The Fox Run

Chapter Three

The scene was shrouded in mist, the images clouded, but he could discern the mutate perched on a boulder ahead of him, crouched and prepared to spring. This monstrosity was once a mountain lion, now a deformed, demented demon.

He wanted to scream! His legs were carrying him towards the mutate on a path that wound below the boulder on which the horror was perched, and try as he might, until sweat beaded his brow, he could not force his legs to stop. They seemed to be endowed with volition of their own. What was wrong with him? Did he want to suffer the same terrible fate as his father?

The mutate growled and licked its lips.

He shivered as an intense sensation of chilling numbness pervaded his soul. Again and again, over and over, he attempted to will his legs to stop, to turn and flee, but without any hint of success.

The boulder was only feet away, the mutate pressed against the top of the rock as its hind legs searched for a firmer grip.

Stop! He shouted at his legs, to no avail. Stop! Stop! Stop!

He recalled the day a runner came and informed him that his father had been attacked while on a hunting foray. They hastened to the death scene, but arrived too late. His father had passed on only minutes before his arrival. Blood was still flowing from a gaping tear in his father’s throat, and the stomach area was torn to shreds, strips of ragged flesh splayed outward from the body. He knelt in the grass and held his father’s hand and felt tears streak his cheeks. His mother had died in childbirth, his birth. Now his father was killed, and loneliness filled his grieving heart.

The two men on the expedition with his father blamed themselves for his death. One of them had stopped to remove a stone from his boot, and the other waited with him, the two idly engaged in conversation. His father was thirty yards ahead of them when the mutate charged from the brush, bearing him to the ground, clawing and ripping and snapping. The two men rushed to his father’s aid, too late. The mutate whirled at their approach, snarled, and bounded into the woods. Strangely, the two men swore that this mutate was different from any other they had ever seen.

They claimed this particular mutate was wearing a leather collar. The men were honest and fearless, respected by everyone, but not one member of the Family really believed their story about the collar. A popular assumption was that the two men had mistaken a shadow under the mutate’s neck for a collar. Imagine! A collar on a mutate! The very idea was patently ridiculous.

He glanced up at the mutate on the boulder, petrified, because this mutate was wearing a wide leather collar decorated with silver studs.

No! It couldn’t be!

The mutate roared and pounced!

He screamed.

“Blade!”

He opened his eyes, his vision briefly blurry. A cold, clammy sweat caked to his skin.

“Blade? Are you okay?” It was Jenny.

Blade tried to respond, but his tongue felt swollen and awkward, his throat parched, and the room appeared to be spinning around and around.

“Blade? Can you hear me?” Her tone conveyed her concern.

Blade wanted to say yes, but couldn’t. He noticed his vision beginning to clear.

“Permit me,” someone said, and a shadowy figure loomed over his face, obstructing the light from the nearby candle. “Blade, concentrate on my voice, on my directions. If you can hear and comprehend, nod once.”

Blade recognized Plato’s voice. He nodded.

“Thank the Spirit!” Jenny happily exclaimed.

“Quiet!” Plato ordered her. “No distractions. Blade…” He placed his weathered, wrinkled right hand on Blade’s forehead. “Did you inhale any of the cloud? Any at all? Nod once for yes, twice for no.”

Blade nodded twice. At least, he couldn’t recall doing so.

“Good, Nathan and Geronimo agree with that assessment. A stray vapor possibly penetrated into your lungs, but not in sufficient quantity to cause your earthy demise. You must clear your respiratory system. Breathe deeply, in and out, in and out.”

Blade’s vision was restored to normal, but his throat was still congested.

He followed Plato’s suggestion, inhaling slowly and exhaling carefully, settling into a rhythm, sensation returning to his numbed senses and limbs.

“Excellent!” Plato commented. “Continue until I instruct you to desist.”

Blade complied, taking in his surroundings. He was lying on one of the dozen cots set up in the chamber below C Block. A score of candles provided the illumination. Fourteen of the Family had sought sanctuary in this chamber. The other Family members would be scattered under the other Blocks, each having run to the nearest shelter when the alarm was sounded. Supplies were stacked against the walls: food, clothing, medical necessities, weapons, and the other essentials the Family might require if confined to the chamber for any protracted period.

Hickok and Geronimo were sitting on another cot, engaged in animated conversation.

Jenny and Nightingale were comforting the still-distraught Mark.

Plato was standing, staring down at Blade, his kindly blue eyes probing.

