Liberty Run

Chapter Twenty

“There they are!” Cole whispered.

Bertha and the three Claws were concealed behind four trees on the crest of a hill five miles to the south of the log cabin.

“It’s the Bobcats!” Eddy exclaimed. “I knew it!”

Bertha, her left shoulder pressed against the rough bark of an elm tree, watched 11 Bobcats 75 yards below her position. They were following a faint deer trail winding along the base of the hill. Eight were boys, 3 girls.

They ranged in ages from about 10 to 16 or 17. Like the Claws, their clothing consisted of tattered rags. They were smiling, joking with one another, evidently happy over their presumed defeat of the Claws.

“Look at the sons of bitches!” Cole snapped. He stood behind a pine tree to Bertha’s right.

“Let’s get the scum!” Eddy stated from his spot to Bertha’s left, crouched near another elm.

“What’s that big gun?” Libby asked. She was standing next to a pine on Cole’s right.

Bertha was asking herself the same question. It was a huge machine gun, mounted on a tripod, and it took four Bobcats to carry the weapon, tripod and all. The Bobcats must have swiped the machine gun from the Russians and decided to use it on their enemies, the Claws.

“Who cares what it is?” Cole retorted. “It won’t stop us from wasting those creeps.”

The corners of Bertha’s mouth turned downward. She didn’t like this.

Didn’t like it one bit. It was all well and good to talk about teaching the Bobcats a lesson. But it was another matter to seriously contemplate shooting a 10-year-old. Or 11. Or 12. Try as she might, Bertha could only view the Bobcats in one light: as children. Savage little murderers, perhaps, but still children. She compared them to the children at the Home. The difference was incredible. The Family’s children were taught to reverence all life, to exalt love as the highest form of personal expression, and to strive for an inner communion with the Spirit. The Packrats, whether it was the Bobcats, the Claws, or any of the other gangs, by contrast had reduced all life to the primitive level of kill-or-be-killed. They didn’t have the slightest idea of the true nature of mature love. And of spiritual affairs they were pitifully ignorant. The disparity was like night and day. It was amazing, Bertha reflected, the difference the Family and the Home made in the lives of the children. She suddenly became aware Cole was addressing her.

“…us or not?” Cole demanded.

Bertha turned. “What did you say?”

“I want to know if you’re with us or not?” Cole repeated.

Bertha glanced at the Bobcats. “I don’t know,” she confessed.

“I thought you were on our side!” pudgy Eddy interjected.

“I am,” Bertha said. “But…” She paused, uncertain.

“But what?” Cole pressed her.

“But I don’t think I could kill the Bobcats,” Bertha stated, nodding toward the base of the hill.

“Why not?” Libby inquired.

“They’re just kids!” Bertha declared. “Look at ’em! Half of ’em aren’t much over twelve!” She frowned, staring at Cole. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it.”

Surprisingly, Cole shrugged. “Suit yourself. You stay here, then.”

Bertha leaned toward the Claw chief. “Why don’t you forget about this vengeance bit? One of you could get hurt, or even killed. Drop it, Cole.

Come back to the Home with me.”

Cole averted his eyes. “I can’t,” he said.

“You could if you wanted to,” Bertha prompted him.

Cole stared at Bertha, his expression one of profound sorrow. “I can’t,” he reiterated, and motioned to Eddy and Libby. He moved from cover and started down the slope.

Eddy winked at Bertha, then followed Cole.

Libby stepped over to Bertha. “I’ll miss you,” she stated sadly.

“Don’t do it!” Bertha said. “Please!”

“I’ve got to go,” Libby asserted. “I can’t let Cole and Eddy do it alone.”

“Talk to Cole some more,” Bertha suggested. “You can talk him out of it, if anyone can!”

“I can’t,” Libby said. “I’ve already tried.”

“Try again!” Bertha urged. “What harm can it do?”

“It’s no use,” Libby insisted.

“How do you know. What makes you so damn sure?” Bertha asked.

Libby looked into Bertha’s eyes. “Milly was Cole’s sister.” She whirled and dashed after Cole and Eddy.

His sister! Bertha sagged against the elm. Sweet little Milly had been Cole’s sister! No wonder he was out for blood! Bertha watched the three Claws cautiously descend the hill. She’d never even considered some of the Packrats might be related. But how else would the younger ones have made it to Valley Forge, unless they were accompanied by an older brother or sister?

Cole and Eddy had halted and were waiting for Libby. Cole glanced up once at Bertha and smiled wanly.

Libby reached them, and together they continued their descent, utilizing the trees, boulders, and weeds as cover as they crept ever nearer to the unsuspecting Bobcats.

Bertha felt queasy in her stomach. Lordy! She had a bad feeling about this!

