The Fox Run

Chapter Twenty-Five

Hickok fired as he ran, aiming for the head, closing the distance, intent on reaching Joan’s side before she was overwhelmed by the surging Trolls.

She had dropped to her knees as the doors opened, the Commando chattering, the heavy bullets shredding the Troll ranks, flesh bursting and blood spurting as the astonished Trolls absorbed the initial onslaught.

“What do we do?” Clyde asked Geronimo. They were still at the corner of the last building. “We didn’t count on this!”

“You do what you want,” Geronimo told him, and charged from cover, the Browning booming.

The flabbergasted Trolls recovered quickly and tactically responded to this unexpected ambush; they spread outward, deploying their forces to the right and left of the swinging doors. Stacks of bodies piled directly in front of the doors as Joan mowed down the Trolls still spilling forth from the bedlam inside.

Hickok concentrated on any Trolls posing a threat to Joan. He saw a grizzled Troll raise a rifle to his shoulder, aiming at her, and he snapped a shot into the Troll’s brain. Another Troll ran at Joan, a sword upraised.

Hickok shot him twice.

Geronimo, coming up fast, noted Hickok’s efforts to protect the woman he loved. He also noticed the gunman was heedless of his own safety; a Troll with a bow took a bead on Hickok, and Geronimo exploded his chest with a blast from the shotgun.

Clyde held back, slightly timid. He provided supporting cover, shooting at random, snickering, delighted at experiencing his long-deferred revenge.

Hickok reached Joan’s side. He was beginning to believe they would break the Trolls, would compel them to retreat and scatter, when Joan suddenly stopped firing.

“Out!” she shouted, reaching behind her for one of the extra ammo clips.

Hickok shot a Troll attacking with a spiked club and pivoted, aiming at another bearded enemy, this one with a hatchet. He hastily squeezed the Henry’s trigger, appalled when the hammer clicked. He was out too! How could he allow himself to lose track of the rounds fired? There was no time to reload. He dropped the Henry and drew the Pythons, both Colts simultaneously, forcing his aching, injured shoulder to obey his mental commands.

The Troll with the hatchet shrieked as he closed the gap.

Hickok shot, the right Colt only, the bullet slamming into the Troll’s forehead.

Joan was frantically tugging on the spent clip, still in the Commando.

“It’s jammed!” she yelled. “The damn thing’s jammed!”

Hickok stepped between the Trolls and Joan, the Pythons held low, at waist level. He would insure she was safe until she could switch clips.

With the Commando inoperative, the Trolls regained their momentum, closing file and advancing, retaliating against the greatest threat, the woman with the machine gun.

Geronimo reached Hickok and Joan. “Reloading!” he alerted them, and dropped to one knee, extracting fresh rounds from the bandoleer and feeding them into the Browning.

The Trolls, seeing only one opponent effectively armed, voiced a collective war cry and attacked.

Hickok stood firm, shooting targets as rapidly as they presented themselves: two Trolls with rifles, another with a pistol, a fourth with a shotgun, one fleet of foot who managed to get within six feet with an axe, three more Trolls charging as a group. Arrows spun by his head, and bullets buzzed through the air, resembling angry hornets in flight. A spear cleaved a furrow in his left thigh.

Geronimo reentered the fray, four quick blasts from the Browning decimating a row of approaching Trolls. A slug nicked his left cheek, drawing blood. An arrow clipped his right ankle.

The Trolls had gained the advantage.

“Reloaded!” Joan suddenly shouted, the fresh clip finally in the Carbine.

She heaved erect as Hickok dodged aside, and she cut loose with the Commando, bowling the Trolls over. They screamed and plunged, littering the ground with the dead and the wounded, pools of crimson dotting the pavement.

One Troll, smarter than his peers, had hung back, hidden just inside the swinging doors. He was armed with a metal-tipped lance, and as his beady eyes surveyed the carnage the woman was wreaking, he galvanized his burly body into action. Sheltered by the shadows, he hefted the heavy lance, judging the distance. He shuffled backwards several steps, then raced forward, his right arm swinging the lance back, then up and out.

