Thief River Falls Run

Chapter Seven

The Alpha Triad and Joshua met for a conference early the next morning, sitting around the card table. During the night the lights had flickered several times, and finally the entire building had plunged into darkness.

Blade had made a torch using a piece of cloth and a board, and they had ventured downstairs. He had studied the generator and found a cap on top of a tank, a cap similar to one on the SEAL, and had recalled watching Plato remove that cap and place an oil additive into the engine. Blade had twisted the generator’s cap off, and had placed his nose over the hole. He could smell a strong, acrid odor. A metal container had rested on the floor.

Acting on a hunch, Blade had opened the container and discovered a liquid with the same scent as the generator tank. Joshua had held the torch to one side as Blade poured some of the liquid into the tank. He had placed the cap back in position and examined the front of the generator.

Three black buttons were situated to the front. Arranged vertically, the top button was labeled START, the center button STOP, and the third something called CHOKE. Blade had pushed the START button several times, and the generator had coughed and sputtered. He had stabbed the CHOKE button twice, had hit the START button, and had been delighted when the generator caught. The lights had come back on.

After breakfast, at the table, Geronimo complimented the Triad leader.

“That was a neat trick last night,” he said. “Where’d you learn to start a generator?”

“Lucky guess,” Blade replied. “I remembered Plato telling us about the fossil fuels the engines ran on before the Big Blast. When I saw the tank, and the container, I put two and two together.”

Hickok yawned loudly. “Let’s get this meeting over with. I need some more sleep.”

“Poor baby,” Geronimo ribbed him. “Serves you right for staying up most of the night.”

“Bertha was asking more and more questions. Never saw such a curious woman. Wouldn’t let me leave. I came down after she fell asleep. You sure she’ll be all right?” He faced Joshua.

“She has suffered extensive surface damage,” Joshua explained. “The beatings were severe. Fortunately, her vital organs were not injured. A few days rest, and plenty of nourishment, and she should be as good as new.”

“Which brings us to this meeting.” Blade got their attention. “We can use her. She knows the Twin Cities. She could make our job there a lot easier. Last night she told me she might not want to go back. Do we force her to against her will?”

“Definitely not,” Joshua responded.

Geronimo shook his head.

“If the gal doesn’t want to come with us, pard,” Hickok said harshly, “she doesn’t go with us.”

“You’re getting attached to her,” Blade stated frankly.

“Bull!” Hickok said in denial. “She’s a good kid. She needs a friend, is all.”

Blade suppressed a grin. “I didn’t intend to force her to accompany us. I wanted to be sure how each of you felt. How long do you think we should stay in Thief River Falls? Until she is fully recovered? Until she’s fit enough to travel, if she does elect to come with us?”

“I don’t want to abandon her until she can take care of herself,” Hickok said, expressing his opinion.

Blade tapped his finger on the table, pondering. “Agreed. We won’t leave her until she’s fit. I don’t like the delay it’s costing us, but we don’t have any choice.” His eyes ranged over each of them. “We do have a more serious problem to evaluate. Bertha told us about the Twin Cities last night. I couldn’t understand everything, but enough to gather our trip there is going to be extremely dangerous. Several warring factions are fighting for control of the city, and we could find ourselves caught in the conflict. I’m not very optimistic about finding the equipment Plato needs either. Still, we’ve got to try.”

“What about the Watchers?” Hickok asked. “We’re bound to run into more of them.”

“I know. We’ll try to avoid them where possible. From what Bertha said, they’re covering all the roads and highways out of the Twin Cities, exactly the same way they’ve covered the only highway heading south from the Home. Any ideas on who these Watchers are and where they come from?”

No one responded.

“I know.” Blade shook his head. “We need more information. I did reach several conclusions concerning them. One, they have their base south of here.”

“What makes you say that?” Geronimo asked.

“The Watcher named Joe made a reference to the fact that Sammy, the one they take their orders from, is located south of here a ways, as he put it.”

“He could easily have been lying,” Geronimo pointed out.

“True,” Blade admitted. “I don’t doubt that much of what he told us was a smoke screen, but the statement concerning the location was ambiguous enough to be partially true.” He paused. “My other conclusion is that the Watchers are containers.”

“Come again?” Hickok’s brow furrowed.

“Look at their pattern. Bertha says they surround the Twin Cities, preventing anyone from leaving. They also blocked the only major highway leading south from Home. Their policy seems to be one of containment, to prevent inhabited areas from spreading.” Blade frowned. “One last item.

Last night I remembered the leader of the Trolls saying they had a pact with the Watchers.”

“What?” Hickok queried, startled, sitting up in his chair.

“I had no idea who he was talking about at the time,” Blade explained.

He looked at Joshua. “Any information you can supply?”

Joshua appeared taken off guard by the question. “What would I know?”

“You’re one of the Family Empaths,” Blade stated. “Plato has great confidence in your ability. Have you picked up anything, anything at all?”

Joshua lowered his eyes. “No.”

“Keep trying,” Blade ordered. “Do whatever it is you do, but get me something I can use.”

