Memphis Run

Chapter Twenty-One

They were walking hand in hand in the pristine eastern section of the Home, near the moat flowing at the inner base of the 20-foot-high brick walls enclosing the compound.

“Will Daddy be back soon, Mommy?” the boy asked. He was four months shy of his fourth birthday, and everyone in the Family agreed that he was the spitting image of his father: the same blond hair, the same blue eyes, and the same lean frame. He even wore a replica of his father’s attire, buckskin pants and a buckskin shirt.

The woman looked away so he would not notice the sorrow lining her features. “I hope so, Ringo. I miss the big dummy.”

“Daddy’s not a dummy.”

She glanced down at his earnest face and mustered a grin. “I know. I only call him a dummy because I love him.”

“Does that mean I can call you a dummy?”

“Not unless you plan to cook your own food from now on.”

“Does that mean no?”

“You’re as bright as your old man.”

“Are you sad, Mommy?” Ringo asked unexpectedly.

She did a double take. “Why do you say that?”

“I think you’re sad because Daddy is gone.”

“Aren’t you?”

Ringo frowned and shuffled his moccasins. “Yeah. I reckon.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean. Don’t use the same kind of words your father does. He may like to talk like a turnip, but I’ll be—darned—if you will.”

“I think Daddy talks neat.”

“You’re the only one who does,” she said, gazing to the north. They were slowly ambling toward the north wall, and the figure of one of her fellow Warriors, on guard duty, was visible on the rampart.

“Gabe and Cochise think Daddy talks neat too.”

“They would.”

“Why?” Ringo inquired.

She squinted up at the afternoon sun before replying, the heat prickling her skin, thankful she was wearing a light, green top and brown shorts with her deer-hide sandals. Strapped around her slim waist was a Smith and Wesson .357 Combat Magnum. “The three of you are chips off the old block—”

“What?” Ringo interrupted, not understanding.

“The three of you take after your dads,” she stated. “You’re just like Hickok. Gabe is Blade all over again. I never saw any boy eat as much and grow as fast as he’s doing. And Cochise is exactly like Geronimo. Hickok, Blade, and Geronimo have been the best of friends since childhood, and I expect the three of you to follow in their footsteps.” She paused. “The Spirit help us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your daddy has an uncanny knack for getting into hot water without really trying,” she answered. “You’ll probably be the same way.”

“I hope so,” Ringo declared.

“Just what I need,” his mother muttered. She stared at the north rampart and recognized the Warrior. His muscular body was clothed in forest-green apparel. A six-inch strip of leather secured his shoulder-length blond hair in a ponytail, and his blond beard was trimmed in a jutting profile from his chin. He held a Ben Pearson compound bow in his right hand, and on his back was his quiver of versatile arrows. He saw her and waved.

“Yo, Sherry!”

“Hi, Teucer,” she called back.

“Hi, Ringo,” the bowman shouted. “How are you?”

“I miss my daddy.”

Teucer glanced at Sherry, then back at the boy. “We all do, Ringo. Don’t worry. He’ll show up. Your dad always does.”

“If he doesn’t come soon, I’ll go get him,” Ringo declared solemnly.

“Speaking of which,” Teucer said to Sherry, “what’s the word from the Elders?”

“They still won’t permit anyone to travel to Miami in the SEAL,” Sherry said. “They want us to be patient.”

“Any word on the missing jet?”

“No,” Sherry replied. “We received a communique from the Federation Council. They have no idea what happened to the missing VTOL, but they suspect the Russians may have shot it down before it reached Miami to pick up Hickok and the others.”

“Did they say why they suspect the Russians?”

“No. They promised a full report as soon as their investigation is complete.”

“I hope you hear from them soon,” Teucer commented.

“Not half as much as I do,” Sherry replied.

Teucer nodded sympathetically, gave a little wave, and proceeded to the east.

Sherry led her son to the west, strolling past imposing pines, shafts of sunlight streaming between the trees.

“Mommy?” Ringo asked.

“Yes?”

“Why didn’t Daddy and Uncle Blade take the SEAL?”

She gazed at him thoughtfully. The SEAL was yet another of the legacies bequeathed to the Family by the Founder of the survivalist retreat, Kurt Carpenter. Carpenter had spent millions to have a unique mode of transportation developed by the best scientists and engineers money could buy prior to World War Three. The result had been the SEAL, a revolutionary, vanlike, solar-powered, all-terrain vehicle. The Warriors utilized the SEAL frequently on their runs to different destinations.

“Why not Mommy?” Ringo repeated.

“Blade wanted to use one of the jets for several reasons,” Sherry informed him. “First, the VTOLs are much faster than the SEAL, and he wanted to get to Miami and return as quickly as possible. Second, they’d cut down on the number of mutants, wild animals, and whatnot they’d have to face by taking a jet. Third, the VTOLs can land anywhere. They have what’s called a vertical-takeoff-and-landing capability, so they can deposit the Warriors at any spot Blade picks.” She paused. “Blade thought he was doing the right thing. We can’t blame him for what happened.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

They strolled in silence for a couple of minutes, engrossed in their private reflection.