Hickok, crouched by Joan’s right side, caught a blur of motion as the Troll emerged from the building into the light of day. He automatically sent a bullet into the Troll’s brain, even as the lance left the Troll’s hand and hurtled through the air.

“Look out!” Hickok cried, diving, attempting to put his body in front of Joan’s.

Joan, intent on dealing death to the Trolls, caught the flashing gleam of the lance out of the corner of her right eye. She heard Hickok’s warning and whirled.

The lance, on course, descended from its apex, the tapered, sharpened point piercing Joan’s left side, puncturing her lung. It passed completely through her body and impaled her to the ground.

“No! No!” Hickok scrambled to her side.

Joan was attempting to speak; blood dribbled from the corners of her mouth. She was on her back, her lips close to his face.

“No!” Hickok felt a drop of her blood spatter against his left cheek. He saw the Commando on the ground at her feet and he scooped the Carbine into his hands. “No!” Hickok rose and spun, the Commando bucking as he depressed the trigger. He began walking toward the Trolls, sweeping the Carbine back and forth, back and forth. He hardly noticed the havoc he caused: the torn and mangled bodies covering the pavement, the screams of agony and destruction, the frenzied efforts of the remaining Trolls to escape the mayhem. He held the trigger in, his mind attuned to a singular activity: sweeping the Commando in an arc, back and forth, back and forth.

“Hickok!”

Hickok disregarded the voice, still firing.

“Hickok!”

Hickok advanced, keeping the trigger pressed, unaware of all else.

“Hickok! It’s me!” Geronimo stepped in front of him and gripped him by the shoulders. “It’s me! The gun’s empty! Do you hear me? The gun’s empty!”

Hickok stopped, disoriented. He stared at the smoking Carbine.

“The gun’s empty!” Geronimo repeated. “The Trolls are gone.”

Hickok scanned the area. Sure enough, except for the dozens of bodies all over the place, the Trolls had withdrawn.

“Are you okay?” Geronimo asked. He was sporting a nasty wound on his right side.

“Fine,” Hickok mumbled. “Piece of cake.” Then he remembered. He turned and raced to Joan, aghast at the sight of her pale face and the red puddle at her feet.

“Joan!” Hickok knelt by her side. “What do I do?” He glanced at Geronimo. “Should I remove the lance?”

Geronimo sadly shook his head.

“Joan!” Hickok stared into her beautiful blue eyes, his own watering.

Joan grinned weakly. She licked her dry lips and managed to raise her right hand.

Hickok tenderly took her hand in his. “Don’t move,” he advised her. “Stay as still as possible.”

“It’s no use,” Joan said, her voice a wavering whisper.

“Don’t talk like that!” Hickok stroked her forehead, tears streaming down his face.

“We sure gave it to them,” Joan stated proudly. “Didn’t we?”

Hickok nodded, his throat bobbing.

“You’ve got to find the women,” Joan declared urgently. “Jenny, Mary, Ursa, and the rest.”

“We will,” Hickok promised.

Geronimo was standing guard, his back to them, scanning for danger.

His own eyes were misting over.

“Get them to the Home, safe and sound,” Joan said.

“We will,” Hickok assured her. “Don’t worry.”

“You know,” Joan began, a faraway look in her eyes, “this would happen now, after I finally find someone I care for. Murphy’s Law strikes again.”

She smiled.

“Please,” Hickok begged her. “Don’t talk. If we can remove this thing—”

Joan reached up and touched the tip of her right forefinger to his lips.

“Take care, lover,” she told him.

“Joan…”

“It’s been fun.” She began coughing.

“Don’t talk!”

Joan shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be waiting for you in the mansions on high.”

“Please…”

“Tell me you love me,” she urged him.

“I love you.”

Her eyes abruptly widened, her body stiffened, and she gave vent to one last, lingering breath. Then she was gone.

Hickok raised his tear-streaked face to the heavens.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooo!”