Twin Cities Run

Chapter Seven

The SEAL stopped at the crest of a long, sloping grade. Below them, a quarter mile distant, loomed huge black monoliths, towering over an obscured jumble of lesser buildings, the entire scene shrouded in darkness, conveying an eerie, sinister air.

“Lordy!” Bertha exclaimed in a whisper. “I’m back at the Twins.”

“The Twin Cities,” Blade said as quietly as Bertha. “We’ve made it.”

“Why the blazes are you whispering?” Hickok asked in his usual tone of voice.

“Why is it so dark down there?” Joshua inquired, before they could respond to Hickok.

“What’d you expect, sugar?” Bertha glanced at Joshua. “We ain’t got any electricity down there. Only fire. And we only keep fires on our own turf, hidden from view, under guard. You start a fire out in the open, and the first thing you know, you’ve attracted all kinds of trouble! We go down there tonight, we go down in the dark.”

“Are we going in tonight?” Geronimo asked Blade.

Blade leaned back in his seat, deliberating.

The SEAL was stopped, the engine off, on Highway 47, just north of the Twin Cities. They had reached their destination! Finally! Blade’s mind raced, recalling their progress since dawn.

They had risen early that morning, everyone excited at the prospect of reaching the Twin Cities before the day was done. As he had done every morning of their trip. Blade had remembered to throw the red lever under the dash to the right. An hour later, after the SEAL was fully energized, he would position the lever in the center. They had eaten hastily, eager to begin their travel. Bertha had become strangely subdued, reluctant to talk, preoccupied with thoughts of returning to the dreaded Twins. Hickok had attempted to cheer her up, to no avail. Her sullen, apprehensive attitude had begun to affect the others, except for Hickok.

While Bertha withdrew into herself, Hickok had opened up, loquacious, enthusiastic about the adventures ahead. His sense of excitement had served as an effective counterbalance to Bertha’s somber demeanor. Each of them had carefully checked their weapons, insuring their firearms were cleaned and loaded.

Blade had pushed the SEAL that day, frequently reaching speeds of over sixty miles an hour on straight stretches. They had left Perham an hour after sunrise. In rapid succession, they had passed through more abandoned towns: New York Mills, Bluffton. Wadena, Verndale, Aldrich, Staples, and Motley. At Lincoln, they had made a temporary detour, driving to Crookneck Lake for a food break and a bath. The men had bathed in one secluded cove, Bertha in another. Blade and Hickok had shaved Family style by scraping the sharp edge of a knife across their skin.

Joshua, sporting a full beard, never bothered with shaving. Geronimo, too, never worried about facial hair. Years ago, when his beard and moustache first began to grow in, he had plucked the hairs, one by one, Indian fashion, from his skin. Now his face was completely devoid of hair, except for his brows.

Their ablutions completed, they had rejoined U.S. Highway 10, heading south. They had circled around Little Falls, wary it might be a Watcher station, and had passed through Royalton and Rice. Again, exercising caution, they had wasted more time bypassing St. Cloud. Bertha, visibly upset by the memories, had informed them that she had been captured by the Watchers near St. Cloud and held there for almost a week before being passed on to another Watcher station.

“I won’t tell you what them bastards did to me,” she had said, her voice low and strained.

“No need,” Hickok had assured her. “And don’t you worry! We’ll pay them back for what they did to you.”

“How are we gonna make ’em pay?” she had asked. “There’s too many for us to kill every Watcher.”

“Leave it to me,” Hickok had stated confidently. “We’ll think of something.”

Bertha had grinned half-heartedly. “I bet you will, White Meat. I just bet you will.”

Additional small towns had faded into the distance behind them. Cable, Clear Lake, Clearwater, Becker, and Big Lake. Elk River, the last distinct town, had now been left behind.

Blade’s thoughts came back to the present. He started the SEAL. They entered the suburbs of Minneapolis as the sun was vanishing beyond the horizon.

