The Fox Run

Chapter Seven

Hickok and Geronimo were standing next to the SEAL, admiring the vehicle and discussing their impending departure, when all hell broke loose.

Although ordinarily most Family members would retire shortly after the onset of night, many of them were still awake, too excited over the recent developments to turn in. Plato was seated by a fire, immersed in the Operations Manual to the SEAL. The Omega Triad was on guard, the three Warriors on the west wall, alert for any danger. All was peaceful and quiet.

Until the four shots shattered the darkness.

Hickok and Geronimo spun, facing east.

“What was that?” Plato called to them.

“Came from near the cabins,” Hickok ventured.

“A bit past it, I’d say,” Geronimo said, assessing the distance.

A smallish figure darted up to them, a lean, wiry man with angular facial features and uncanny speed.

“Any orders?” asked his newcomer. He was carrying a katana, a long sword, at the ready.

Hickok glanced at him, wondering for the umpteenth time how any person could choose the name of a mongoose at their Naming.

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the leader of the Beta Triad. Each Triad had its respective head, but each of the three other Triads, the Beta, the Gamma, and the Omega, were in turn led by the Alpha Triad in times of concerted action.

“Guard Plato,” Hickok directed. “We’ll investigate.” He ran off, Geronimo keeping pace at his side. They had placed the Henry and the Browning in the SEAL earlier, but they still had their other weapons.

A woman suddenly shrieked, the sound coming from their right, from the direction of F Block.

They stopped, mentally debating which way to go, when they heard Jenny yell Blade’s name somewhere directly ahead.

The two Warriors covered the ground at full speed, heedless of the risk of tripping and breaking a leg. They reached the cabins. A man and a woman were standing outside the front door of one cabin, the man with a rifle, the woman with a candle.

“What’s going on?” the man asked as Hickok and Geronimo passed him.

“If you find out,” Hickok shouted over his left shoulder, “let us know!”

There was another gunshot up ahead.

They heard Jenny scream again, closer this time.

Hickok was scanning the terrain, searching for any indication of movement. Where the blazes were they? What was going down?

Jenny, sounding scared, cried Blade’s name for the third time.

“Where are they?” Hickok snapped in frustration.

“There!” Geronimo tapped Hickok’s right shoulder and pointed.

Hickok spotted them. There was enough moonlight to reveal both Blade and Jenny was were down. Dark forms flitted around them.

Geronimo slowed a bit, drawing his cherished tomahawks.

Jenny was being lifted and carried by a pair of the flitters. There were six or seven milling about.

Hickok saw one of them standing over Blade, a knife in one hand. Blade suddenly thrust his right hand into the neck of his foe, his thick fingers rigid and extended. He surged to his feet and was immediately struck on the head again by another of the forms.

Time to even the odds a mite. Hickok stopped, crouched, and drew his right Python, the motion a blur, the Colt an extension of his body, firing two shots into one of the things looming above Blade. His friend was prone on the ground.

One of their attackers whirled and there was the crack of a revolver. His hurried shot went wild.

So! They had guns too! Whoever they were! Hickok returned the shot, his aim better. The thing clutched at its head and dropped.

Geronimo had borne a little to the right, and now he closed in, bearing down on one of the figures. They appeared to be men dressed in baggy robes of some sort.

There was the sound of commotion, gunshots and yells coming from the area of the Blocks. Were there more of them? What were they after?

Geronimo gave his war whoop and launched himself into the air, slamming into one of them, sending the figure sprawling to the ground.

Before it could regain its footing, Geronimo swung his left tomahawk, imbedding the edge in the skull of his foe.

The others were slinking off into cover. Jenny had disappeared.

Blade groaned and attempted to rise, getting to his knees, still unsteady.

Hickok was at his side, supporting him. “Whoa there, pard! Take it easy!”

“Jenny…” Blade mumbled. “Where’s Jenny?”

Hickok caught Geronimo’s eye and nodded due east.

Geronimo understood, heading after the ones who abducted Jenny.

“Jenny,” Blade said softly, struggling to stand.

“It’s okay,” Hickok tried to assure him. “Geronimo is going after her.

Those things don’t stand a chance against that red man.”

“Got to help her,” Blade stated weakly. His head throbbed and blood matted his hair.

“You’ve got to rest a minute,” Hickok said. “You won’t do her no good trying to catch up in this condition. Leave it to Geronimo.”

Geronimo was making his way through the cornfield, listening for the slightest noise, hoping his deductions were correct and the attackers were making for the east wall. But why had they taken Jenny? An answer occurred to him and he felt inexplicably cold. Great Spirit! It couldn’t be!

There was motion ahead. Someone was running through the corn, bearing east.

Geronimo increased his speed. Slowly he began to overtake his quarry, a solitary running form. Where were the others and Jenny? What if he didn’t catch up with them? Where were they from? How would the Family locate their lair? He needed one of them alive.

The one ahead of him became aware of pursuit and turned. Too slow.

Geronimo hit him low, at the knees, toppling him to the turf. He jumped up and struck, the flat side of his right tomahawk smashing against his opponent’s exposed chin. Again. And again.