Cole, Eddy, and Libby reached a maple tree 60 yards from the bottom of the hill.

Bertha didn’t want to watch, but she couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away. Indecision racked her soul. What if she was wrong? What if she should be helping the Claws? They’d befriended her, hadn’t they? Spared her, when they could have killed her? Back at the cabin, she’d believed she was partly to blame for the butchery committed on the other Claws. Now, she wasn’t so sure. She was torn between her desire to aid her friends, and her repugnance at the mere thought of killing a child.

The three Claws attained a boulder 40 yards from the Bobcats, still undetected by their quarry.

Bertha scrutinized the Bobcats. They were strung out over a 20-yard stretch of trail. The quartet bearing the heavy machine gun was bringing up the rear, at least ten feet behind the rest. The apparent leader, a tall youth with black hair, armed with an AK-47, was about five feet in front of the group. AK-47’s were the standard weapon, except for two boys who were toting rifles.

Bertha tensed as she saw Cole, Libby and Eddy creep to within 20 yards of the Bobcats. They crouched behind a spreading pine. Cole wagged his hand to the right and the left, and Eddy and Libby started off in the corresponding directions.

The Bobcat leader unexpectedly paused, scanning the hill.

Bertha held her breath.

Cole, Libby, and Eddy froze in their tracks.

The Bobcat leader looked over his shoulder at the gang, then resumed his journey.

Bertha took a deep breath.

Cole, Libby, and Eddy were crawling down the hill, silently parting the brush in their path, stopping whenever a Bobcat idly gazed up the hill.

The Bobcat leader halted beside a maple tree and leaned down, doing something with his right shoe.

Cole was now within 10 yards of the Bobcats, close to the center of their column. Libby was 12 yards from the four carrying the machine gun. And pudgy Eddy was 12 yards from the Bobcat leader.

What were they waiting for? Bertha craned her neck for a better view.

The Claws should strike before the…

Cole suddenly rose to his feet from a clump of weeds, his AK-47 leveled.

“You slime!” he shouted, and fired.

Three of the Bobcats in the middle of the line were ripped to pieces by the automatic barrage, the slugs slamming into their bodies and exploding out their backs, ravaging their torsos. Their limbs jerked and flapped as they were struck and knocked to the ground.

The other Bobcats lunged for the nearest cover.

Libby popped up from behind a log, and her sweeping spray of lead caught the four with the machine gun in their chests. They died in midstride, crumpling under the weight of the machine gun.

Eddy rose, aiming at the Bobcat leader.

Only the Bobcat leader was quicker. He must have sensed something was wrong, must have been toying with his shoe as a ruse, because he was already in motion as Eddy stood, and both fired at the same instant.

Eddy’s head snapped back, a crimson geyser erupting from his left ear, and he toppled to the grass.

The Bobcat leader ducked behind the maple tree.

Bertha started to raise the M-16, but hesitated. No! She wouldn’t—she couldn’t—shoot children!

Cole dropped another Bobcat, and then flattened. Libby did likewise.

The three remaining Bobcats were raking the hillside with gunfire, shooting in the general direction of their adversaries.

From her vantage point high on the hill, Bertha saw Cole’s left shoulder twist sharply, as if he had been hit.

The firing abated, each side waiting for the other to make the next move. In addition to the Bobcat leader, a girl of 14 or 15 and a boy approximately the same age were the only Bobcats still alive. The girl was hidden in a cluster of boulders 20 yards from Libby, and the boy was concealed in a thicket less than 15 yards from Cole.

Bertha could see Cole and Libby clearly. The Bobcat girl was visible every now and then, whenever she popped her head up for a quick look-see. Although Bertha knew where the Bobcat leader and the other boy were hiding, neither betrayed their position, neither appeared in her field of view.

Cole was tentatively groping his left side, and when he drew his right hand aside, his fingers were dripping blood.

Bertha nervously bit her lower lip. She was in an agonizing quandary. If she didn’t do something, do anything, and fast, Cole might die. But what could she do, short of shooting a Bobcat?

Libby was on her hands and knees, sheltered by a log, trying to peek around the end of the log and spot Cole.

Bertha doubted whether Libby could see Cole. He was too well camouflaged by a stand of weeds.

Cole was checking the magazine of his AK-47.

Bertha finally made up her mind. Just because she felt uncomfortable about killing a Bobcat didn’t mean she couldn’t aid the Claws in another manner. As a distraction, for instance. If she could attract the Bobcat’s attention, she might provide Cole and Libby with the openings they needed. The idea was worth a try. She began moving down the hill, crouched over, treading lightly.

Libby was now on her knees, continuing to scan for Cole.

Don’t do anything stupid! Bertha almost yelled. She skirted a blue spruce. So how, she asked herself, was she going to help Cole and Libby without getting herself shot? The Bobcats would shoot at anything they saw moving. She had to be extremely careful.