“This is Anoka,” Bertha announced as row after row of single-family residences flashed by. “It’s on the outskirts of Nomad turf. It’s ours, but we don’t keep any people in it. Just patrol it from time to time. It’s a good place for huntin’. So’s Coon Rapids.”

Coon Rapids was the next area they slowly crossed.

“I expected to see more people,” Hickok commented.

“What people?” Bertha rejoined. “There ain’t that many left in the Twins as it is. Maybe a couple of thousand, if that many.”

“Where did the population go?” Joshua inquired.

“Don’t rightly know, sugar,” Bertha replied.

“They were probably evacuated after the Big Blast,” Blade mentioned.

“Just like all the other towns we’ve seen.”

“Then how come there are still some folks left here?” Hickok asked. “We know from our records the Government ordered them out.”

“They might have been in a rush,” Blade offered. “Besides, you couldn’t expect them to round up every person in a city of this size. Maybe some people hid out, maybe they didn’t want to be evacuated from their homes.

Who knows?”

“What I’d like to know,” Geronimo said, joining in their speculation, “is where everyone was evacuated to. That’s the big question.”

“Maybe we’ll find the answer to that some day,” Blade said. “Right now, we’ve got more important issues to decide. For instance, what’s this intersection coming up?”

Geronimo brought the map close to his eyes, squinting to read in the fading light. “The map says U.S. Highway 10 intersects with State Highway 47.”

“And where does this State Highway 47 go?”

Geronimo smiled. “Directly into the center of the Twin Cities,” he answered. “At least, into the heart of Minneapolis. St Paul is further east.”

“Then it sounds like 47 is just what we need,” Blade said. He wheeled the SEAL onto State Highway 47.

Bertha was staring out the side of the SEAL. “I know where I am,” she told them. “I know the landmarks!”

“Do you want us to let you out?” Blade asked her. He was having difficulty distinguishing the road because of the gathering darkness. “If this is Nomad territory, it’s your home. Would you rather return to your friends?”

“I told you before,” Bertha snapped, “I ain’t never going back to the Nomads! I didn’t even want to come back here!”

“Just asking.”

The SEAL was moving through Fridley.

“I can’t see a thing,” Joshua commented.

“Shouldn’t we stop?” Geronimo asked Blade.

“We keep going.”

Geronimo twisted in his seat, scanning their surroundings. He was sitting in the bucket seat across from Blade. Hickok, Bertha, and Joshua were in the back seat. After their break at Crookneck Lake, they had piled all the supplies in the rear section again.

“I’ve got a real bad feeling about this,” Bertha announced in a trembling voice.

They drove under an overpass.

“That was Interstate Highway 694,” Geronimo stated.

“Still no sign of anyone, pard,” Hickok said.

The homes they were passing were bigger now, obviously grander. A small sign read COLUMBIA HEIGHTS. The road gradually followed an extended incline. They reached the top and stopped.

“The Twin Cities!” Hickok yelled, pointing ahead.

The inner city rose in front of them.

And now they were anxiously perched on the edge of their seats, waiting for Blade’s decision.

“Are we going in tonight?” Geronimo repeated.

“Maybe we should spend the night in the SEAL and get some rest,” Blade said.

“Who can sleep, pard?” came from Hickok.

“I just want to get out of here,” Bertha said, expressing her opinion.

“I’m too excited to rest,” Joshua remarked.

“It might be best to go in under cover of night.” Blade formulated his plans aloud for their benefit. “We’d have less chance of being spotted and interfered with. We could go in, find the buildings we’re looking for, ascertain if the equipment we need is actually there, and get out again.

Quick and neat. What do the rest of you think?”

“Piece of cake,” Hickok cracked. “I say we go for it!”

“I’ll follow whatever you say,” Geronimo said.

“You are the Warrior,” Joshua stressed. “You are the Triad Leader. I will follow you.”

Blade turned, looking at Bertha. “Haven’t heard from you yet,” he goaded her. “Your opinion matters the most. You’ll be the one leading us in there.”

“What if I decide to stay right here?” she said defiantly. “What if I stay put in the SEAL and let you go on alone?”

“That’s your prerogative,” Blade informed her.