“Get me a live Watcher,” Joshua recommended.

“What?”

“My particular emphatic talent involves receiving impressions from objects and people, living people. I tried to imprint information from the bodies of the Watchers you killed, but I wasn’t successful. Curious paradox. I can receive impressions from animate beings and inanimate objects, but not from inanimate beings. Interesting.”

Hickok lazily stretched. “Any other items on our agenda this morning?”

“We’ve covered the essential points,” Blade said. “We’ll stay put until Bertha decides to come with us, if she does. Each of us will pull six-hour guard shifts, including you, Joshua. I realize you’re not a Warrior, but everyone must participate.”

“I understand,” Joshua remarked.

“Hickok will provide you with one of the confiscated arms,” Blade instructed.

“I will not bear arms,” Joshua indignantly asserted.

“You will carry a gun on guard duty.”

“It is against my personal philosophy to use a firearm.” Joshua refused to budge.

“Using it is up to you,” Blade countered. “But you will carry one, and that is final. If we’re attacked, and you decide not to fire, at least shout a warning to alert us.”

Joshua started to speak, then thought better of it.

“Geronimo,” Blade went on, “you’ll pull the first shift, so sleepyhead here,” he nodded at Hickok, “can catch up on his beauty rest. The Spirit knows he needs it!”

“Thanks, pard,” Hickok grumbled.

“When six hours are up, wake Hickok. Joshua, you’re after Hickok. I’ll pull the final shift. Any questions?”

“I have one,” Hickok mentioned.

“Shoot.”

Hickok grinned. “You keep mentioning six-hour shifts. How in the blazes are we supposed to know when six hours have gone by? We left our hourglasses back at the Home, and the sundial was just too plain big to tote along.”

Blade removed an item from his right front pocket. “I think this will suffice.”

“I don’t believe it!” Hickok gaped.

“Where’d you get that? I didn’t see it when I stripped the bodies,” Geronimo said.

“Is that a watch?” Joshua asked.

Blade nodded. “That’s what they were called. It was on the guy called Joe. I removed it before you searched their clothes,” he answered Geronimo. “It’s making a sound, like a scratching, and the black pointers are moving, so I assume it’s still working.”

“May I?” Joshua reached over and took the watch. “I remember reading something about these things in the library. These pointers were called hands, I believe. If I recall correctly, this watch is indicating it’s seven in the morning.”

“Thank the Founder for the library,” Geronimo stated.

Blade mentally agreed. Kurt Carpenter had stocked almost five hundred thousand books in E Block, shelf after shelf of the greatest literature mankind had produced, the classics, interspersed with sections devoted to specific topics or themes. One of the largest sections was exclusively devoted to survival skills. Reference books on every conceivable subject were at the Family’s fingertips. Books on military tactics and strategies.

Gardening. Hunting and fishing. Woodworking. Metalsmithing. Natural medicine. Weaving and sewing. History books. Geography books. Volumes on religion and philosophy. Dictionaries. Encyclopedias. Fiction for entertainment. Humorous books, like the Peanuts and Garfield cartoon collections. And on and on. Carpenter had tried to envision the challenges the Family would face, and to stock books instructing the Family on how to cope with those obstacles. How-to books were present in abundance.

Carpenter never realized it, but his library would become the Family’s prime source of amusement as well as tutelage. With the demise of electricity, most contemporary diversions faded into oblivion. Not so with the books. Family children were taught to read at an early age, and reading became a primarily Family pursuit. Everyone read. Most read avidly. Photographic books were especially prized, many of the photos of prewar culture and technology evoking awe and wonder. Reading and music were the Family’s recreation. Plato had once mentioned to Blade that he preferred it that way. Blade had inquired as to why. “These pastimes sharpen the intellect. Most of those before the war atrophied the brain,” Plato had said.

“How do you tell what time it is?” Hickok leaned toward Joshua.

Joshua held the watch so Hickok could see. “The big pointer, or hand, tells you the minute. The smaller hand tells you the hour.”

“What’s that third hand do?” Hickok asked. “The thin one.”

Joshua reflected a moment. “I think that tells you about the seconds.”

Hickok sadly shook his head. “I never would have made it,” he dryly commented.

“Made what?” Joshua inquired.

“Made it before the Big Blast. First the SEAL. Now this watch.

Everything back then was so blasted complicated!”

“All it takes is practice,” Geronimo said, disagreeing. “You’ll change your mind once you get the hang of things.”

“Bet me,” Hickok quipped.

“Here.” Joshua gave the watch to Geronimo.

“You have the first shift and you’ll need this.”

Geronimo studied the time. “So if I understand you, I wake up Hickok at one to pull his shift.”

“You got it,” Blade told him and pushed back from the table. “I think I’m going to search some of the other buildings, see what I can find.”

“Probably nothing,” Hickok predicted. “There’s just us and the dead Watchers and that’s it, folks.” The scream, a terrified, penetrating shriek, punctuated Hickok’s statement. “That came from upstairs!” Joshua shouted. Hickok was already in motion, scooping up his Henry from where he had placed it against his chair and bounding up the steps. Blade, Geronimo, and Joshua quickly followed. The petrified cry was just fading when the four men piled into Bertha’s room.