Blade raised himself on his elbows. He noticed that his injured wrist had been cleaned and bandaged while he was unconscious. Jenny or Nightingale, or both? They were two of the four Family Healers.

“Is your biological equilibrium restored?” Plato inquired.

Blade’s throat felt better. “I feel fine,” he acknowledged.

“Sit up then, but don’t push yourself,” Plato directed.

Blade obeyed. The others were all watching him now, alert for any indication of remission. “Really, I’m okay,” he reiterated.

“I certainly pray you are,” Plato said. “The Family has need of your particular skills.”

“Why did you send Hickok and Geronimo after me?” Blade asked.

Plato raised his arms and swept the survival chamber with his gaze.

“Dearly beloved, attend me! We have a matter of grave import to discuss.”

The others present clustered closer, forming a circle around their leader.

“You make it sound so serious,” Jenny stated.

“It is,” Plato responded. He stroked his gray beard. “I had planned to address the entire Family tonight after the evening meal. Events, however, preclude that possibility. I will share my misgivings with those present now, and later, while those selected prepare, will inform the rest of our loved ones. Time is crucial to the success of the project I’m about to detail. I might be presumptuous, but I believe in my heart that a majority will agree with my assessment of our situation and the proposed remedy.”

Everyone was attentive to his every word.

“You are aware I sent two of our Warriors to retrieve their Triad leader.

I intend to send the Alpha Triad on a mission, a potentially dangerous errand from which they might never return.”

“At last! Some action!” Hickok exclaimed.

“Why?” Jenny demanded, casting an apprehensive glance at Blade.

“Because I have reason to believe that unless drastic action, as Mr.

Hickok so enthusiastically refers to it, is taken immediately, the Family is faced with the bleak probability of impending extinction.”

Mark’s sniffling was the only sound in the chamber.

“Extinction?” Nightingale finally inquired.

Plato clasped his wiry hands behind his stooped back and grimly surveyed those around him. “Precisely. All of you are aware that our life spans are decreasing with each generation. Family records verify this.

Those fortunate enough to attain advanced years are displaying the symptoms of aging earlier and earlier in each succeeding generation. My personal calculations indicate that in another twenty or thirty years the elders in the Family will reach what was once termed old age by the time they are thirty-five. The prospects are evident and terrifying. We must take the necessary steps, now, to insure that this mysterious process can be reversed and eradicated.

“What is causing this?” someone asked.

“I don’t know,” Plato admitted. “I pray to the Spirit that the reason can be determined before it is too late. Six months ago, when I initially confirmed this phenomenon, I hypothetically assumed the cause to be transient, attributable to the cumulative effects of negligible long-term radiation exposure. Now I have reason to suspect otherwise, and I want Family approval to send the Alpha Triad after equipment that can settle the issue once and for all. I want to send the Alpha Triad out into the world.”

Over the years since the war, the expression “the world” had become a Family euphemism for whatever existed beyond the boundaries of the Home. Hunting forays seldom penetrated further than twenty miles in any given direction. Not since the Big Blast, as many Family members preferred to refer to World War Three, had anyone departed the Home on an extended trip. In his diary, Carpenter advised the Family to stay put until such time as it was sufficiently strong in numbers to withstand any attack by a hostile force, or until it was certain that stability was restored to a disrupted, chaotic world.

“Are any of you aware of the importance of the date?” Plato asked.

“Today is June fourth.”

There was a moment’s hesitation on their part. Time, the consciousness of elapsed intervals frenetically followed by prewar society, was no longer relevant. Instead of dominating and dictating individual behavior, time was now ignored or savored in slow, spontaneous spurts. The Family’s generators Carpenter had wisely provided to make the transition from prewar to postwar culture easier had worn out decades ago. With the demise of electricity, the Family’s entire mode of living had altered, reverting to simpler ways and austere means. Calendars were still used, though, primarily by the Tillers for farming purposes.

“It is appropriate that we should send out our first expedition now,” Plato said. “We don’t enjoy being reminded of the war, but if you consult the records you’ll discover that in two days an historic anniversary occurs.

It will be exactly one hundred years since World War Three.”

Plato paused, noting the frowns and sad expressions on his loved ones, on those he mentally referred to as his “children.” Could any of them properly appreciate the profound significance of the loss the war had inflicted on humanity? Of the gains?