Sherry raised her head as the sounds of shouting arose from the western section of the 30-acre Home. While the eastern portion was predominantly maintained in a natural state or devoted to agriculture, and the central area was occupied by a row of log cabins running from north to south, exclusively reserved for married Family members and their children, the western section was the focal area for Family socialization.

Most Family activities transpired in the western sector. The huge concrete blocks, each one exclusively reserved for a specific function, were located there. In the middle of the west wall was the only means of entering the compound, an enormous drawbridge.

“What’s that noise?” Ringo inquired.

“I don’t know,” Sherry said. “I hope it’s not another mutant.” She hurried forward.

“Not so fast. Mommy,” Ringo complained. “I can’t keep up.”

“Sorry.”

Sherry scooped him into her arms and hastened onward, her pulse quickening, hope uplifting her emotions in a tidal wave of expectation.

Despite her normal inclination to dread the worst, deep within the core of her being, sparked by her frequently accurate feminine intuition, was the conviction that Hickok was still alive, out there somewhere. The big dummy might attract trouble like honey attracted bears, but he also was endowed with lightning reflexes and could well be the quickest gunman alive. If anyone was capable of journeying great distances across the mutant-ridden landscape, he was.

Whoops and cries of delight were mingling in the air, muted but alluring.

“Someone is having a party,” Ringo said.

“Maybe,” Sherry responded, increasing her speed. Minutes later she reached a tilled field filled with growing corn, and she headed straight through, wending among the rows of stalks.

“Mommy?”

“What?” Sherry answered absently.

“When I grow up, I want to be a Warrior like daddy and you.”

She looked into his innocent eyes and frowned. “We’ll talk about this when you’re older. A lot older.”

“Can’t I do it?”

“We’ll see.”

“Daddy and you are Warriors.”

“I know.”

“Why can’t I be one?”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Sherry said.

“You don’t want me to do it. I can tell.”

“Being a Warrior is a very dangerous profession. Your life is always on the line. I don’t know if I’d want you to have a job where you might wind up being shot.”

“But you have the same job.”

“I’m your mother.”

“Aww, gee.”

“You’re our only son, our only child,” Sherry noted. “I’m not about to agree to you having any position where your life is at risk.”

Ringo digested this information as they came to another tilled field, this one with a variety of vegetables.

Sherry bore to the left, not wanting to accidentally tread on any of the precious food.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah?”

“If the stork brings me a sister or brother, can I be a Warrior then?”

“A stork? Where did you hear babies are delivered by a stork?”

“From Daddy.”

“Figures,” Sherry muttered. “What did he tell you?”

“Do you remember when the horse had the baby horse?”

“Black Beauty, when she had her foal?” Sherry asked, knowing he was referring to the delivery by one of the horses used by the Tillers.

“Yep.”

“What about it?”

“I asked Daddy where the baby horse came from,” Ringo recounted.

“He said a stork brought it.”

“He did, did he?”

“Yep. And you know what else?”

“I can’t begin to imagine.”

“Daddy said storks bring people babies too. Even deer babies and fox babies.”

“Busy bunch of storks,” Sherry muttered. She estimated they were within a hundred yards of the line of cabins, drawing near to her own.

“And you know what else?”

“No, what?”

“Do you remember the animal books in the library?”

“The books you like so much, the ones with all the pictures?”

“Those books,” Ringo confirmed.

“I asked Daddy where baby elephants came from,” Ringo mentioned.

“And he said a stork.”

“How did you know?”

“Just a lucky guess,” Sherry commented dryly.

“But not little storks.”

“Little storks?”

“Daddy says little storks bring little babies, like baby fish and baby birds. And madi—medu—”

“Medium?”

“Yep. Medium storks bring people babies. But elephant babies come from really big storks with beaks this big,” Ringo detailed, and stretched his hands apart as far as they would go.

“I’m going to have a long talk with your father when he gets back,” Sherry observed.

“Did you ever see a beak that big?”

“Just your daddy’s nose.”

Ringo laughed at the notion. “Daddy’s nose isn’t that big.”

“It will be when I’m through with him,” Sherry vowed. She was disappointed to note the uproar in the western sector had tapered off. A cluster of trees separated them from their cabin, and she bore to the left, following a well-worn trail.

The cabin came within view in seconds.

“Daddy!” Ringo exclaimed, kicking his legs in excitement.

Sherry froze in her tracks, her mouth slack, her green eyes watering.

“Let me down! Let me down!” Ringo yelled.

“Here you go,” Sherry mumbled, lowering him to the ground.

The boy was off like a shot, running toward his father, shouting with delight. “Daddy! Daddy! You’re home!”

“I’m home,” Hickok replied, standing six feet from the open cabin door.

He beamed and knelt, his arms wide, and a moment later Ringo plowed into him and nearly knocked him over. “I’m home, buckaroo.”