“What is it?” Hickok asked, glancing at the window, which was still closed.

Bertha was sitting up, the blanket clutched in front of her body, covering her to the chin. She was staring, wide-eyed, at an opening at the base of the room’s south wall, a former vent, the cover since removed by a previous tenant.

“Kill it!” she beseeched them, her voice shrill. “Kill the damn thing!”

Perched on its rear legs in the vent opening stood a large rat, its whiskers twitching, defiantly gazing at them.

“It’s just a rat,” Hickok said, amazed. He stared down at Bertha.

“You’re afraid of one measly old rat?”

“Kill it!” She frantically clutched his left leg. “For God’s sake, kill it before it can bring the rest back here!”

“Whatever you say.” Hickok began to bring the Henry up, but stopped when Blade grabbed his arm.

“Not in here,” Blade nodded at the rifle. “Think of our ears.” He was holding his Commando in his left hand, his right slowly sneaking around his back, to the Solingen throwing knifes.

“Oh, get it, please!” Bertha whispered.

The rat dropped to all fours and began to turn, to leave.

Blade crouched, sweeping his right hand forward, gripping the Solingen by the tip of the blade. He threw overhand, the knife turning end over end as it crossed the six feet between them and imbedded itself to the hilt in the rat’s fat, squat body.

The rat reared back, screeching and chittering, clawing at the knife.

The furry body was racked with intense spasms. It squealed one final time, tottered on the edge of the vent, and toppled over, disappearing down the shaft.

“My knife!” Blade lunged for the opening, too late. His fingers clutched empty air. “Damn!” He knelt and peered down the vent. “Can’t see a thing! I’ll never get that knife back.”

Bertha sank to the mattress, trembling.

Hickok dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms. “Come on, Black Beauty. It’s dead and gone. You can relax.”

Bertha struggled to sit up, glaring at each of them. “Don’t you fools understand?”

“Understand what?” Hickok answered her.

“About rats.”

“What’s the big deal over one rat? We see them from time to time around our Home, but they’re no problem.”

“This ain’t your Home, White Meat,” she reminded him. “In the cities it’s different. I didn’t think they would be in a small town like this, but I guess I was wrong. You should see them in the Twins!” She shuddered.

“Millions and millions of them. Mostly they keep to themselves in the sewers and underground tunnels, but they come up from time to time, roaming the streets, hunting.”

Blade recalled an earlier statement she had made. “Do the rats eat the Wacks you were telling us about? You said the Wacks use the underground too.”

Bertha was staring at the vent. “They eat each other, far as I know,” she replied absently. “The Wacks got fire, though, and the rats don’t like fire none. They’re terrible, but they can’t hold a candle to the roaches.”

“The roaches?” It was Joshua’s turn to ask, perplexed.

“The cockroaches,” Bertha responded. “More cockroaches than a person could count.”

“Don’t tell me the bugs are dangerous?” Hickok cracked.

Bertha gazed at Hickok. “I pity you, White Meat. You got so much to learn. You can stomp a Wack easy enough, if they don’t nail you first. Even the rats can be stabbed or shot or clubbed for as long as you got your strength. But the cockroaches! How you gonna fight a horde of bugs only six inches long and two inches wide?”

“How big?” Blade interjected, doubting he’d heard her correctly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geronimo leave the room.

Bertha raised her hands and held them the proper distance apart. “This long.”

Hickok whistled. “How the blazes do you stand living in the Twin Cities?”

“I can’t stand it,” she answered, “which is why I want out. I don’t never want to go back there. No way.”

“Whatever you decide,” Blade told her. “Just keep in mind we could really use your help. We need a guide, someone who knows their way around the Twin Cities. Someone who could help us find the things we’re looking for.”

Bertha shook her head. “No way, man. I’d have to be stone cold crazy to go back there.”

“Won’t Z be expecting you back?” Hickok asked her.

“Hey, White Meat,” she said, shrugging, “it’s a dog-eat-dog world. Z won’t miss me. If I hadn’t got myself caught by the Watchers, maybe I would have gone back and reported it. But I did get nabbed, and I had a lot of time to think while they was beating me and burning me and poking me, and I made a decision. Bertha, I told myself, if, by some miracle, you get out of this mess, then there ain’t no way, no how, you’re going back to the Twins. I tell you, I’d be crazy to go back there!”

Blade could see the subject distressed her. “Whatever you say,” he stated. “You get your rest. We’ve decided to stay with you until you can take care of yourself. Then we’ll be leaving for the Twin Cities.”

“Can’t you leave it alone?” she pleaded. “Can’t you just go back to this Home you’re from and forget the Twins?”

Blade shook his head. “No. A lot of people, people we love dearly, are relying on us. We must get to the Twins.”

“White Meat told me you got a woman waiting for you,” Bertha said, trying another tack. “Don’t you want to see her again?”

“Of course I do,” Blade replied, an edge to his voice.

