The Kalispell Run

Chapter Twenty-One

The warm sun on his face roused him to wakefulness. His right cheek, the one pressed against the rocks most of the night, felt sore and bruised as he opened his eyes and rolled over. The lake air was tangy and invigorating, stirring his sluggish senses.

Blade rose to his feet, taking stock. His clothes were very damp and his body cold, but overall he was all right. It was still morning, only several hours after sunrise. A pair of ducks—a colorful Wood Duck with his glossy purple-and-green head and long, downswept crest, and his mate—floated not far from shore.

There was no sign of Gremlin.

That was good.

But the M-16 was at the bottom of Flathead Lake.

And that was bad.

Blade started trekking toward Highway 35. He cut through some two hundred yards of forest before he struck the road. His mind pondered the probabilities as he walked northward toward Kalispell. What if he came across a mutate while he was unarmed? What could he use to defend himself? Find a branch he could use as a club? A lot of good it would do him against one of the larger mutates, such as the former bear they had killed a while back, before the Troll incident. And what if he ran into more Citadel soldiers? He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. It was useless to brood over potential problems. If something happened, he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. Until then, it didn’t do any good to worry.

It was just that he seemed so naked without his Bowies!

He began jogging, suppressing his fatigue and ignoring his aching muscles.

Had Geronimo waited for him? Or was he stranded in enemy territory, alone and unarmed? What would happen to his darling Jenny if he failed to return to the Home? Would she… would she find someone new?

What was that?

There was a subdued sound, a low pitched whine, coming from up ahead.

Blade stopped, unwilling to accept his excellent fortune.

It was utterly impossible!

But there was only one thing in the world he knew of that was capable of making the noise he heard.

Was it?

Blade’s emotions soared when he spied the SEAL approaching, coming around a series of curves. The transport would be visible for a moment, then disappear from view behind a cluster of conifers.

What in the world was Geronimo doing so far south of Kalispell?

Looking for him?

Blade stood in the center of Highway 35, patiently waiting, smiling broadly. Everything was coming together perfectly. They could drive to the hospital and search for the equipment Plato wanted, then head for the Home as fast as the SEAL could take them.

The transport negotiated the last curve and hit the straight-away.

Blade could well imagine Geronimo’s surprise at seeing him. The inexperienced Indian would probably slam on the brakes in his astonishment.

Something was wrong here.

Instead of bringing the SEAL to a stop, Geronimo was accelerating.

What was he doing, playing games?

Blade peered at the front windshield, wishing he could see inside the vehicle.

That damn tinted body!

The SEAL was speeding in his direction, and there was no indication Geronimo intended to stop.

A thought hit Blade.

What if Geronimo wasn’t behind the wheel?

With the thought came action. Blade sprinted to the right side of Highway 35 as the SEAL closed in and dove for cover in the underbrush as the transport screeched to a careening halt abreast of his position. He turned, facing the road, and hugged the earth, hidden by a tangle of bushes.

For a minute, nothing transpired. The SEAL stayed still, the engine quietly purring.

Blade considered moving further into the forest and circling to the rear of the transport.

The driver’s window rolled partially down.

“Blade! I know you can hear me!”

It was Rainbow’s voice!

“I know you can hear me!” she repeated. “If you don’t come out now, with your hands up, we’ll kill Geronimo!”

Kill Geronimo? What the hell was going on here?

“You have until I count to ten,” Rainbow announced.

Rainbow must be driving, which meant she was the one who had tried to run him down.

“One…”

Why would she try to kill him? He knew she hated whites. Was that the reason?

“…two…”

There had to be more to it than her loathing of the white race. How had she managed to wrest control of the SEAL from Geronimo?

“…three…”

Where could she be heading?

“…four…”

There were so many questions, and only one way to get the answers.

“…five…”

Blade stood, raised his hands above his head, and strolled to the edge of Highway 35.

The driver’s door was flung open and Rainbow dropped to the roadway, training the Dan Wesson .44 Magnum on its former owner. “Fancy running into you again,” she said, grinning triumphantly.

Blade remained silent.

“What’s the matter, Warrior?” Rainbow mocked him, accenting the last word contemptuously. “At a loss for words?”

The door on the other side of the SEAL opened and closed and two Flatheads walked around the front of the transport. The shorter of the pair, a vicious-looking specimen with a scar on his pointed chin, carried a shotgun. The other Indian, a ruggedly handsome Flathead, held a rifle.

“I say we waste him now,” Scarred Chin proposed.