“The Founder planned and stocked well,” Plato continued. “He stockpiled huge quantities of provisions, of every conceivable type, most of which have since been used. Over the years we have adapted as supplies in any area were depleted. We grow and preserve our own sustenance, we construct our own clothing and build our own furniture. Although most of our original medical supplies have been utilized or outlived their effective potency, we have used certain reference books from the library and our own experience to achieve a consistent level of natural healing that is remarkably efficacious. In short, the Family has persevered. But, if we could locate new medicine, find other material we can use, and replenish our stockpiled reserve of ammunition for our firearms, I’m sure we would all rejoice. This brings me to the second reason I want the Alpha Triad to go out.”

Plato stared at Blade.

“I want the Alpha Triad to retrieve as many items as they can from a list I’ve compiled of scientific, medical, and other supplies and basic provisions and equipment the Family requires.”

“We gonna carry this stuff back in a knapsack?” Hickok interrupted.

Plato grinned. “No. The load would strain even your broad shoulders.

We’ll get to the method of transportation in a moment.”

Blade wondered what Plato could be referring to. The Family owned nine horses, but they were exclusively used in the fields for tilling the soil and other farm uses. Taking them beyond the limits of the Home would be exposing them to almost certain death.

“Before I do,” Plato resumed, “I want to stress the third and final reason for sending out the Alpha Triad. Pardon me.” He moved towards the west wall and a path was cleared for his passage.

The west wall was adorned with over a dozen maps, most frayed and worn from use and age. In the center of the wall was a map of the former state in which the Home was located, Minnesota. A bright red dot in the northwestern corner indicated the Home site.

Plato reached out and tapped the red dot. “The Home. In the one hundred years since the war, the Family has not extended its boundaries beyond the original limits. We are ignorant with respect to whatever is transpiring in the world around us. We own several radios, long since useless. Even when the generators were functional and we had a store of batteries, the atmospheric disturbance was too great to permit reception or broadcast on the shortwave bands. The crucial point to stress is that we have survived, and if we have, then there is a distinct possibility that other groups have too. Remember those scavengers? Where did they come from? We must determine if populated centers are existing in the world, and the Alpha Triad must learn if they are any threat to the Family.”

Plato stopped and searched the faces nearest him. “Any objections to my proposal?”

“I have one,” Jenny spoke up.

“Yes?” Plato glanced at Blade.

“The Family has survived, true,” Jenny began. “But we were not near any nuclear impact points, thank the Founder! We do know, from the early records made when the Geiger counters and the other equipment was working, that the radiation level in the atmosphere rose dramatically after the Big Blast, then tapered off to near normal within five years. But what about hot spots, strike sites? Are they still radioactive? Will the Alpha Triad expose themselves to some unknown form of nuclear or chemical horror and seal their doom? Can we take that chance?”

Plato cleared his throat. There was an evident sadness in his eyes when he answered her. “We can not guarantee that they will not encounter danger on this expedition, which is why it is up to them to determine if the trip is made at all. They are well aware of the dangers. But I want to show you something. Jenny, and the rest of you, that may allay your fears.”

Plato touched the red dot again.

“The Home. Located in northwestern Minnesota, on the outskirts of the former Lake Bronson State Park. Not a major metropolis within hundreds of miles. Scant chance to find supplies we require anywhere else but a major city. And there is one here.”

Plato lowered his hand to the southeastern section of Minnesota.

“Formerly known as Minneapolis and St. Paul, the Twin Cities.”

“That’s so far!” someone protested.

“How do we know the Twin Cities are still there?” another person asked.

Plato was studying the map. “To take your questions in sequence, the Twin Cities are, according to my calculations, three hundred and seventy-one miles from the Home, give or take a mile or two…”

Hickok laughed. “Shouldn’t take us more than a year to get there and back!”

“I’ll get to that in a moment,” Plato repeated. “First, someone wanted to know if the Twin Cities are still there. As far as we know, yes. Sporadic reception was possible until several weeks after the nuclear conflict. The journals clearly state that Minneapolis and St. Paul, lacking any strategic importance, were spared a direct hit. One entry notes that a commercial radio station, WCCO, was received, broadcasting governmental orders to evacuate. I believe the Twin Cities still stand, although in what condition is anyone’s guess.”

Plato faced them.

“I also believe the Alpha Triad has a reasonable probability of success in attaining their goal.” He slowly gazed at Blade, Hickok, and Geronimo in turn. “You will face untold hazards. Mutates. Clouds. Hostile humans.