Cole had squirmed onto his elbows and knees.

What was he up to? Bertha halted behind a rock outcropping 60 yards from the base of the hill.

There was movement in the thicket secreting the Bobcat boy.

Bertha stiffened. She was too far away yet! If only nothing would happen until she was closer! She sccambled forward on her stomach, across a grassy stretch, and reached a maple tree. Once behind the trunk, she stood and surveyed the situation below.

The movement in the thicket had ceased.

Libby was still seeking a glimpse of Cole.

Cole was peering over the top of the weeds.

Bertha was about to crouch and proceed further, when something flickered at the edge of her vision, lower down and off to the right. She glanced in that direction, her nerves tingling.

The Bobcat leader had circled around Cole! He was 15 yards from Cole’s hiding place, slowly advancing, stooped over.

How the hell had he done it? Bertha had supposed he was on the opposite side of the tree where he’d taken cover. The guy was good! There was no doubt about it.

The Bobcat leader was searching from side to side. Several trees and a dense bush separated him from Cole.

Bertha didn’t believe the Bobcat leader had seen Cole. Yet. But in a few seconds Cole was bound to be spotted. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the Bobcat leader, waiting for the right moment. He passed one of the trees, then another. Bertha’s abdomen tightened expectantly. The tall Bobcat leader came abreast of the third tree, and now just the bush obscured Cole’s hiding place from the alert, black-haired youth. Bertha’s eyes were glued to the Bobcat’s ragged brown leather shoes. He took one step, then another, cautiously edging around the bush to the left. Another one took him to the very border of the bush. He was scrutinizing the slope above him, and he still hadn’t spied Cole squatting in the weeds. He raised his leg, about to go past the bush, and as he did, Bertha took her calculated gamble. She leaped from concealment, waving her arms. “Up here, turkey!” she shouted.

The Bobcat leader swiveled at the sound of her voice, pointing his AK-47 up the hill.

Even as the Bobcat leader was turning, Cole spun too. He saw the leader’s head and shoulders visible above the bush, and he fired from a crouch, his burst striking the Bobcat leader in the face and flinging the tall youth to the turf.

And suddenly, everything went wrong.

Libby, hearing the gunfire but unable to see Cole, sprang to her feet, anxious for his safety, heedless of her own. It was a fatal mistake.

The Bobcat girl in the boulders jumped up, blasting from the hip, her AK-47 on full automatic.

Libby was hurled onto her back by the impact, her arms spreading wide.

Cole whirled at the chatter of the Bobcat girl’s weapon, and he saw Libby get hit. He surged from cover, crashing through the underbrush toward Libby. ” No!” he screamed. ” No! No!”

The Bobcat in the thicket abruptly stepped into view, aiming a rifle at Cole, and he squeezed the trigger as Cole recklessly crossed a small clearing five yards from Libby.

Cole stumbled as he was struck. He twirled toward the Bobcat in the thicket, and he fired as the Bobcat’s rifle thundered again, and kept firing as the Bobcat doubled over and dropped to one side. He turned toward Libby, staggering haltingly.

The Bobcat girl in the boulders pressed her AK-47 to her right shoulder, aiming at Cole.

All of this transpired so swiftly, so unexpectedly, Bertha reacted belatedly. Four seconds elapsed between her shout and Cole being struck, and when she did act, when she did enter the fray, her action was instinctive, ingrained from years of gang warfare and her training as a Warrior. Caught up in the heat of the moment, fearing for Cole and Libby, she did the only thing she could have done under the circumstances. She saw the Bobcat girl aim at Cole, and she automatically sighted her M-16

and fired off a half-dozen rounds.

The shots were right on target. The Bobcat girl stiffened, then sprawled over a boulder.

Bertha plunged down the slope, taking the straightest route, limbs and thorns tearing at her clothes. Her left boot snagged in a root and she tripped, landing on both knees. But she was up in an instant, plowing through the vegetation, and she didn’t stop until she reached the small clearing near Libby. She halted in midstep, horrified, her countenance reflecting her emotional unheaval. “Dear Lord!” she exclaimed.

Cole was on his knees in the middle of the clearing, his right arm outstretched toward Libby. His body was trembling, and blood coated the front of his brown shirt. His green eyes were locked on Libby.

Libby’s green shift was crimson from the waist up. Bullet holes dotted the fabric. She was flat on her back, her right arm extended toward Cole, her brown eyes staring at him in acute misery. Their fingers were a mere inch apart.

Cole made a valiant effort to rise, to move closer to Libby, but his legs buckled, and he sagged to his knees.

Libby’s gaze shifted, focused on Bertha. “Please!” she pleaded. “Please!”