“We do what I decide,” Rainbow countered, “when I decide it.”

“What are you saying?” Scar Face objected. “You going to take this one along too? We don’t need him! We don’t even need the other one! If this thing breaks down, it breaks down.”

Rainbow was weighing his words.

“Is Geronimo really with you?” Blade asked.

Scar Face snickered. “You bet your white ass!” He threw open the door and brutally hauled Geronimo from the transport.

“Lone Cougar! Don’t!” Star yelled, trying to pull Geronimo back inside.

Lone Cougar shoved Geronimo to the cracked pavement, laughing.

Another Flathead joined them, hefting Geronimo’s FNC.

Blade took a step toward his friend.

Lone Cougar swung the shotgun up, aiming at Blade’s chest. “Make a move, white ass! I’ll blow you away!”

Blade stared at Rainbow. “He must be related to you. Breeding shows.”

Rainbow’s mouth twitched. “Think you’re funny, Warrior? I’ve got news for you. You’ve just sealed your fate, yours and poor Geronimo’s. Help him up!”

Blade assisted Geronimo in rising. Blood was seeping from a bandage on his left shoulder. “Are you going to make it?” Blade asked.

Geronimo, clutching his wounded shoulder, grinned weakly and nodded. “Just a minor inconvenience. No worse than listening to one of Hickok’s jokes.”

“Move!” Rainbow barked, waving the Dan Wesson, herding them past the front of the transport.

Star’s tear-streaked face appeared at the door. “Don’t do it! Please!”

“Be quiet, honey,” Rainbow chided her daughter. “This must be done.

Watch and learn. You’ve got to be strong if you’re going to be the wife of a chief someday.”

“But they’re our friends!” Star wailed.

“No white man can be our friend,” Rainbow stated.

“Geronimo isn’t white!”

“No, but he’s one of the Family, one of them. He may be red on the outside, but inside he’s as white as Blade. Trust me. One day you’ll understand all of this.”

Blade and Geronimo were herded fifteen yards in front of the transport and stopped in the middle of the highway.

“That’s far enough!” Rainbow snapped. “Right out in the open, with no place to hide!”

The four Flatheads formed a line, Rainbow at the eastern tip, followed by Lone Cougar, Tall Oak, and Running Hare.

“A firing squad,” Geronimo stated the obvious. “How original.”

“You had your chance,” Rainbow said. “I gave you an opportunity to join us, remember?”

“Join you!” Geronimo exploded, venting his anger in an unusual emotional display. “Why should I join a pack of murdering vultures? You constantly criticize the whites and harp on the atrocities they committed against the red race. Well, Sister, you’re no better than they are. No! You’re worse! Because you allowed the Family to take you in and heal you, you embraced our hospitality, and all the time you hated us, despised us with every fiber of your being. You’re…” he paused, coughing.

“Don’t bother,” Blade soothed him. “It’s not worth it.” He gauged the distance to the nearest Flathead, Rainbow. Maybe, if he moved fast enough, he could catch her off guard and grab the Dan Wesson.

“This is a waste of our time,” Lone Cougar declared. “Let’s finish them and get it over with.”

Rainbow, her features a grim mask, nodded. “On the count of three.”

“I wish you had stayed in hiding,” Geronimo mentioned, glancing affectionately at Blade.

The Flatheads aimed their weapons at the two Warriors.

“I never thought it would end like this,” Blade mused aloud.

Rainbow, smiling wickedly, centered the Dan Wesson on Geronimo’s forehead. “One,” she announced in a strident tone.

“I wish Hickok was here,” Geronimo casually commented.

Blade glanced at Geronimo, his eyebrows knitting. “What?”

“Two,” Rainbow continued her countdown.

“We do almost everything else together,” Geronimo explained. “Why should he miss out on this?”

Blade, despite their predicament, threw back his head and laughed uproariously.

Rainbow, about to give the final number, hesitated, bewildered by their lighthearted attitude. “What the hell can you find so funny at a time like this?” she angrily demanded.

Geronimo winked at Blade and soberly faced Rainbow. “Your face.”

Blade’s mirth was seemingly uncontrollable. He actually stumbled several steps in Rainbow’s direction. Doubled over, he kept laughing, but inwardly his mind was cool and calculating as he tensed his leg muscles for a leap at Rainbow.

“Let’s plug these morons!” Lone Cougar urged.

Rainbow sighted again and drew back the hammer on the Dan Wesson.

At that moment, its tires squealing as it rounded the first curve to the south at high speed, a jeep roared into view.