“Well, you won’t if you go on the way you are,” Bertha ventured. “None of you will come back from the Twins.”

“We’ll take that chance.” Blade spun and left the room. He hurried downstairs, his anger building. How dare she remind him of Jenny! He walked outside.

Geronimo was holding his Browning, leaning against the front of the SEAL. He noticed Blade’s expression.

“You okay?” Geronimo solicitously inquired.

“Fine,” Blade replied, too quickly, the word a growl in his deep chest.

Geronimo turned away, knowing his friend all too well. Blade was known for a long fuse, but when he blew, watch out! His temper was renowned in the Family. Geronimo grinned, remembering the time Blade took on an entire pack of wild dogs with just his Bowies in his hands, his face flushed with pure rage, determined to hack the canines to pieces! A firm hand fell on his left shoulder, and he turned.

“Sorry,” Blade said simply.

“No problem.”

Blade smiled and strolled off. He headed west, skirting the park, thinking of Jenny. Was she up already? Was she still pining for him?

Would she cry herself to sleep at night until he returned? Dear Spirit, how he missed her! He wanted to get this damn trip over with as fast as humanly possible and return to the Home!

The bright sun on his face brought him up short. He gazed upward, watching several white clouds drifting eastward. The sky was tinged with a shade of gray today, as it sometimes was. Periodically, the entire sky would turn a somber shade of cement gray, the air filled with tiny particles of ash and dust.

Blade’s mind drifted, recollecting the Family records concerning the aftermath of the Third World War. Carpenter had been delightfully surprised the fallout at the Home was minimal. He had expected to see higher concentrations, particularly if the missile silos in North Dakota were hit with ground blasts of ten megatons or more. Fortunately for the fate of the Home, at the time of the Soviet attack on the North Dakota missile fields, the prevailing winds at the forty-thousand-foot altitude, the air currents responsible for the primary distribution of the fallout, had been bearing in a southeasterly direction, not toward the east. So the Family had escaped the brunt of the fallout. It could not, however, avoid other inevitable consequences of a nuclear war.

The thousands of nuclear explosions had forced huge amounts of dust and ash into the atmosphere. Volcanic activity had abruptly increased, becoming widespread. A dark cloud had choked the sky for over five years, eventually dispersing. Now, a century later, the conditions were nearly similar to before the Big Blast, except for periodic clouds of volcanic residue.

Another repercussion of the thermonuclear conflict was the reduction of the ozone layer. The nitrogen oxides created by the mushroom clouds ate at the ozone, causing solar ultraviolet levels to rise tremendously. For a decade after the war, anyone who ventured outdoors without adequate protective clothing had suffered a prompt, blistering sunburn. Certain plant strains had been completely eliminated.

All of these memories filtered through Blade’s mind as he gazed up at the sky.

A rustling of tree leaves drew his attention to his right. He twisted, studying the tree, an oak with wide, sweeping branches. The rustling had stopped.

Blade looked over his shoulder. He was out of sight of the concrete building, standing near the park. The undergrowth was dense and prolific.

His senses suddenly shrieked a warning, trying to alert him that something was amiss.

But what?

Blade gripped the Commando in both hands and approached the edge of the park.

Was it a mutate?

Blade crouched near a clump of tall grass, scanning the shadows, prepared.

He thought.

A huge, gnarled, brown hand unexpectedly parted the grass, exposing a face filled with malevolent intent.

Blade caught a brief glimpse of two large brown eyes, of a large, crooked nose, almost beaklike, of a gaping mouth filled with pointed teeth, and his nose was overwhelmed by an obnoxious stench, just as the thing pounced.

Blade’s attacker was a gigantic, lumbering brute. It slammed into Blade, sending him sprawling, the Commando flying to one side. The thing bellowed and jumped, aiming both heels at Blade’s head.

Blade instinctively rolled, avoiding the crushing blow. He automatically noted his assailant was only wearing a buckskin loincloth, that its thick body was burned black and pitted and scarred over every inch.

The thing roared and leaped, catching Blade around the neck in an iron grip. Its fingers closed in an inexorable vise.

Blade felt his body being lifted off the ground, his feet dangling and helpless. He tried to focus, to gather his wits. Concentrating, he brought his hands up, smashing them against the thing’s ears.

The brute ignored the blow.

Blade swung his arms again, his thumbs extended, plunging them into the short, squat neck.

The brute gurgled, but the choking hold did not slacken.

Blade tried another move, feeling his chest beginning to ache, his wind cut off, his lungs craving air. He held his hands in the Crane style of offense and stabbed them directly into the leering brown eyes.

The giant roared and released Blade, covering its eyes.

Blade drew his right Bowie, his motion practiced and fluid as he imbedded the blade in the brute’s chest to the hilt.

The thing uncovered its eyes and gaped at the knife sticking in its chest. It looked up at Blade. And grinned.

Blade, astonished, didn’t see the blow that sent him reeling to the ground. He felt blood filling his mouth and he rose to his knees, trying to regain his footing before it attacked him again.

Too late.

