d ever fallen for, head-over-heels in love. True, he was the choicest specimen of manhood she’d ever seen. Hunk de la hunk, so to speak. How long, though, could she justify yearning for a man unable to reciprocate her devotion? Hickok was married to Sherry, and Bertha knew the gunman well enough to know he would remain loyal to Sherry while Sherry lived, and maybe even afterwards. The Family ardently believed life did not end with death. The Elders taught that death was merely the technique of ascending from the material level to a higher, more spiritual plane. Even if Sherry passed on, Hickok was just the type to stay loyal to her, firmly expecting he would see her again after his own earthly demise. So what the hell am I doing, Bertha asked herself, wasting my time with someone I’ll never have a chance with? She studied the miserable Libby, and finally acknowledged how very lonely she’d been while yearning for Hickok. Maybe it was about time she faced facts; sometimes, love was one-sided; sometimes, a person could deeply love another, and the feeling wouldn’t be mutual.

Cole emerged from the log cabin, his features set in grim lines. “All the ones left inside are dead,” he remarked. “Whoever did this took all of our weapons.”

“Whoever did this is heading to the south,” Eddy announced, joining them.

Cole stared at Eddy. “The Bobcats?”

“I think so,” Eddy confirmed.

“Let’s do it,” Cole said, and started to the south.

Libby dabbed at her eyes with her fingers. “Wait for me!”

Cole stopped and turned. “You stay here with Bertha.”

“I’m coming,” Libby declared.

“I’d feel better if you didn’t,” Cole said. “Go back to Bertha’s buggy and wait for her friends.”

“I’m coming,” Libby reiterated.

“Let her come, Cole,” Eddy chimed in.

Cole frowned. “All right. But stay close to me! I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You don’t?” Libby responded, brightening.

“Let’s go!” Cole directed. He wheeled and stalked into the woods, followed by Eddy.

Libby took off after them. “I hope I see you again, soon,” she stated to Bertha over her right shoulder.

Bertha hesitated. This wasn’t her fight. Cole was right. But she was, in a sense, partially to blame for the slaughter. Her presence, and her promise of salvation for the Claws, had distracted them, had diverted Cole from his responsibilities as Claw leader. She looked at little Milly. That child’s death was on her shoulders, whether she liked it or not.

Libby vanished in the trees.

Maybe she owed it to them to help. Maybe she owed it to them to keep Cole, Libby, and Eddy alive, so they could savor the freedom the others had dreamed about. And maybe she owed it to herself, because they were her newfound friends, and once she was attached to someone, she never abandoned them. Hickok was a case in point.

“Oh, hell!” Bertha exclaimed. She jogged toward the forest. “Wait up!”

she called.

Libby, ten yards into the woods, stopped. “What are you doing?” she inquired as Bertha ran up.

Bertha could see Cole and Eddy, waiting for them 30 yards off. “I’m comin’ with you.”

“Go back!” Libby urged. “We can do this alone!”

Bertha shook her head. “No one,” she said emphatically, “should ever have to be alone.” She paused for emphasis. “Not ever! Now let’s teach these Bobcats a lesson they’ll never forget!”