“What the…” Lone Cougar blurted.

“Citadel troops!” Tall Oak shouted in alarm.

Blade, spinning, caught sight of the jeep and its occupants as he looped his steely left arm under Geronimo’s armpits and bodily hoisted him from the roadway.

It was Angier and the three other soldiers!

One of the soldiers was driving, another was beside him, and the third sat in the back behind the driver, his hands holding an ammunition belt, about to feed the cartridges into a swivel-mounted machine gun. Angier was standing, gripping the .45-caliber machine gun, steadying the lengthy barrel as the jeep closed on its quarry, only thirty yards distant.

Blade ran, carrying Geronimo, heading for the forest at the western border of Highway 35.

The Flatheads began to scatter, making for the SEAL.

They weren’t fast enough.

Angier opened up with the heavy machine gun, the slugs tearing the pavement as they tore a path down the middle of the roadway, then swerved to the left, catching Tall Oak and Running Hare.

Tall Oak was struck first, the impact of the bullets stitching a pattern across his chest, miniature geysers of crimson spurting outward. He staggered and fell on his face.

Running Hare was caught in midturn, his right side bearing the brunt of the slugs. He screamed once, falling in a disjointed heap onto the highway.

Angier swung the gun to the right, going after the remaining two Flatheads.

Blade reached the woods and hastily pulled Geronimo in after him. He glanced over his shoulder.

Lone Cougar was racing for the transport when the machine gun zeroed in. His back erupted in a spray of blood and he howled like a banshee as he dropped to his knees, then toppled over.

Rainbow almost made it.

She was inches from the open driver’s door when a stray slug sped into the top of her head and exited through her forehead. Her brains and blood smeared the door as she sank to the road.

“Mommy!” Star shrieked in horror, too terrified to leave the safety of the SEAL.

“Stay hidden,” Blade ordered, lowering Geronimo to the ground.

“I can help,” Geronimo stubbornly objected, beginning to push himself erect.

“Stay put! You’re in no condition for a fight and I can do it alone. I hope.”

Blade ran, weaving between the trees, bearing north. If he could come in behind the transport, interpose the vehicle as a shield, preventing the soldiers from spotting him, he could get inside the SEAL before them. If Rainbow had his Dan Wesson, then his Bowies and the A-1 must still be in the transport. None of the Flatheads had had them when they were shot.

Move! his brain clamored.

Watch out for rocks and roots. Mustn’t trip now!

He was ten yards past the SEAL and he cut toward the highway. One final tree loomed in front of him. He darted behind the trunk and peered to his right.

The jeep was slowly, cautiously, rolling to a stop near the dead Indians.

The soldiers weren’t taking any chances. They would probably take the time to check the Flatheads and verify their victims were lifeless. The jeep braked, momentarily placing the SEAL between Blade and the soldiers.

Blade crouched and sped to the rear of the transport.

“Check them!” Angier barked. “Then look inside.”

Only seconds left.

Blade eased to the corner behind the driver’s door and risked a peek.

The door was still wide open. Rainbow’s face was visible under the door, a pool of blood forming under her.

No sign of the soldiers.

Yet.

Blade scampered to the door.

“There’s another one!” one of the soldiers shouted.

Blade leaped into the SEAL as an M-16 chattered. The soldier had shot at his feet and ankles.

“Get him!” Angier commanded.

Blade slammed the door behind him and pressed the lock, quickly doing the same on the other side.

There!

The soldiers couldn’t get in, and the impervious SEAL body would protect him.

And Star.

The girl was curled in the back seat, weeping, her hands over her tear filled eyes.

“Star! It’s me, Blade! Don’t worry! I’ll get us out of here!” he promised.

The soldiers had regrouped at the jeep. Angier was preparing to fire at the SEAL’s windshield.

“Blade?” Star uncovered her eyes and sat up, choking and sobbing.

“They killed my mother! They killed Rainbow!”

“Your mother’s hatred killed her,” Blade amended, looking for the A-1.

Was it in the storage section?

“Oh, Blade!” Star wailed, coming toward him for comfort, her arms held wide.

“Watch…!” Blade began, too late.

All hell broke loose.

Angier started blazing away at the transport’s windshield, the slugs whining as they ricocheted aside, deflected by the unique iron-like plastic designed by Kurt Carpenter’s scientists.

Star’s right foot caught on the console between the front bucket seats.

She tripped, falling forward onto the dash before Blade could reach her.