Who knows what else? But the benefits to the Family outweigh your personal risks. You are caught in a vicious paradox. If you do make the journey, you might not survive. If you don’t make the journey, the Family will not survive for much longer. Oh, we might persist for several more generations. Eventually, though, the creeping senility will eradicate the Family at an excessively early age. Mark my words! That is inevitable unless we are willing to do something about it now. Take all the time you require to discuss it amongst yourselves.”

Hickok stood and stretched. “Who needs time, old man? I’m bored to tears sitting around here all the time. I say we go.”

“Don’t be hasty,” Plato advised him.

Hickok patted the ivory handles on his Pythons. “Hasty is my middle name. Besides, the way you present it, we don’t have that much of a choice, do we? What do you say, pards?”

Geronimo stood. “Fortunately, I don’t have a wife and family or I might decline. But I’m for going, if only to satisfy my curiosity. Blade?”

Blade could almost feel Jenny’s eyes boring into him. He knew she was looking at him, but he refused to return her stare. He mustn’t waver now.

He rose to his feet, pleased that his strength had returned. “I agree with you. We don’t have a choice. The Family’s welfare comes before our own. We’ll go.”

“Good.” Plato smiled at them, nodding his head.

“On one condition,” Blade amended.

“Oh?” Plato’s eyebrows arched.

“That if we do not return, if you should never hear from us again,” Blade said, deliberately continuing to avoid gazing at Jenny, “you will pledge to deny anyone permission to come looking for us, and will restrain anyone who might be so inclined.”

Everyone in the chamber knew whom he had in mind.

“Ahhhh. Agreed.” Plato grinned. “Although it has been my experience that a determined individual and a flash flood have considerable in common. They are both well-nigh irresistible if you are caught in their path.

Blade expected Jenny would strenuously object and was relieved when the- protest failed to materialize.

“I hope you will agree to a condition of my own,” Plato casually mentioned.

Too casually! From long experience. Blade recognized the tone Plato used. Their leader was about to make a suggestion that might not go over too well with some of those present.

“I want you to take Joshua with you,” Plato stated.

“What?” Geronimo asked, surprised.

Hickok laughed.

“Joshua? Are you serious?” Blade demanded incredulously.

“Quite,” was Plato’s simple response.

Hickok laughed again.

“I refuse to take Joshua along with us,” Blade said.

“On what grounds?” Plato inquired.

“Grounds? I’ll give you grounds!” Blade’s voice rose with his growing annoyance.

“Go get ’im,” Hickok chipped n.

Blade ignored him. “I fail to see where Joshua would be of any benefit on this mission.” He stepped up to Plato. “He’s not a fighter, he’s not a hunter, and he’s not trained in any of the sciences…”

“Are you trained in any of the sciences?” Plato interjected.

“No,” Blade confessed, “but I’m a Warrior, and Joshua is not. He’s not a Healer. He isn’t qualified in any area to accompany us on this mission. He would hinder us more than he could conceivably aid us. I’m surprised you would even mention him as an addition for this trip.” Blade thought of one more reason. “You said that this will be dangerous, that we might not return. How could you send Joshua with us? Send a man who has vowed never to take a life? Who wouldn’t defend himself if attacked? We can’t take him.”

Plato sighed and sat down on the nearest cot. “Bear with me a moment.

Much of what you have said is true. Joshua is devoted to the concepts of love and peace. He’s not a scientist, although he is as adept and knowledgeable in technological areas as you are. After all, you had the same teacher. Me. Joshua is not designated an official Family Healer, but you will concede he is talented in the restorative arts, exceeding your ability by far. And he has two strengths, two remarkable aptitudes, qualifying him or this enterprise. First and foremost is his spiritual nature, a definite counterbalance to a Warrior’s inherent and cultivated aggressive attitude. Secondly, he is an Empath. The youngest, to be sure.

Still, his psychic capabilities could be of distinct advantage. Think about it. I can’t compel you to take him, but I strongly advise it. Do you have a specific reason I haven’t addressed?”

“I think old Josh is a bit strange,” Hickok cracked.

“You have room to talk?” Geronimo countered. He nodded at Plato. “I think I understand what you’re saying. You want him to serve as a balance.”

“A balance for what?” Hickok asked.

“For your Warrior natures,” Plato answered. “You are more inclined to shoot first and ask questions later. On this mission, our first determined effort to establish outside contact, we require someone who will reach out in friendship to strangers, someone who will put any fears or suspicions these outsiders might entertain to rest. Joshua is capable in this respect, eminently so.”