The attacker groaned and slumped against the corn stalks.

Good! The Family had a prisoner.

But where was Jenny?

Geronimo made for the east wall. He could track at night, but the task was time-consuming and time was one precious commodity he did not possess at this moment. Apparently, the attackers had entered the Home from the east. It only made sense they would exit the same way. He passed field after field. Stands of trees whisked by. No sign of anyone else, though.

Even in the subdued light the wall was clearly visible. Incredibly, as he neared the moat, Geronimo spotted several flowing phantoms clambering up the inner wall. How were they doing it?

The attackers reached the top of the wall and vanished over the side, all save one.

Geronimo reached the edge of the moat, the water lapping against the bank. He knew it would be useless to swim the moat and attempt to follow them. There was no way he could scale the smooth surface of the inner wall. He gave vent to a rare outburst of anger.

“Damn!”

The last of the figures was at the top. It paused, and an eerie, cackling laughter floated down from above. Then the last attacker disappeared over the top.

“Damn!” Geronimo repeated, wondering how Hickok and Blade were faring.

Hickok was supporting Blade and moving as rapidly as he could toward the Blocks. Gunfire and shouts punctuated the night. Obviously there had been more than one group of assailants.

“Jenny…” Blade was saying, over and over.

“She’ll be okay,” Hickok tried to assure him, grunting at the effort required to carry Blade’s bigger body. “You know, pard,” Hickok added, “far be it for me to criticize a friend in a time of crisis, but you sure as blazes are falling down on the job a lot lately. I think you’re losing your edge.”

Blade jumped in his arms.

“Just great!” Hickok muttered. “What next?”

There was the blast of a shotgun and a woman shrieked from the area of the cabins, some of which were now in view.

“This is getting awful repetitious,” Hickok said to himself, gently lowering Blade to the ground.

A rifle cracked to his left.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Hickok said to Blade, drawing his Pythons. He jogged to the cabins and rounded the rear of the nearest one.

And ran into bedlam.

A dozen or more Family members were engaged in frantic, hand-to-hand combat with their mysterious enemies.

Hickok spotted a dark form on top of one of the Family, beating him on the head with a club. His left Colt bucked and the adversary jerked backwards onto the grass. To his right, twenty feet away, two attackers were trying to subdue a woman, one holding each arm as they endeavored to pull her into the night. Hickok recognized her, Juliet, kicking and twisting in a frightened frenzy.

“That’s no way to treat a lady,” Hickok announced, gratified when the two antagonists turned his way, even happier when his two shots caught them in the head. “Piece of cake.” He grinned.

A bullet slammed into Hickok from behind, catching him in the fleshy part of his left shoulder, spinning him around, shocking him.

I can’t believe it! Hickok thought. I’ve been shot! He glanced down at his shoulder, aware of a vague numbness, surprised at the lack of pain. Guess he never really expected it to happen to him!

“So long, sucker!” stated a gruff voice. “You’ve wasted your last Troll!”

Troll?”

A fist hammered into Hickok’s stomach, doubling him over. The next blow, on the right cheek, knocked him to his knees.

Got to concentrate, Hickok realized, his stomach sore and his cheek throbbing. This is getting serious!

There was the click of a hammer being drawn back.

Hickok gazed up, into the barrel of a Marlin 45-70, the rifle only inches from his head. He was still holding the Pythons and he tried to bring them into play, amazed when his arms refused to respond.

The Troll laughed. “Any last request, asshole?” he taunted the gunman.

“Just a comment,” Hickok replied. “You talk too much!” He rolled, sweeping his legs under the Troll. The Marlin blasted close to his left ear as the bulky form fell. Hickok’s left arm was still numb, but he forced his other arm to steady the Python as he planted a slug between the Troll’s eyes.

Two other Trolls disappeared in the darkness.

His ears ringing, Hickok rose to his feet.

The fighting was winding down.

A tall Troll, armed with a double-edged axe, started to follow his retreating companions, but he inexplicably paused, hefting the axe in his hairy hands.

Hickok, about to shoot the Troll, hesitated, wondering why the man had stopped. He understood when he heard the piercing kiai, the focused cry of a martial-arts master, and saw Rikki-Tikki-Tavi dart into view.

The Troll with the axe charged, swinging.

Rikki danced to one side, his left foot flicking out, connecting, shattering his opponent’s right knee, staggering the Troll. Rikki swung his katana, the razor-keen blade severing the Troll’s head from his body. Blood gushed out, resembling a miniature geyser. The arms flopped twice and the body toppled over.

“You sure are messy, pard,” Hickok observed wryly.

“Are you seriously hurt?” Rikki asked, noting Hickok’s shoulder.

“Just my pride,” Hickok replied. “But I have learned a very valuable lesson tonight.”

“Oh?” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi scanned the area. Bodies were everywhere. There was no sign of the intruders. Family members were assisting injured companions. “What’s that?”

“I’ll never, ever make fun of a certain mongoose again.”

Rikki-Tikki-Tavi laughed.