Her outstretched left hand brushed against the dashboard, striking one of the four mysterious toggle switches in the center of the dash, the one marked with a large R.

Blade grabbed Star before she could fall further. He heard a peculiar whirring sound and saw the soldiers pointing at the front of the SEAL, in the direction of the grill. There was fear on their faces.

What was going on?

The transport suddenly lurched violently, as if a great force had shoved the vehicle backward.

Angier, the soldiers, and the jeep literally blew to smithereens, consumed by a mighty explosion and a spectacular fireball extending fifty feet skyward.

Star, stunned by the spectacle, gaped at Blade.

“Don’t look at me,” he said, watching the fireball collapse and dissipate.

“I think you caused it.”

“Me?” Star asked, her eyes reflecting her astonishment. “How did I do… that?”

Blade reached over and replaced the toggle switch in its original position. “I think you did it when you bumped this switch labeled R. It’s some type of weapon. If I was to hazard a guess, I’d say the R stood for Rocket, or Rocket Launcher.” He paused, pondering the implications.

“Kurt Carpenter must have had armament installed in his prototype,” he mused aloud. “It makes sense. Carpenter was thorough in everything he did. But it leaves us with two glaring questions.”

Star was staring at the four toggle switches. “I did it? I killed the men who killed my mother?”

Blade used his right hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “You certainly did, sweetheart.”

Star looked at the smoldering heap of debris where the jeep had stood.

Her eyes gleamed and she grinned. “Good!” she stated, delighted. “Those men got what they deserved!”

“Sit here a moment,” Blade directed, placing her in the other bucket seat. He clambored into the rear section, hoping they were there.

They were.

His prized Bowies and the Auto-Ordnance Model 27 A-1 were piled in one corner. He picked up the big knives and strapped them around his narrow waist. Hefting the A-1, he climbed up front.

Star’s eyes were filled with tears again. “I’m sorry for what my mom was going to do to you,” she said softly. “I didn’t want her to do it. I didn’t want her to shoot Geronimo. It wasn’t right. You’re our friends.” She began sniffling.

“You bet we’re your friends,” Blade assured her. He leaned toward her.

“Listen, Star. I’m very sorry about what happened to Rainbow. I wish there was time to give her a proper burial, but there isn’t. We must get out of here. The shooting and the explosion might attract other soldiers, or worse. Can you stop crying? Can you be strong? We must get Geronimo and take off. Okay?”

Star struggled to compose her shattered emotions. “I’ll try my best, Blade.”

“Good.” He reached for his door, staring thoughtfully at the toggle switches.

“Is something wrong?” Star inquired, noting his gaze.

“I was just wondering what the other three toggle switches do,” he replied.

“Want to test them?” Star offered, reaching for the one marked F.

“No!” Blade grabbed her hand before she could touch the switch. “We’ll discover the purpose for the F, S, and M after we return to the Home.”

“You’re taking me back with you?” Star asked hopefully.

“Of course.”

“You won’t leave me here?”

“Why would we do that?” Blade queried her.

She lowered her head in shame. “After… after what my mom did, I thought…”

“We’re not going to hold what your mom did against you,” Blade said, cutting her off. “You’re welcome to return with us. It’s up to you.”

Star glanced up, smiling. “Thank you. I’d like to, very much.”

“Good. Now stay put. I’m going to get Geronimo.” Blade opened the door. “And don’t touch anything,” he stressed over his left shoulder as he exited the transport, closing the door behind him.

Dear Spirit! What was that awful stench?

He alertly moved to the front of the SEAL. His right foot bumped something, and he stared at his feet, repulsed. The grisly remnant of an arm, from the elbow to the fingertips, was on the pavement, its skin charred and blistered, strips of burnt uniform still attached. He stepped over the arm and studied the grill.

Nothing. No indication of the mechanism responsible for destroying the jeep and the soldiers.

There must be a recessed compartment, Blade reasoned, hidden from casual view until one of the toggle switches was thrown, then covered again after the armament discharged. Perfect for foiling any unwanted inspection.

One important question remained. Why wasn’t the SEAL’s weaponry mentioned in the Operation’s Manual they had discovered inside the transport after they had excavated the vault housing the vehicle? An answer occurred to him, and although it was sheer speculation and would be impossible to confirm, it seemed logical, even probable.