“My what?”

“He means it’s up to you,” Hickok explained. “You can do whatever you want to do.”

“You got that straight!” Bertha said. She noticed Hickok’s brow was creased, his eyes searching her face. “What’s the matter with you, White Meat? Why’re you lookin’ at me that way?”

Hickok shook his head. “I never took you for yellow.”

“What?”

“I never would have thought you’re a coward.”

Bertha reacted before any of them could move to stop her. She brought her left hand up and across Hickok’s mouth.

Hickok recoiled, more from surprise than pain. He touched his mouth with his right hand. “I reckon I had that coming.”

Bertha averted her gaze, twisting to stare out of the transport. “I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized, upset because she had lost control, and afraid it would happen again. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yep.” She pressed her forehead against the cool plastic. “Oh, God, help me!” she nearly whined. “I don’t know what to do. White Meat! I don’t know what to do!”

Hickok squeezed her shoulder in assurance. “We’re here with you, Black Beauty. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Bertha spun on them. “But there is!” she shouted. “Can’t you stupid sons of bitches see it yet? After all I told you? You just got no idea how bad it is out there! No idea!” She sagged against the seat. “And to think,” she said to herself, “I was out. I was safe and free!”

“You can stay here,” Blade told her. “We won’t hold it against you.”

Bertha glanced up at them, her eyes wet. “Maybe you guys wouldn’t, but I’d hold it against myself.” She tried a weak smile. “Besides, if we’re going to die, it might as well be together.”

“No one is going to die,” Hickok said.

Bertha gently traced a finger along Hickok’s mouth. “If you say so.”

“Then it’s settled,” Blade declared. “We go in tonight and get this whole mess over with.”

“On foot, or in the SEAL?” Geronimo asked.

“We’d be safer in the SEAL,” Hickok pointed out.

“Safer,” Blade agreed, “but conspicuous. The SEAL’s engine is quiet, but it still makes noise that could be heard a block away. It’s dark outside.

There’s no moon. If we used the lights we’d…”

“Lights?” Hickok cut him off. “We’d really draw attention to ourselves if we did that.”

“As I was about to say,” Blade continued, “before I was so rudely interrupted, if we used the lights on the transport, we’d be sending an invitation to everyone in the Twin Cities to come and check us out. Since attracting attention is the last thing we want to do, using our lights is positively out of the question. And although we would be safer in the SEAL, and the vehicle is bulletproof, it’s not indestructible and could be damaged by attackers.”

“So what’s your plan?” Geronimo inquired.

“We take 47 to the next turn,” Blade detailed, “find a spot to hide the SEAL, then proceed on foot. We’ll try and find what we’re looking for, and get back here by dawn. Bertha, you’re the one guiding us. How does my plan sound to you?”

“Just wonderful,” she said sarcastically.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“You don’t think it will work?”

Bertha snickered. “If we were going by what I think, we wouldn’t even be here right now.”

“If you don’t want to come…” Blade began.

“We’ve gone through that!” Bertha said angrily. “I’m comin’ with you.

As far as your bright idea goes, sure, it sounds great.”

“Any suggestions you want to make?”

Bertha glared at Blade. She thought of one she wanted to make, but thought better of it. “No. Whatever you say sounds fine to me.”

“Okay. Recheck your weapons.” Blade started the SEAL and cautiously drove forward, at five miles an hour, seeking a secluded hiding spot for the transport.

The others went over their guns. Hickok had his Henry, Geronimo his Browning. Joshua had his pouch containing his Ruger Redhawk over his shoulders, and he was holding a Smith and Wesson shotgun in his hands, both provided by Blade with strict orders to carry them whether he liked the idea or not. Bertha had picked a Springfield Armory MIA, a rifle once owned by Watchers.

A stand of trees became dimly visible to their left, growing in the center of a field.

“Found what we need!” Blade angled the SEAL across the field and into the trees, driving far enough in to insure the vehicle would be safe from prying eyes. He reluctantly switched the ignition off. The SEAL provided a sense of security and an emotional link to the Family difficult to forsake, even briefly. “We’ll lock the SEAL and head off, making for the center of the Twins.” He grabbed his Commando from the console at his side.

