Thief River Falls Run

Chapter Fourteen

“It’s been so quiet for so long,” Joshua commented.

“I know,” Bertha agreed. They were lying on the floor by the front door, Bertha with her eyes at the jamb, alert for any indication of movement.

“What do you think they’re up to?” Joshua asked.

“I wish I knew,” Bertha replied. “I don’t like this sittin’ and waitin’ for something to happen. I’m the type that likes to make things happen.”

“Like Hickok,” Joshua noted.

“Like White Meat.” Bertha grinned. She glanced at the stairway.

“Where the hell is he anyway?”

“He must have fired the shot from the roof earlier,” Joshua speculated.

“He’d pull a stunt like that, for sure,” Bertha remarked proudly.

“I thought the Watchers would never stop firing at us,” Joshua mentioned. “There’s a high probability Hickok struck one of them.”

“You can bet your butt I hit one,” Hickok stated, coming down the stairs. “I always hit my targets.”

“Did you kill him?” Bertha inquired hopefully.

“Need you ask?” Hickok responded in a mock-hurt tone.

Bertha giggled. “You sure are somethin’ else, white boy.”

Hickok joined them on the floor. He peeked around the door. “Any sign?” he asked.

“Not a thing,” Bertha answered. “They’ve been quiet ever since the shooting earlier.”

“Did you hear the Commando?” Hickok questioned.

“How can you tell the difference?” Joshua wanted to know.

“I heard it,” Bertha nodded. “I hope he’s all right. He should of stayed in the SEAL.”

“Blade knows what he’s doing,” Hickok said confidently.

“I just hope his ass is still alive,” Bertha retorted.

“Should we go out and see?” Joshua looked at Hickok.

“Are you nuts, pard?” Hickok demanded.

“I beg your pardon?” Joshua responded.

“You take one step out this door,” Hickok told Joshua, “and the Watchers will perforate you.”

“So we do not even attempt to assist Blade?” Joshua asked.

“We do not.”

“I don’t think…” Joshua began.

“Who asked you?” Hickok snapped. “Who’s the Warrior here, me or you? I’m telling you Blade is on his own. He knows it. He’s a big boy. Like I just told Bertha, Blade knows what he’s doing.”

“I wasn’t striving to usurp your authority,” Joshua explained.

“I understand, Josh,” Hickok informed him.

“Listen. I’m a little tired, and a little sore, and now a little cranky. We all could use some rest. Why don’t you nap for a spell?”

“Are you certain it’s safe?” Joshua inquired.

“I don’t think the Watchers will try anything until morning,” Hickok opined. “It’ll be safe. We’ll wake you in a while.”

“I don’t know if I could sleep,” Joshua observed.

“Try.”

Joshua moved to the blankets and reclined on the mattress.

“You were a bit hard on him, weren’t you?” Bertha whispered.

“Guess I get a mite irritable when my head feels like a horse is stomping on my brain,” Hickok said.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Bertha asked. “I can watch the door.”

“Wish I could,” Hickok stated.

“You got somethin’ more important to do?” Bertha quizzed him.

“Sure do.” Hickok glanced around the room.

“Like what?” Bertha demanded.

“I’m searching this place high and low,” Hickok said. “Somewhere in this building is a hidden transmitter, and I intend to find it.”

“What good will it do you?” Bertha questioned.

“If I can figure out how to work it,” Hickok replied, “I can listen in on the Watchers. Would give us an edge.”

“You figure they have an transmitter with them?” Bertha inquired.

“I reckon,” Hickok responded, rising. “It makes sense. They would want to keep in touch with one another. You said they’re scattered in different towns, all over the place?”

“Yep,” Bertha confirmed.

“So they must have a system of keeping in touch,” Hickok speculated.

“A system they’d like to hide from everybody else.”

“You want me to help you?” Bertha asked.

“Nope. You stay at the door. I’ll relieve you later.”

“Good luck, White Meat,” Bertha encouraged him.

“Thanks. I’ll need it.” Hickok walked to the bar, debating where to begin his search. The transmitter Harry and Pete mentioned was in this building, but it could take forever finding it, and he didn’t have that much time. He placed the Henry on top of the bar.

What the blazes would a transmitter look like?

Hickok leaned against the bar, reflecting. The Family owned several portable radios, actually small transmitters, utilized during and immediately after the Big Blast. They were stored in the rear of the armory, gathering dust over the decades. Would the one he was looking for resemble the old Family equipment? Or had they altered the design in the intervening century? And how would the thing be powered? Electricity from the generator? Batteries? Or the innovative solar chips developed prior to the Third World War?

Hickok looked down at Joshua, asleep on the mattress. He felt sorry for the trauma Joshua was experiencing, and wondered how Josh would hold up in the morning, when the Watchers were certain to launch a full-scale assault. “Never should have brought you along, pard,” he muttered under his breath.

Joshua’s mattress was positioned against the bar, and as Hickok’s eyes roved over the wooden front panels near Joshua’s head, an idea struck him.

Why not?

Hickok moved around the bar and studied it closely. Under the counter top were two rows of shelves, each shelf filled with various bottles of liquor. Under the shelves, the center section of the bar was empty, consisting of a wooden panel. To the right and the left, though, were cabinets with closed doors. The stereo was in the lower right cabinet, as he’d discovered earlier.

Hickok knelt and opened the right cabinet, double-checking.

Nothing but the stereo, some glasses, and metal trays.

He stepped to the second cabinet and opened the door.