“And I’m not?” Blade asked, the implications disturbing him.

“You have achieved a commendable balance,” Plato acknowledged, smiling, “but you must admit you have considerable to learn when it comes to spiritual realities and brotherhood.”

“And Joshua is to be our teacher,” Geronimo concluded.

Plato rubbed his right knee. The joints were bothering him again. “Yes,” he answered Geronimo. The quiet one. In some respects, not initially evident in his laconic nature, Geronimo was more intellectually perceptive than either of his Alpha associates. He glanced at Blade and noted his furrowed brow, his thoughtful expression. Should he tell the youth the entire reason for sending Joshua, a motivation previously discussed and agreed to between the two of them when the idea first occurred to Plato?

Joshua was willing, even eager, to comply with Plato’s wishes. If Blade was to ever assume the mantle of Family leadership, then certain aspects of his personal development must be rigorously attended to. Close association with Joshua could open Blade up to new horizons of spiritual awareness.

“I’m still not completely convinced,” Blade said. “I see part of your reason, but I believe it’s a mistake. Still, if you think it wisest, then Joshua goes with us.”

“That’s what I call standing by your guns,” Hickok quipped.

“Is anyone else going?” Jenny joined their conversation.

Plato shifted to face her. “No.”

“They should take a Healer long,” she suggested. “They might be injured on this trip.”

“As I mentioned before,” Plato patiently stressed, “Joshua will act in that capacity.”

“But Joshua is not certified as an official Healer,” Jenny protested.

“He will suffice on this venture.” Plato began rubbing his left knee.

“Besides, Jenny, would you deprive the Family of one of our four Healers?”

“The Family could make do with three,” Jenny replied.

“Possibly.” Plato paused. What could he possibly say to influence her?

She was profoundly in love with Blade, and she was displaying a very natural reluctance to allowing him to leave the Home without her. Plato remembered his one and only love, his binding to a beautiful, intelligent woman filled with an overflowing joy of life. Nadine. They married, joyously living as mates for eleven years, until that fateful day they left on an exploratory expedition. Plato wanted to familiarize himself with the terrain to the east of the Home. He had discovered a reference in the records to a small lake due east and he wanted to ascertain the veracity of the report. They departed in early morning, and by late afternoon they still had not discovered any trace of the elusive body of water.

By evening they decided to call it quits. Plato advised building a raging fire to deter any hostile animals. Even the horrid mutates avoided fire. He went for timber in a stand of trees fifty yards away. Nadine busied herself preparing their campsite. She was armed and an excellent shot and he had not feared for her safety. He took his time, pausing often to examine interesting flora. Eventually, his arms laden with dry wood, he returned to the camp.

Nadine was gone.

Plato assumed she was heeding nature’s call, and went about starting their fire. When it was lit, and the kindling was snapping and popping and filling the air with smoke, he stood and called her name several times.

No response.

Plato began circling the camp, increasing his radius with each sweep, shouting for her. He couldn’t understand it. If there had been trouble he would have heard her fire a shot or scream. What could have happened?

After hours of fruitless searching he returned to the flickering flames and collapsed, an emotional wreck. She was gone! Nadine had vanished from the face of the earth without a trace.

Plato never did find her. He returned to the Home and organized a search party. They returned and scoured the countryside for sign, any trace of what might have transpired. Not a hint. Plato remained despondent for the better part of a year. In his heart he never recovered from her loss, and he could not bring himself to reach out for another woman after the tragedy.

Plato sighed. Yes, he could sympathize with Jenny. But he could not permit his personal feelings to inhibit his deductive reasoning. He stared up into her green eyes. “I’m sorry. I will oppose any motion to send a Healer with the Alpha Triad. With them gone, we will require every able-bodied man and woman to assume additional duties. Our security forces will be seriously depleted. We can’t spare another person to accompany them.”

Jenny slowly nodded her head in silent agreement, turned, and walked to a far corner of the chamber. She sat down on the farthest cot and placed her face in her hands.

Plato looked down at the cement floor. If anything did happen to Blade, if the Alpha Triad did not return, he would never be able to forgive himself. He doubted too whether Jenny would ever forgive him.

Sometimes, he reflected, the trials of leadership were an oppressive burden.

“This is great, pard,” he overheard Hickok saying to Geronimo. “Just think of it! The first of the Family to see the world! Who knows what we’ll find out there!”

Quite probably, Plato reflected, your death.