Bertha hurried over to Cole, slinging the M-16 over her left arm.

Cole tried to twist, to use the AK-47 in his left hand, detecting movement but unaware of Bertha’s proximity.

“It’s me! Bertha!” Bertha informed him, reaching his side and placing her right arm around his waist.

Cole turned his tormented face toward her. “Help me,” he said. “Must touch Libby.”

Bertha nodded. She heaved, lifting him, assisting him to move next to Libby. She could feel his blood trickling over her arm.

Cole wearily knelt alongside Libby. Bertha released him, and he almost toppled over. Weaving, he dropped the AK-47 and braced himself with his left arm. He smiled down at Libby.

Libby beamed up at him.

Bertha stood at Libby’s feet, her eyes moistening.

“Looks like I made a mess of things,” Cole said, his voice barely audible.

Libby was breathing heavily. “No, you didn’t,” she admonished him.

“We did okay.”

“You always were one for looking at the bright side of things,” Cole remarked, and coughed.

Libby glanced at Bertha. “Did we get them? Did we get all of them?”

“Yes,” Bertha answered softly.

“See?” Libby grinned at Cole. “We paid them back for Milly and the others. We did okay.”

Cole nodded once, his eyelids fluttering. “I guess we did, at that.”

Libby’s right hand drifted to Cole’s lap.

Cole took her hand in his, their fingers entwining. Tears filled his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Libby.”

“For what?”

“For all the time I wasted. I heard you talking to Bertha outside the cabin.” He paused, coughed some more. “I’m sorry for not showing you how I felt. I’m sorry for all the time we could have shared. I’m sorry because I was scared to tell you, scared to open up, scared of losing you.

You were right.” He grimaced and coughed, and blood appeared at the left corner of his mouth.

“We’ll be together again,” Libby assured him. She seemed to be staring dreamily into the distance. “I told you about my mom lots of times, about how nice she was. She was very religious, even though religion is against the law. Maybe that’s why the Russians took Dad and her. She used to read to us from the Bible, tell us about Jesus and God and Heaven. Heaven is a wonderful place. Nobody tries to kill you there. You always have enough to eat. And there’s lots of angels all over, and music, music with harps and singing and all. And love. Everybody loves everybody. Isn’t that great?”

Blood was seeping from both corner’s of Cole’s mouth. “You think,” he began, and wheezed, “you think we’ll go to this Heaven?”

Libby looked him in the eyes. “Yes, I do.”

Cole’s features were blancing. “I don’t know…”

“Tell him, Bertha,” Libby said. “Tell him.”

Bertha found it difficult to speak. “I don’t know much about God and such,” she confessed. Libby frowned.

“But the folks at the Home do,” Bertha quickly added. “The Elders there say we live on after this life. They say we go to a better place, a higher spiritual level they call it.”

Cole took a deep breath. “And how… do we get to this better place?”

“The Elders say all it takes is faith,” Bertha stated, recalling several worship services she’d attended. “All you got to do is believe in the Spirit.”

“I believe,” Libby declared weakly. She gazed at Cole. “Please. For me. Believe.”

Cole coughed and slumped lower. “I never gave it much… thought before.” He paused. “But if it means I’ll see you again, then for you,”—he wheezed—“I’ll believe.”

Libby gripped his hand tightly. “Thank you.” She looked up at a patch of sky visible through the trees. “I can’t wait to get there! Maybe we’ll see our parents again. Wouldn’t that be fantastic?”

Cole didn’t answer.

“Cole?” Libby said, alarmed, examining his rigid features.

Cole was quivering. He began to droop forward, his eyes on her. “I… love… you,” he said, and collapsed across her waist.

Bertha took a step nearer and reached for Cole.

“Don’t!” Libby stated.

“But…” Bertha started to protest.

“Leave him,” Libby directed. “I want him like this.” She managed to move her left hand to his head and began stroking his hair. For a minute she was quiet, Frowning. Then she mustered a wan smile. “You know, this is the first time I’ve touched him like this. I can’t believe it!”

Bertha felt light-headed.

“Bertha?” Libby said. Her voice was fading.

“I’m here,” Bertha assured her huskily.

“Promise me something,” Libby stated.

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll bury us side by side. Hand in hand. Please? I don’t want the animals to get us,” Libby said.

Bertha responded with the utmost difficulty. “I promise you. I’ll bury you side by side.”

“Thank you.” Libby gazed up at the sky, and an incredible expression of happiness transformed her face. “We’re on our way!” she cried, elated. She gasped once, then ceased breathing.

An eerie silence enshrouded the hillside, until an unusual sound arose from a small clearing near the base of the hill, a sound gaining in intensity as it continued, softly at first, and then in loud, moanful sobs, the sound of a Warrior crying.