“No-man’s-land,” Bertha said, shivering in the dark.

They climbed from the transport, Blade securing the doors. “It should be safe here,” Blade whispered as he joined the others at the back of the SEAL, placing the keys in his right front pocket.

“We hope, pard.”

Blade waved his arm and they crept through the trees until they reached the field. He scanned the field. The sky was moonless, the field cast in gloom, but some detail could still be differentiated.

“It’s so quiet,” Joshua murmured.

It was. No sound, except for the soft swishing of the leaves and the hissing of the wind.

Blade headed across the field, keeping his eyes on the black silhouettes of downtown Minneapolis. Some of those buildings appeared to be incredibly tall. What had they been called? A name from his studies came to mind: skyscrapers.

They reached State Highway 47.

Why not use it? Blade asked himself. They’d made good time, and it went directly into downtown Minneapolis. Just what they needed. Once they were there, Bertha could lead them to the places where they might find the items listed on the piece of paper in his left front pocket.

Blade led them at a trot, following 47 south. They came on an intersection marked by a bent, slightly rusted road sign. The top of the sign was dangling inches from the ground. Blade knelt by the sign, trying to read the imprint. Impossible. The paint on the lettering had long since worn off, and it was too dark to discern the names. He pressed his fingers against the sign, tracing the figures, a relatively easy task. They were at the intersection of 47th and 37th.

Geronimo crouched beside Blade. “I heard a sound,” he whispered.

“What? Where?”

“Up there,” Geronimo said, pointing ahead and to their left. “A deep grunt. Animal, I believe.”

“Keep on your toes,” Blade quietly directed the others as he stood and continued down 47th.

Two blocks elapsed. They passed several rows of former houses, each a vague blob in the darkness.

Blade spotted a wide area of vegetation to their left. The source of the animal grunt Geronimo heard? He gripped his Commando and peered into the night, seeking any intimation of movement.

Bertha grabbed Blade’s right elbow and he stopped.

“I forgot to tell you about the dogs,” she now informed him.

“Dogs?”

“Yeah. A lot of dog packs roam the Twins, hunting for anything they can eat. Including people.”

Maybe, Blade mentally noted, when the Twin Cities were evacuated, a lot of people had left their pets behind to fend for themselves. If so, how big would the canine population be by now?

“There’s other things,” Bertha added as Blade began to move.

“Other things?”

“I don’t know what you’d call ’em, or where they came from, but there’s other animals that kill humans, animals worse than the dogs.”

“Terrific.”

Blade waved them on. They stayed close to one another, their eyes alert, their senses primed.

A guttural growl emanated from the trees to their left.

Blade froze, waiting, the others right behind him.

The trees came close to the road, perhaps twenty yards away.

Something moved in the dense brush under the trees, the brush crackling as a large body squeezed a passage through the pressing limbs.

The breeze gained strength, changing direction, carrying their scent towards the trees.

The thing grunted.

Blade ran, the rest on his heels. Whatever it was, it had picked up their scent. If it was carnivorous, it would be after them in moments.

A savage snarl shattered the night behind them.

“Damn!” Blade halted, turning to face the way they had come.

Heavy pads pounded on the highway, coming at them.

“You keep going,” Blade told the others. “I’ll hold it off.”

They didn’t move.

“Did you hear me? I said to get out of here!”

Hickok grinned. “Since when did a Warrior desert another Warrior, pard? Especially one from his own Triad?” He raised his Henry to his shoulder.

“Hickok’s right,” Geronimo stated. “For once.”

“Well, I sure ain’t wanderin’ off by myself,” Bertha said.

Joshua smiled, the white of his teeth a contrast to the darkness engulfing them. “I can’t leave you without spiritual guidance, can I?”

There was no time for Blade to argue.

The animal was fifteen yards distant when they distinguished a fluid form rushing at them on all fours. It snarled again as it closed in, voicing its hunger and anticipation.