The brute clamped the neck choke on him again, twisting its fingers, this time attempting to snap the spinal column.

Blade’s vision spun.

Think, damn you, he told himself. Think! The worst reaction right now would be mindless panic. He couldn’t rise, the thing was holding him down. Even his strength was as nothing compared to this giant. He gripped his left Bowie. Out of the corner of his left eye he could see one huge, naked foot. It was the only possible target. He swung the knife backward and down, and he knew he had connected, knew the blade had sliced through the foot and stuck in the ground.

The brute shrieked and released Blade. It hopped up and down on one foot, trying to grab the Bowie and pull it free.

Blade sagged to the ground, wheezing, gasping for air. He tried to reach for the dagger on his right leg, but his fingers abruptly went weak, drooping.

Dear Spirit, no! He had to defend himself or he was as good as dead!

The thing had managed to grip the handle of the Bowie and yank. Blood spurted as the blade pulled loose. The brute held the knife up and appeared to study it for a moment, then it tossed the Bowie aside.

Growling, it pulled the other Bowie from its immense chest and flung the knife to the ground. Blade took hold of the dagger and braced himself. If the Bowie knives couldn’t affect this giant, what good would a dagger do?

The brute bent down, its long, hairy arms reaching for its intended victim.

Blade rammed his dagger into the creature’s throat and twisted, gratified when blood gushed over his arm.

The thing gurgled and gasped, pulling away from Blade. Now was his chance!

Blade leaped to his feet, scooping up one of his Bowies. He swung the big knife, slicing the brute’s midriff.

The creature had pressed its hands against its neck, striving to stem the flow of crimson. It roared as the Bowie bit into its stomach again and attempted to grab its assailant.

Blade dropped and stepped back, trying to pinpoint the brute’s must vulnerable point. He heard footsteps behind him.

“I heard all the commotion,” Geronimo announced. “Let me finish this thing for you.”

“Be my guest.”

The monstrosity came at them as Geronimo fired, voicing his war whoop. The shot struck the thing in the chest, blowing the flesh apart.

Incredibly, the giant staggered, but recovered and took two steps forward.

The Browning roared twice more, the ruptured chest spattering blood and flesh everywhere. This time, the brute went down, toppling like a felled tree.

“Are you seriously injured?” Geronimo asked Blade, concern carved on his face.

“I don’t think so,” Blade replied, breathing deeply.

“You look a mess.”

“Thanks.”

Geronimo walked over to the thing, staring in amazement. “What is this? It’s not a mutate. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Beats me.” Blade shrugged. He retrieved his weapons.

“Think there could be more of them?” Geronimo nervously asked.

Blade stopped, searching the nearby trees and grass. “Could be. I say we get back to the others.”

“Looks like they had the idea first.” Geronimo grinned, pointing.

Hickok and Joshua were running toward them, Hickok with his Pythons in his hands, Joshua holding a shotgun.

“What the hell is going on?” Hickok demanded as they ran up.

Blade nodded at the brute.

“What the blazes…?” Hickok began, fascinated by the hulk lying on the ground.

“Not another one!” Joshua exclaimed. He stood behind Hickok, and his view was obstructed.

“Not human anyway.” Hickok stepped to one side so Joshua could see clearly.

“What is it?” Joshua wanted to know.

“You tell us,” Geronimo countered.

They silently studied the creature, a dozen questions filling their minds.

“What do we do with it?” Joshua eventually inquired.

“Nothing,” Blade answered. His neck was throbbing and a headache was starting to form.

“We don’t bury it?” Joshua gasped at the shredded chest.

Hickok looked at Joshua and frowned. “Be serious.”

“I should know better by now,” Joshua admitted.

“Where’s your Henry?” Geronimo asked Hickok.

“Left it with Bertha when we heard the shots. She was still antsy over the rat deal. Thought she’d feel safer if she had the Henry.”

“Where’d you get that?” Blade inquired of Joshua, indicating the pump shotgun.

“Hickok gave it to me,” Joshua said sheepishly.

“I took it from the guy Geronimo shot yesterday,” Hickok informed Blade, “the one we first saw on the roof. It’s a Smith and Wesson Model 3000 Pump. You told him to get a gun. He doesn’t have any firing experience, and if he should decide to let loose…”

“I will not kill a brother or sister,” Joshua interrupted.

“…even if it’s just to warn us,” Hickok continued as if Joshua hadn’t spoken, “then the shotgun should suffice. A lot of firepower, but you don’t need to be able to hit a knothole at fifty yards to be effective with it.”

“Any ammo for it?” Blade asked.

Hickok nodded. “Yep. Found a dozen spare rounds, all slugs, in the Watcher’s pockets. Probably more in that storage room we found upstairs.”

“Good.” Blade surveyed the nearby foliage. “We’ll head back. If there is another one of these things lurking about,” he kicked the dead brute, “we’ll fare better if we stay in groups. So from now on, we only go outside in pairs. No one goes outdoors alone. Is that clearly understood?”

“You bet, pard,” Hickok replied.

“Absolutely,” Geronimo answered.