Kurt Carpenter, the Home’s Founder and the money behind the development and construction of the SEAL, had deliberately buried the transport in a special chamber. He had been afraid some of the Family members might give in to temptation and steal the SEAL, perhaps to search for loved ones or relatives in distant cities who might have survived the war. Carpenter had hidden the transport before his selected couples arrived at the survival site. Thereafter, knowledge of the SEAL was passed by word of mouth from one Leader to another. It was customary for a Leader to choose a successor shortly after assuming office, and to privately relay the information concerning the transport. Carpenter intended for the SEAL to be used only when absolutely necessary, and it devolved to Plato, a century after Carpenter had secreted the vehicle, to decide that the premature senility was a bona fide emergency demanding the utilization of the SEAL.

What if, Blade conjectured, there had been a breakdown in communications? What if one of the Leaders had failed to pass on the information about the armament in the transport? He tried to recall. Had any of early Leaders died soon after taking over the reins, perhaps before relaying word on the…

Where was Geronimo?

Blade faced the forest, scanning for movement, Geronimo was able to walk. He should have appeared by now. Surely he had seen what happened to the Citadel soldiers? So where…

“Looking for something, yes?”

Blade spun to his right, his fingers on the trigger of the Auto-Ordnance.

Gremlin was calmly standing at the side of the highway, cradling Geronimo in his spindly arms. The creature’s neck and face bore vivid scorch marks, and the center of the neck was bleeding.

“What have you done to him?” Blade demanded, gliding toward them.

“Nothing, no,” Gremlin replied. “Found him, yes? Back in the trees.

Think he’s hurt bad, yes?”

Blade stopped three feet from the creature. “You expect me to believe you?”

Gremlin’s expression saddened. “You do what you want, yes?” He lowered Geronimo and deposited him on the road, then wheeled and angrily stalked off, heading north.

Blade glanced at Geronimo. He was breathing regularly, evidently passed out, possibly from his loss of blood.

Gremlin was ten feet away.

“Gremlin! Wait!”

Gremlin ignored him and continued walking.

“Damn your pride, man! I said wait!”

Gremlin suddenly froze, turning slowly. “What did you call me?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?” What did it mean? “I said damn your pride, man, wait and talk to me a minute.”

Gremlin covered the space between them in a rush, and before Blade could prevent him, he clasped Blade’s shoulders in his skinny hands and smiled. “Thank you, Warrior.”

Blade was astounded by Gremlin’s reaction. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear there were tears in Gremlin’s eyes. “What did I do?”

“Called me a man, yes? First to do so since… since operation.”

“You mean to tell me…” Blade could scarcely believe it. “…you are a… man?”

Gremlin nodded, his face a study in abject sorrow.

“But how?”

“Doktor,” Gremlin hissed between clenched teeth.

“How could he do such a thing? It isn’t possible.”

Gremlin motioned at his body. “Wish it weren’t, yes? Doktor is wicked, is evil, evil scientist. Chemistry his specialty. Performs vile experiments, yes?”

Blade wanted more information on the nefarious Doktor, but a higher priority beckoned. “Gremlin, I want you to tell me more latter. Right now we’ve got to get out of here. Other soldiers might have heard the explosion and come to investigate. Will you give me a hand with Geronimo?”

Gremlin placed his right hand on Blade’s left forearm in a gesture of friendship. “First, must tell, yes?” He touched his neck with his left hand.

“You free me, yes?” he said in an awestruck manner. “Can hardly believe it. Freedom.” He visibly sobered. “Wanted to thank you from bottom of heart, yes? You saved Gremlin, no? Gremlin always in your debt.”

Blade was touched by Gremlin’s evident sincerity. He felt an impulse to explain his original motive wasn’t to free Gremlin, but to kill him, then thought better of it. Why rock the boat when things were finally going his way?

“Will you give me a hand?” Blade asked, bending over his fellow Warrior.

Gremlin positioned his hands under Geronimo’s shoulders. “Where do we go from here?”

We? Blade, about to lift Geronimo’s legs, glanced at Gremlin. “You want to come with me?”

“Nowhere else to go, yes?” Gremlin replied succinctly.

“What about the Citadel? Or anywhere else in the Civilized Zone?”

“Doktor find there, yes? Doktor kill.”

“You’re welcome to tag along with us,” Blade offered. “I saw a lot of the things we came here for in the back of our transport, so I’m heading for our Home. Do you want to go along?”

Gremlin nodded, smiling. “Will go with, yes?” He paused, debating.

“How will your people, the Family, react?”

Blade carefully raised Geronimo from the ground, assisted by Gremlin.

“Let me put it this way,” he said as they slowly walked toward the SEAL.

“They’re in for a big surprise.”