Blade hesitated a fraction, adverse to advertising their presence by firing. Anyone, or anything, within miles would know they were there if they opened up.

There was no other option.

Blade let loose with the Commando, everyone firing on his cue. The din was almost deafening.

Whatever was charging them buckled and went down, crashing to the tarmac.

In the silence that followed, Blade could hear a ringing in his ears. They approached the thing slowly, their guns ready, their nerves taut.

The animal was convulsing, the brawny legs twitching, the tail jerking spasmodically.

“What the blazes was it?” Hickok asked.

Geronimo knelt and ran his hand along the blood-soaked pelt. “A big cat of some kind,” he replied. “It’s too dark to see these markings clearly.”

He studied the skin, trying to place the cat.

“It kind of resembles a mountain lion,” Blade said softly.

“No.” Geronimo shook his head. “What were they…” He hesitated, suddenly recalling a book in the Family library.

“Do you know what this is?” Bertha gawked at the giant feline.

“I’ve got it!” Geronimo exclaimed. “It’s a leopard or a jaguar! It’s got to be!”

“Naw, pard,” Hickok objected. “Can’t be. I read about them critters. They’re not native to these parts.”

“I remember reading about places where unusual animals were kept.”

Geronimo was probing his memory for the word he wanted. “They were displayed in barred cages, sometimes in fenced enclosures, in what were called…” He paused, the term eluding him.

“They were called zoos,” Blade said, helping him, “and circuses.”

“That’s right. Maybe some of the animals got away or were set free after the war,” Geronimo proposed. “Maybe some of the species survived until now.”

“If that’s true,” Joshua interjected, “then we could, conceivably, encounter any manner of creature on this expedition.”

“Just what we needed,” Hickok said.

Blade raised his eyes to the multitude of stars overhead. What next?

Watchers! Brutes! Big cats! There was just one obstacle after another!

Would he ever see Jenny again? He wanted nothing more than to return to the safety of the Home and bind to the woman he loved with his heart and soul. Blade shook himself. This was not the time or place for romantic reverie.

“Let’s go,” he announced grimly, a resentment building within him, an animosity for anyone or anything that might try to come between him and his goal.

The quiet became oppressive.

They jogged along 47, listening for any trace of other life.

Hickok stayed alongside Bertha. He knew she was scared, and he admired her fortitude in coping with that fear and suppressing it so effectively. The girl had to be a survivor if she had lasted in the Twin Cities this long.

Joshua brought up the rear, constantly glancing over his shoulder. The gunfire might have scared off potential enemies, though he doubted it.

The opposite could well be true. The shots might attract the Nomads or the Horns or the Porns. They might want to try to steal the firearms.

Geronimo kept pace with Blade. His eagle eyes probed the night. The Arminius was snug under his right arm, the tomahawks at his waist. He noticed a break in the road ahead and slowed.

Highway 47 rose in front of them, forming an overpass.

Geronimo glanced down, over the concrete abutment. Some sort of peculiar, narrow tracks ran under the overpass. What were they? he wondered.

Blade stopped at the top of the overpass. “We’ll take a break,” he stated.

“So far, so good,” Hickok optimistically quipped.

“We got a long way to go, White Meat.” Bertha leaned against the abutment.

“Bertha.” Blade walked over to her. “Exactly how far?”

“Don’t rightly know. Couple of miles.”

“What’s closer?” Blade stared out over the benighted city. “A hospital?

A scientific building?”

“I told you before, honky,” Bertha reiterated, “I ain’t too sure about what you’re lookin’ for.” She paused, took a deep breath, and blurted out, “I can’t read.”

“You what?” Blade turned on her.

“I can’t read nor write a lick,” she said sadly, her head bowed.

“Then how would you know what a hospital is?” Blade demanded. “And before you mentioned the University of Minnesota. How would you know it was a university?”

“Z told me. He’s Nomad Leader, remember?”

“What?”

“Zahner. His parents taught him some readin’ and writin’ before they died. There’s still a heap of signs up, tellin’ us what everything was before the war. He’s been tryin’ to teach me, but I’m a slow learner.”