Joshua nodded his understanding.

“Okay. Let’s head back. Keep on your toes.”

They cautiously returned to their temporary headquarters. Blade took the point, alert for any unusual sounds or movements. His neck was beginning to swell and his throat felt dry. Some water would taste wonderful! He speculated on his attacker. What had the thing been? It appeared to be more human than animal, but it acted bestial in every other respect. Where did it come from? Was it an isolated freak of nature, or just one of a species? Why hadn’t they ever seen one near the Home?

Thank the Spirit they hadn’t! The mutates were bad enough, without having to worry about this new threat.

They rounded a turn and saw the SEAL ahead.

“Everything looks all right,” Hickok commented.

The muted blast of the Henry, three times, galvanized them into immediate action.

“Bertha!” Hickok exclaimed, running for the concrete building.

“Geronimo,” Blade ordered as he ran, following on Hickok’s heels, “stay outside with Joshua! Watch the SEAL!”

Blade followed Hickok into the building and up the stairs. As they reached the second floor the Henry boomed again.

“Take that, sucker!” they heard Bertha yell as they burst into her room.

Four dead rats were clustered around the vent opening in the wall.

“Got ’em.” Bertha beamed at Hickok and Blade. “They thought they was gonna make a meal of me, but I showed them!”

Blade walked to the vent and knelt, listening. From the dark depths below came scratching sounds. “There’s more down there.”

“Of course,” Bertha said. “Rats travel in packs. Just ’cause we’ve killed some of ’em won’t stop ’em. They’ll be back for their supper.”

“I don’t understand,” Hickok stated. “Why are they attacking us? Did they bother you once the whole time you were in this room before we arrived?”

Bertha thought a second. “Nope. Sure didn’t.”

“Then why are they suddenly concentrating here?” Hickok asked.

“Beats me, White Meat.”

Blade stood. “Bertha, what attracts rats?”

“Food mostly. Any kind of food. They’ll eat practically anything. Grain.

Fruit. Meat. They like garbage. Dead bodies are real popular too.”

“Dead bodies?” Blade repeated, jarred by an idea.

“Yeah. Dead bodies will attract them rats like nothing else will. Bring ’em in from miles and miles around.”

“Dead bodies,” Blade said again, comprehension dawning.

Blade faced Bertha. “Didn’t you say the rats live underground?”

“Yeah. In the sewers and other tunnels.”

Blade glanced at Hickok. “And where did Geronimo tell us he dropped the dead Watchers?”

“I know!” Hickok exclaimed. “Down some opening in the middle of the street!”

“What? You dropped those bodies down to the rats? You fed the rats?”

Bertha asked, astonished.

“We weren’t aware the rats were down there,” Blade explained.

“How could anyone be so stupid?” Bertha made a clicking sound.

“Honkies never stop amazing me.”

“So the bodies drew in all the rats under Thief River Falls,” Blade reasoned. “Rats that would normally be scattered in miles and miles of tunnels are converging on this area, drawn by the dead Watchers.”

“Who have probably been eaten by now,” Bertha mentioned.

“So the rats are spreading out, searching for other food in this immediate area, searching for…” Blade paused.

“For us!” Bertha finished for him.

“Damn!” Hickok glared at the dead rats.

“How many rats can there be?” Blade asked.

“Beats me, sugar.” Bertha shrugged. “Like I told you, under the Twins there’s millions and millions of ’em. Under a town this size, who knows?

Probably thousands.”

“What do we do?” Hickok interjected. “Leave?”

“Not until we’ve taken the generator and the other supplies and hidden them somewhere safe from the Watchers and the rats,” Blade stated.

“I hope you’ve got a plan, pard,” Hickok said anxiously. “Being eaten by a rat isn’t my idea of going out in style.”

“I have a plan,” Blade assured him.

“Then let’s get to it.”

Blade stared at Bertha. “Think you’re up to being moved?”

Bertha surprised both of them by rising swiftly to her feet. “I can move myself, thank you. I’m feeling lots stronger.”

“Don’t push yourself,” Blade warned. “Just take your blanket downstairs. We’ll bring the mattress down in a bit.”

“Okay by me.”

Blade’s plan took an hour to complete. They lugged the mattress downstairs and placed it along the bar. Despite her protests, they insisted Bertha lie down and rest. Blade left Geronimo in the doorway on guard, and directed Joshua and Hickok to carry all of the supplies in the one upstairs room down to the first floor. The supplies would be stacked near the door until they decided where they intended to hide their windfall.

Blade, meanwhile, found several loose boards behind the bar. He took two and went back to Bertha’s former room. Using three bottles of whiskey, he propped one of the boards over the vent opening. Blade wished he had a hammer and nails, but they hadn’t brought any from the Home and he didn’t know if the Watchers kept any tools. The board would effectively block any light from seeping down the vent, and he suspected the light attracted the rats to potential openings. On tiptoe, he reached up and removed the lightbulb in the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness. He exited, closing the door behind him. There was a thin crack between the bottom of the door and the floor. He pressed the other board against the opening to further prevent light from seeping in.