Father and son hugged one another, Hickok with his eyes closed, Ringo giggling and saying over and over again, “You’re back! You’re really back.”

“And I’m not leavin’ for a spell,” Hickok stated. “I promise.” He opened his eyes to find Sherry in front of him, her eyes and cheeks moist, and he kissed Ringo and stood. “Howdy, ma’am. Did you miss me?”

“No,” Sherry said, then threw herself into his arms, her face pressed against his neck. “Don’t you ever do this to us again!”

“I didn’t exactly plan it,” Hickok remarked huskily.

Sherry sighed and kissed him tenderly on the neck. “Dear Spirit, how we missed you!”

“You needed someone to help with the dishes, huh?”

Sherry chuckled. “You know you’ll do anything to get out of doing work around the house.”

“Who, me?”

“No. The storks.”

“The what?”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Sherry said.

“Uhhh,” Hickok began sheepishly. “There’s something we need to talk about right now.”

Sherry leaned back and pecked him on the tip of his nose. Ringo was squeezing the gunman’s right leg. “Whatever is it, I’m sure it can wait,” she stated.

“I’m afraid it can’t,” Hickok replied.

“What is it?”

“Promise you won’t get all riled?”

Sherry’s eyes narrowed quizzically. “Uh-oh. What have you done now? Whenever you say that, it means you’ve gone and done something off the wall.” She grinned. “Men are so predictable. And here I am, outnumbered in my own family.”

Hickok cleared his throat, his mouth twisting in a cockeyed, reserved grin. “Not any more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I brought you a little surprise,” Hickok said.

“Oh?” Sherry smiled. “You’ve never done that before. What is it? Jewelry? Clothes?”

“Do you remember telling me that you’d like our next young’un to be a girl?”

“Yeah. So?”

Hickok nodded at the cabin.

Perplexed, Sherry looked, and the sight of the blonde girl wearing a blue jump suit, framed in the doorway, caused her to release her husband and step back in astonishment. “Who—?” she blurted out.

“This is Chastity,” Hickok introduced the child. “Chastity, this is Ringo,” he said, and patted his son on the head. “And this is Sherry, my missus.”

Chastity walked over to them, her anxious gaze on Sherry. “Will you be my new mommy?”

“Your mommy?”

“My mommy and daddy were killed,” Chastity explained with naive simplicity. “My new daddy said you would be my new mommy.”

Sherry, still stunned and confused, squatted. “Your new daddy?”

Chastity pointed at Hickok. “He said you’re the nicest lady in the world.

He said I could be your girl.”

“How about it?” Hickok asked. “Look at the bright side. You won’t have any morning sickness this time.”

“Where—how—when—?” Sherry began, and then discerned the unease, the incipient fear, in Chastity’s eyes. She reached out and impulsively embraced her. “Don’t worry. Everything is all right.” She paused, watching tears form in the corners of Chastity’s eyes. “You’ve found a new home.

Yes, I’ll be your new mommy.”

“Thank you,” Chastity stated politely, and started crying.

“What’s wrong, princess?” Hickok inquired as he lifted Ringo in his arms. “I figured you’d be happy.”

“I am,” Chastity blubbered.

Sherry clasped the girl and stroked her hair. “There. There. It’s okay.”

She glanced up at Hickok, and for an instant her eyes seemed to reflect all of the love in the world.

“Wow, Dad. Thanks,” Ringo said.

“For what?”

“Now I can be a Warrior.”

“Fine by me,” Hickok responded, and gazed at each of them in supreme happiness. “How about this? Everything has worked out just fine.” He paused. “Now I won’t have to help with the dishes any more.”

“Dream on,” was Sherry’s reply.

In the western section of the compound, not far from the lowered drawbridge and the dusty jeep parked a dozen yards from the moat, purposely avoided by the other Family members to allow them some measure of privacy, stood Blade, Jenny, and Gabe. They were embracing tenderly, not even speaking, simply savoring their reunion, with Jenny weeping softly, Gabe sniffling, and Blade feeling an overwhelming sense of sheer joy.

Thirty feet to the north, partially obscured by a towering pine, oblivious to everyone and everything as they kissed passionately was the Family’s preeminent martial artist and a red-headed woman wearing a yellow blouse and brown pants.

“I never want you to leave again,” she said when they came up for air.

“I’m a Warrior, Lexine. I must leave when Blade orders me to do so.”

“I love you so much, Rikki.”

“And I love you.”

“Don’t you think it’s about time we did something about the way we feel?”

“I do,” Rikki said.

“Then let’s go find a clearing in the woods,” Lexine suggested.

“I have a better idea,” Rikki proposed.

“What is it?”

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

A poor red squirrel, busily gnawing on a pine cone on a limb 25 feet overhead, nearly lost his footing and fell at the sound of a screech from one of the two humans below. He chittered at them for a minute, then scampered higher to enjoy his meal of pine seeds in peace.