“Don’t worry none, babe,” Hickok assured her. “When we get back to the Home, I’ll teach you myself.”

“You will?” she brightened. “I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“Just don’t ask him for driving lessons,” Geronimo advised her.

“So what’s closest?” Blade interrupted their banter, probing Bertha.

“Where do we go from here?”

“We keep goin’ on 47,” she told him. “It becomes University Avenue. About three miles from where we’re standin’ is the University of Minnesota itself. It might be your best bet. There’s a lot of big buildings used by smart types before the war. Oh.” she added as an afterthought, “there’s also three hospitals real close to one another.”

“Three?”

“Yeah.” She counted them off. “There’s the University Hospital at the University, and a mile from that is one called Shriner’s Hospital, and a ways east is one called Midway Hospital.”

“Piece of cake,” Hickok said.

“Maybe not.”

“Why?”

“’Cause all of this stuff is right in the middle of no-man’s-land,” she said, her voice on edge. “Not many people go there in the day, and no one’s been stupid enough to go at night.”

“Until now,” Hickok corrected.

“Yeah. Just my dumb luck to be along when it’s done.”

Hickok laughed.

“Okay.” Blade had decided. “We’ll stay with this road all the way to the University of Minnesota. We’ll run a mile, rest a bit, then run about another mile. I want us in top form when we get there.”

“If we’re not in top form now,” Hickok joked, “we will be by the time we get there.”

They ran in determined silence, eating up the distance. The buildings closed in on the highway the further they went. Taller structures, former businesses and offices and apartments, replaced individual houses with increasing frequency.

Blade found his mind straying. What would they do if they couldn’t locate the supplies and equipment Plato required? What if their entire trip here was wasted? Their lives endangered, their futures in jeopardy, for what? He grinned. At the very least the Family had a new member and Hickok a new… friend. He knew Bertha liked Hickok, and he suspected the gunman reciprocated, but Bertha had intimated Hickok was holding back.

Why?

A clanging sound momentarily split the shadows off to their right.

Blade whistled and dropped flat, braced. Hickok and Geronimo did likewise, Hickok pulling Bertha down, Geronimo grabbing Joshua.

The clanging stopped.

“Oh, Lordy!” Bertha whispered, terrified.

“What’s the matter?” Hickok asked her. He could feel her shaking.

“The Wacks.”

“The crazy ones you were telling us about?”

“None other. We’re in for it, for sure!”

“We can handle them,” Hickok promised her.

Bertha gently touched Hickok’s right cheek. “If we don’t get the chance to know one another more,” she said softly, “I want you to remember I liked you a lot.”

“What’s with the past tense? We’re still alive, and where there’s life, there’s hope.”

“That’s beautiful.” Bertha smiled at him. “You got brains to go with your looks.”

“I read it somewhere,” Hickok said, embarrassed, “and I wish you’d stop complimenting me in public.”

“I don’t care who knows how I feel.”

“Let’s go,” Blade ordered, moving out.

“Thank the Spirit!” Hickok muttered, following.

It took them thirty minutes to reach the junction of University and 10th.

“That’s the place.” Bertha pointed when they stopped in the intersection. “The things you want might be in there.”

The college campus was a jumble of black buildings, stands of trees, and high weeds.

“Look at this,” Joshua remarked. He walked to their left.

A rusted automobile stood at the side of the road. The windows were gone, the tires flat and frayed almost to nothing.

“There’s a lot of them scattered around,” Bertha explained.

“To be expected,” Blade commented. He faced the University. Where should they begin? He didn’t relish the idea of them gropping around in the dark, and lighting torches would attract any undesirables in their vicinity. Maybe he’d made another mistake. Maybe they should have used the SEAL. Maybe they should have waited until morning. It wasn’t too late to turn around, to go back to the transport and wait for daylight.

Or was it?

The metallic clanging sounded from the direction of the darkened buildings in front of them.

“It’s the Wacks!” Bertha whispered, horrified. “I told you!”