Next Blade checked the vents in the other two upstairs rooms. Unlike the open vent in Bertha’s room, the other vents were covered with a sturdy metal grill. Blade doubted the rats could gain access using them.

That left the basement.

Blade passed Hickok and Joshua in the hallway. “How’s it coming?”

“Four or five more trips should do it,” Hickok replied.

“I’ll help you if I get done first,” Blade offered.

“Fine.” Hickok stopped at the storeroom doorway. “Say, pard, what the blazes is a peach?”

“A what?” Blade paused at the head of the stairs.

“A peach. Found a box of cans labeled fruit. Some cans of apples and others of pears. Six cans of peaches, whatever they are. Ever heard of them?”

“No.”

“I believe I saw pictures of them in one of the books,” Joshua mentioned.

“Can we have some for the noon meal?” Hickok asked Blade.

“Don’t see why not.” Blade smiled and headed for the basement.

The basement door was in a far corner at the end of the bar.

“Hey, Blade,” Bertha spoke up as Blade passed her. “Was them bottles of whiskey I saw?”

“That’s what the Watcher called it,” Blade told her.

“How’s about getting me one when you have time?”

“You got it.”

Blade reached the basement door and slowly opened it. There was one dim light in the basement, placed in a dirty socket in the center of the ceiling. The generator was aligned along the north wall.

Would there be rats down there?

Blade raised his Commando and inched forward, taking the stairs one hesitant step at a time. If the rats could gain entry to the basement, they might swarm him before he had a chance to fire. Where were the vents?

A squeaking sound came from his right.

Blade pivoted, searching.

Nothing but a brick wall. The sound, apparently, came from behind the wall.

More squeaking and rustling, from all walls.

The rats had the basement surrounded!

Blade stopped. Did the underground tunnels pass by the basement?

Were the rodents attempting to dig their way in or merely passing by the wall on the other side? He didn’t hear any digging noises.

The generator was running smoothly, emitting a mild rumbling sound.

He spotted an open metal box, full of tools, under the tank.

Was that it? Would the rats shy away from something as alien as the generator? Could they hear or feel the vibrations?

Blade checked the entire basement.

No vents!

Blade smiled, relieved. The rats would need to dig their way in. Before going upstairs, he opened the cap on the generator tank and checked the fluid level. The tank was still three-fourths full. Good.

“Hey, Blade!” Bertha yelled down the stairs.

Quickly, Blade replaced the cap and ran up the steps, closing the door behind him.

Bertha was sitting on her mattress, holding the Henry in her lap.

“Geronimo wants you,” she said as Blade emerged from the basement.

Blade joined Geronimo by the doorway.

“Saw something,” Geronimo stated. He was staring at the park on the other side of the street.

“What was it?” Blade scanned the vegetation.

“Don’t know. A glimpse of something big and brown. Do you want me to investigate?”

Blade thoughtfully chewed his lower lip. “No. Might be another one like the thing that attacked me.”

“What if it steps into the open?”

“Kill it,” Blade directed.

Geronimo nodded.

Blade walked to the table and sat down. Big brown brutes outside, hordes of rats inside. More Watchers might return at any time. Blade frowned. He had wanted to stay put until Bertha was recovered from her ordeal, until she was fit enough to travel without hardship. That option was becoming untenable. Too many threats faced them if they remained in Thief River Falls. The mission came first. Getting to the Twin Cities was their paramount concern, eclipsing all other considerations. Besides, the faster this trip went, the sooner they’d see the Home again.

Hickok and Joshua were walking by the table, their arms laden with supplies.

“I thought you said you’d give us a hand,” Hickok reminded him.

“Have something to attend to first,” Blade replied. He stood and walked behind the bar. The whiskey bottles were standing under the counter on a shelf located on the left side of the bar. He grabbed one of the bottles by the neck.

“What have you got there?” Bertha asked him as he came around the bar and sat down on the floor next to her mattress.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” He displayed the bottle.

“Lordy!” Her eyes widened. “Prime drinkin’ whiskey! Can’t hardly believe it! That stuff sure is hard to come by in the Twins.” She reached for the bottle.

Blade hesitated. “You sure this stuff is good for you in your condition?”

“I ain’t having a baby, honey.” She impatiently took the bottle.

“Would you like something to eat?” Blade inquired.

“I never drink on a full stomach.” She grinned, looking at him expectantly, then frowning when he didn’t laugh. “Don’t you get it? I never drink on a full stomach.”

“I distinctly heard your statement,” Blade responded. “Why? Does it have some special significance?”

“Ain’t you ever drank whiskey before?” Bertha unscrewed a black plastic cap.

“No.”

“No?” She gawked, unbelieving.

“No. Why?”

Bertha laughed. “Here. I’ll let you go first. Take a deep swig.”

Blade held the bottle in his right hand. “A deep swig?”

“The deeper, the better.” Bertha grinned. “This stuff will set your hair on fire.”

“Why would I want to set my hair on fire?”

“Just drink the damn whiskey,” she urged him.