This time he found forks, spoons, knives, and plastic plates and cups.

So much for his brainstorm!

Hickok rested his elbows on the counter and sighed.

Where to look next? Downstairs? Or upstairs? There was nowhere else in this room the transmitter could be hidden, unless it was recessed into one of the walls. Maybe he…

Whoa!

Hickok straightened and stared at the back of the bar again. Very odd.

The two cabinets extended a good two and a half feet from the front of the bar, allowing ample space for whatever was being stored inside. Made sense. But the middle of the bar also extended the same distance, and that definitely did not make sense. The person behind the bar would be constantly cracking his knees on the center wooden panel. Wouldn’t it be smarter to have the middle of the bar recessed?

Of course it would!

Hickok crouched and tapped the knuckles of his right hand against the center panel. It sounded hollow, but that might not mean a thing. There was only one way to be positive.

Hickok ran his fingers around the edges of the panel. If his assumption was correct, there should be a hidden latch or a knob or… grooves. There was a narrow groove on each side of the panel. He pressed his fingers into the grooves and lifted.

The panel slid up and out.

Hickok leaned the panel against the right cabinet and smiled. What was the name of that dude he’d read about years ago? Sherlock Holmes, wasn’t it? Well, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, eat your heart out!

The portable transmitter was green, about a foot square, and covered with switches, dials, and several meters.

“Got ya!” Hickok elated.

“Did you find it?” Bertha called from the door.

“Of course,” Hickok replied. He lifted the transmitter and carefully placed it on the counter.

“Can I come see?” Bertha asked eagerly.

“Stay by that door,” Hickok directed.

Joshua slowly stood, stretching. “Is it my turn to pull guard duty?” he inquired, yawning. His eyes fell on the transmitter and widened. “What have you got there?”

“A transmitter.” Hickok peered at the white lettering below each switch and dial. “If I only knew how to work this blasted thing!”

Joshua came around the bar. “Let me have a look.”

“You know how to operate one of these?” Hickok asked.

“Although the ones we have at the Home no longer function,” Joshua explained, “my curiosity was aroused when I saw them for the first time. I distinctly recall reading the instruction sheets and wishing they were still operational. My memory isn’t perfect, but…” He tried reading the labels.

“If we only had some light in here.”

“Want me to turn on the lights?” Bertha offered.

“No way,” Hickok retorted. “The Watchers might decide to take some potshots at us.”

“I know!” Joshua abruptly exclaimed. He returned to the front of the bar, bent over, and stood, holding his pouch aloft. “I think I have them in here.”

“What?” Hickok asked.

“You’ll see,” Joshua said excitedly. “I know I put them in here after I used them to heat Bertha’s can of food.”

“What?” Hickok repeated.

“These.” Joshua opened his left palm, revealing the box of matches taken from the motorcyclist.

“Way to go, pard!” Hickok grinned.

Joshua rejoined Hickok, opened the box, and ignited one of the all-purpose matches by striking it against the counter top. He held the match up and squinted at the transmitter, reading the labels aloud.

“Modulation. Charging. Transmit Mode. Receive Mode. Here it is!” he happily declared. “Power.” He flicked a toggle switch and the unit suddenly hummed. One of the meters above the power switch lit up, illuminating a small scale. A thin black needle hovered at the left side of the needle.

“What we want to do,” Hickok informed Joshua, “is listen in on the Watchers without them being any the wiser. Can we do it?”

“Easily,” Joshua replied. “This should do it.” He flicked another switch, this one marked Receive Mode.

Abrupt crackling and static emanated from a speaker in the upper right of the unit.

“There’s nothing there,” Hickok commented, disappointed.

“Possibly they are not broadcasting,” Joshua reasoned. “Or we could be on the wrong frequency.”

“Doubt it,” Hickok disagreed. “They would have this gizmo set for their frequency, all right. Who else would they listen to?”

“Then all we can do is wait,” Joshua stated.

“And you know how Hickok is at waiting,” Bertha chuckled.

“If patience was gold,” Joshua remarked, “Hickok would be the poorest man alive.”

Bertha laughed. “Hey, that’s pretty good, Josh! You’re learning!”

Hickok shook his head. “Just great! It isn’t bad enough I have Geronimo on my case all the time, but now I’ll have to put up with you too?”

Joshua grinned.

“First you blow away a brute,” Hickok stated, “and now you’re telling jokes. You’re changing, pard.”

Joshua’s expression altered, a cloud seeming to cross his face. “I certainly am, aren’t I?” he stated wistfully.

“So what’s our next move?” Bertha inquired, hastily attempting to change the subject.

“Like Josh said,” Hickok answered sighing, “there’s nothing we can do but wait. The next move is theirs.”

Joshua, deep in thought, noticed the match was extinguished. He dropped it to the floor, wondering if, come morning, their lives would be snuffed out as easily as the flame from the match.

“We haven’t heard anything in a while,” Bertha mentioned. “I hope Blade is all right.”

“I told you not to worry about him,” Hickok said. “If I know Blade, he’s relaxing right now, working on a plan to get us out of this mess.”

“Relaxing?” Bertha repeated doubtfully.

“Sure. He’s probably hiding in the park somewhere, or in one of the nearby houses, taking it easy, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Blade isn’t the kind to sweat the small stuff.”

“You call this mess we’re in small stuff?” Bertha asked.

“It’s no big deal.” Hickok shrugged.

“You’re crazy, White Meat,” Bertha stated. “If you think this is small stuff, I’d hate to see what you’d call big trouble.”