“You sure?” Hickok asked her.

“It’s the way they signal each other.” Bertha nervously hefted the Springfield. “We’re dead!”

Geronimo squatted on his haunches, peering into the night. The shadows appeared to be moving. “They’re closing in,” he warned the rest.

“A lot of them.” He glanced up at Blade.

Blade made up his mind. “Back to the SEAL,” he directed them. “If we’re separated, whatever else happens, get back to the SEAL.”

“I don’t know if I could find it,” Joshua candidly admitted.

Suddenly, from not far away, a booming male voice called out a single word. “MUH-EET!”

“What the blazes was that?” Hickok whirled, his Henry ready.

“MUH-EET!” came from the darkness.

“Sounds like someone saying the word ‘meat,’” Joshua declared.

“MUH-EET!”

They could hear feet, many feet, shuffling in the night.

Blade stepped closer to Bertha. “I’m sorry,” he told her.

“For what?”

“You were right. We never should have come in here in the dark. I should have listened to you.”

“Apology accepted.” She grinned. “I guess I ain’t so dumb, after all.”

“No one ever said you were.”

“MUH-EET!”

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Hickok suggested.

Blade gazed at each of them. “It’s imperative you get back to the SEAL. Let’s go.”

They ran, staying on University Avenue. From near and far came the distinct sounds of pursuit, as if invisible phantoms were all around them, circling them, waiting for the signal to pounce.

“This gives me the creeps,” Hickok said. “I wish they’d do something!”

They did.

An overgrown hedgerow materialized, bordering University Avenue to their left. To their right, like a concrete and metal juggernaut, rose a five-story office building. Scraggly shrubbery lined the lawn between the road and the structure.

“Good spot for an ambush,” Geronimo noted.

The Wacks swarmed on them out of the night, shrieking and hollering and babbling. Some carried bladed implements, others wielded clubs and boards, still others held large stones or bricks.

“MUH-EET!” thundered the incessant voice.

The first Wack, a grim, shapeless apparition in the black of night, reached the edge of University Avenue.

“Take this, sucker!” Bertha yelled a challenge, sighted, and fired. The crack of her Springfield was the catalyst, causing pandemonium to erupt.

The first Wack jerked backwards and tumbled to the ground. The remainder of the crazies screamed bloody murder.

The road in front abruptly became packed with indistinct forms.

Blade, in the lead, dropped to one knee, sweeping the Commando in an arc, the staccato burst clearing a path for them to proceed.

A brick struck Geronimo on the left shoulder. He spun, catching sight of a figure behind one of the bushes, and he let loose with the Browning.

The Wack slammed into the earth.

“They’re all over the place!” Hickok shouted. Stones and other hard objects were striking all over the road as the Wacks pelted them with everything they could lay their hands on. A pale face flashed at the top of the hedgerow, and Hickok snapped off a shot, the blast of the Henry followed by a piercing wail.

“Gotya’!”

“There’s more here,” Joshua said, as another group closed in on them from the rear. Instinctively, Joshua pumped the Smith and Wesson four times. The shadows screeched and dropped. Joshua looked down at his shotgun. Dear Father in heaven! What had he done? Killed again? He hesitated, not noticing he was falling behind the others, unaware of his danger until a sturdy hand gripped his shoulder and forcefully spun him around.

A Wack, a blurry image of torn clothes and thin arms, raised a butcher knife above his head.

Joshua pulled the trigger.

The blast from the shotgun caught the Wack in the face, blowing it apart.

The others were fifteen yards ahead, grimly engaged in life-or-death combat, firing as fast as a target presented itself. They weren’t aware that Joshua had dropped behind.

“Wait for me!” Joshua tried to make himself heard over the din. “Wait for me!”

A heavy chunk of concrete, hurtling out of the night, connected with the back of Joshua’s head. Blood spurted as he sagged and dropped to his knees. A Wack ran up, raising a two-by-four.

Geronimo, concentrating on their right flank, thought he heard Joshua’s voice. He whirled, catching a glimpse of a Wack about to bash in Joshua’s head. The Browning blasted, catching the crazy in the chest, the force of impact propelling him backwards onto the road.