Blade shrugged, tipped the bottle, and swallowed as much as he possibly could in one gulp.

“That’s it!”

Blade placed the bottle on the floor, wondering what in the world she was grinning about, considering her a bit strange, when the whiskey hit him. A tremendous burning sensation exploded in his stomach, his throat tingling, his mouth puckering. He screwed up his face and glared at the bottle.

Bertha was laughing hysterically, slapping her hands on her thighs.

“Oh, beautiful! Just beautiful!”

Blade began coughing uncontrollably, his eyes watering.

“Blade, you’re something else!”

Hickok and Joshua walked over.

“What the blazes is going on here?” Hickok demanded.

“I’m making a man out of your friend here,” Bertha was still giggling.

“You’re what?”

Bertha picked up the whiskey bottle. “Here. Try this. You’ll see what I mean.”

Hickok raised the bottle to his nose and sniffed.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” He gave the bottle to Bertha.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, surprised.

“That stuff smells awful,” Hickok said. “I have this policy against drinking anything that smells like horse piss.”

Bertha shook her head. “You boys sure are weird! Any man in the Twins would kill for a drink of this.”

“We’re not from the Twins,” Hickok stated.

“That, White Meat, is what makes you so beautiful.” She beamed up at him.

Blade had stopped sputtering and wheezing.

“What’d you think?” Bertha smiled.

“Terrible!” Blade exclaimed, his voice a ragged whisper. “But I think it killed the pain in my throat.”

Bertha gulped several mouthfuls. “This stuff will sure enough kill whatever ails you,” she agreed.

“Are you finished with the supplies?” Blade faced Hickok.

“Almost.”

“Would you get it done as quickly as you can? I need to talk with Bertha. Alone,” he emphasized.

Hickok stared from one to the other. “Whatever you say, pard.” He strolled off, Joshua in tow.

Bertha swigged some more whiskey. “What do you want to talk with me about?”

“The Twins.”

Bertha frowned. “I told you last night, Blade. I ain’t goin’ back there. Not for any reason.”

“What if I can give you a good reason?”

“Fat chance.”

“How would you like to come live with us at our home?”

Bertha paused, the bottle touching her lips. “Say what?”

Blade smiled. “I asked if you would like to live with us?”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“You mean I could?” She set the bottle on the floor.

“Would you like to?”

“White Meat told me all about this Home of yours,” Bertha said softly.

“Sounds too good to be true. You just can’t imagine how bad it is in the Twins. The Home almost sounds like heaven.”

“Then you’d like to come back there with us?”

“What’s the catch?” she eyed him warily.

“Catch?”

“Don’t play innocent with me! White Meat also told me that you’re one clever son of a bitch. What’s your angle?”

Blade stared gravely into her eyes. “Be our guide when we reach Twin Cities, help us, and we’ll take you back to the Home when we return.”

“You mean if you return,” she said, disgusted. “I knew it! I knew there’d be a catch!”

Blade remained silent.

“Tell me, Blade.” She grinned craftily. “What’s to stop me from going to the Home on my own? From what I’ve learned, the folks there are real nice. Nicer than you anyway. I bet they’d take me right in, no questions asked.”

“They probably would,” Blade agreed. “The question, though, is whether you could find the Home on your own. Do you think you could without a map? And remember, the country around the Home is literally swarming with mutates. How do you expect to get by them? It’d be awful rough going for one person.”

“I could do it,” Bertha said, her tone lacking conviction.

“Then forget I brought the subject up.” Blade made a move to rise.

“Wait!” she said hastily. “Don’t be in such a hurry. I’m thinking it over.”

“Listen, Bertha.” Blade held her eyes with his own. “I’m not trying to pressure you…”

“Don’t jive me, honky!”

“…because in the final analysis the decision is all yours. You don’t have to come with us to the Twins. Stay here in Thief River Falls and we’ll pick you up on our way back to the Home.”

“If you make it back!” she snorted.

“My point exactly. Which is why we need you. We have a better chance of making it with you to aid us. You can still stay here if you like. We’ll leave you ample food and ammunition. But what happens if the Watchers pay this place a visit? They must make periodic supply runs from wherever their headquarters is located. What about the rats? Do you really want to stay here alone?”

Bertha glanced around the room, her brow knit in thought. “Nope,” she answered at last. “I guess I don’t.”

“You really don’t have that many options,” Blade stressed. “I appreciate how you feel about the Twins, and I know you detest the thought of going back, but it really is your safest bet.”

“Maybe White Meat would stay here with me until you get back.” She grasped at one last straw.

“Hickok is a Warrior. He would never desert his Triad.”

“You think so?”

“Do you want to ask him?”

Hickok and Joshua were descending the stairs with yet another load of provisions.

Bertha gazed at the gunman. “No. Don’t bother him. I’d hate to put the burden on him.”

“Then you’ll come with us to the Twin Cities?”

“What choice have I got?” she said quietly, sadly.

Blade reached out and squeezed her right shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll take real good care of you.”

“There’s just one thing that bothers me about that.”

“What?”

“Who the hell is going to take care of you?”