“Joshua!” Geronimo ran to Joshua’s side and grabbed his right arm before he could fall to the pavement. “Get up! You have to get up!”

Geronimo tugged, trying to raise Joshua to his feet, to get them moving.

A stone hit Geronimo’s chin, stinging him, splitting the skin.

Joshua groaned.

“Get up!”

Their attackers, sensing a weak link in their defense, bore down on Geronimo and Joshua, wary now, hesitant to face the guns with over fifteen casualties already tallied in the first ninety seconds of the battle.

One of the Wacks approached and tossed a brick. The brick missed.

Geronimo’s shot didn’t.

Twenty-five yards ahead, Blade noticed some of the Wacks were dropping off. Why? he asked himself. He glanced around, freezing when he realized Geronimo and Joshua weren’t with them any longer. Where?

Where? He saw a commotion a ways behind, and caught the flash of the Browning as Geronimo fired again.

“Damn!”

Blade dodged a jagged piece of glass and reached Hickok’s side. “You’ve got to get back to the SEAL! Don’t wait for us!” With that, he ran back towards Geronimo and Joshua.

“What? What’d you say?” Hickok had missed Blade’s words. He stopped, watching Blade run off. Where the blazes was he… Where were Joshua and Geronimo?

“Lookout!”

Bertha stepped between Hickok and a charging Wack. She aimed for the head, feeling the recoil of the Springfield against her right shoulder at the same instant the crazy fell.

“Where are the others?” Hickok yelled.

Bertha suddenly realized they were alone. “Lordy! Let’s get out of here!”

“We can’t leave the others!” Hickok protested. He began to run back, managing only a few steps before they were cut off from their friends by a howling mob of zanies going after Blade.

“This way!” Bertha took hold of his sleeve. “The way in front is clear!”

Hickok fired four times at the group after Blade, downing four.

“Come on, White Meat! We got to get out of here!”

A tall crazy broke from the hedgerow, swinging a club. He lunged, bringing the club down, trying for Hickok’s head, but missing and striking the barrel of the Henry instead. The rifle clattered to the road and rolled out of sight.

Hickok ducked a second blow, drawing his right Python, putting the Wack away with a head shot.

Bertha tugged on Hickok’s arm. There was a momentary lull around them, the crazies devoting their attention to Blade and the others. “We got to get out of here!”

“Not on your life! I won’t leave my friends!”

The Commando and the Browning were still firing.

“You can’t do them any good if you’re dead! If we get out, we can come back and rescue ‘em!”

Dozens of Wacks had surrounded Blade, Geronimo, and Joshua.

“I’m not leaving them!” Hickok declared stubbornly. He glanced around, searching for his Henry. “Where the blazes is my gun?” He bent over, trying to distinguish features in the dark, elated when he spotted the stock protruding from under a bush at the side of the road. “There it is!”

“Look out!”

This time Bertha’s warning was too late. A short Wack jumping up from behind the bush, cackling insanely, holding a hammer. Quick as his reflexes were, Hickok managed one shot as the hammer smacked into his skull. Both men sprawled to the ground.

“Lordy, no!” Bertha crouched alongside Hickok, waiting for another attack. None came. She shook Hickok, trying to arouse him without success. Pressing her ear to his lips, she held her own breath and listened.

He was breathing, barely.

The Python was on the pavement by his right hand.

Bertha replaced the Colt in its holster, tucked the Springfield under her left arm, and grabbed Hickok under her arms. She strained and pulled, dragging him behind the bush, hiding him.

The others were still fighting.

Bertha placed a protective hand on Hickok’s head, flinching when a moist substance covered her hand. White Meat was hurt, and hurt bad.

She couldn’t leave him to help the rest, not now, not when he might die if she left. Cradling the Springfield in her arms, she leaned on Hickok’s chest and probed the night, sweating it out, dreading the Wacks would find them.

No, sir.

The other three would have to fend for themselves.

If they could.