Yellowstone Run

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The cool night invigorated Blade as he raced toward the Lamar River.

He inhaled deeply, enjoying the exercise, his long legs flying over the terrain. The Bowies jiggled in their sheaths, and the Commando, which he had slung over his left shoulder, swayed from side to side, rubbing against his back. He trained his eyes on Odum’s campfire and listened for another scream.

Except for insect noises, all was quiet.

Blade glanced over his right shoulder at Achilles. Fifteen feet separated them, and the novice appeared hard-pressed to keep up. “Quit goofing off and get up here,” he commanded.

“Who’s goofing off?” Achilles retorted, and increased his speed marginally. “Can I help it if you cover twice as much ground with each step?”

Grinning, Blade slowed to allow the aspiring Warrior to reach his side.

“You must be out of shape.”

“I’m in excellent condition,” Achilles responded defensively.

“How many miles do you jog every day?”

“Five miles every other day.”

“After we return to the Home, start a new exercise regimen and include doing ten miles every day.”

Achilles glanced at the giant. “Every day?”

“Until you can comfortably keep up with me, yes.”

“How do Hickok and Geronimo do it?”

“They have a secret.”

“What is it?” Achilles inquired eagerly.

“They usually ask me to take little steps.”

For a moment Achilles couldn’t decide if the top Warrior was serious, then he voiced a hearty laugh. “No one at the Home could ever hope to match you on a long run.”

“Yama and Rikki-Tikki-Tavi consistently tie with me,” Blade mentioned. “And on short sprints, Rikki is even faster.”

“I had no idea. What’s the secret of their success?”

“They’ve developed their bodies to where they can perform at their maximum level,” Blade said. “Although they’re quite different in stature, they’re both solid muscle.”

“So is Samson,” Achilles noted.

“But Samson has never had to lift a weight or exercise strenuously in his life. His physique matured naturally.”

“Is he as fast as you are?”

“No, but he’s equally as strong.”

“I doubt that.”

“Size alone is no prerequisite for the possession of great strength,” Blade said. “Look at Rikki.”

“I still can’t accept that any of the other Warriors are as strong as you.”

“Trust me. I’ve seen Samson in action. When he calls on the Lord for strength, none of us can rival him.”

“Do you really believe that Nazarite mumbo jumbo?”

“Samson does. And whether you prefer to think that his immense power is psychologically triggered or stems from the Spirit, the fact remains that when Samson prays to the Lord, his strength is increased a hundredfold.”

Achilles gazed at the river ahead. The surface of the water reflected the pale moonlight and resembled a wide ribbon of glass. A thought occurred to him and he almost stopped in surprise. “Wait a minute!” he blurted.

“What’s wrong?” Blade asked, running effortlessly.

“Why are we doing all this talking? Shouldn’t we approach the fire stealthily? Whatever attacked that poor woman will hear us.”

“Good.”

“Did I miss something here?”

“I want them to hear us,” Blade stated. “I want them to come after us.”

“I definitely missed something.”

Blade grinned. The fact that Achilles possessed a sense of humor indicated the novice wasn’t quite as egotistical as he seemed. “Think, Achilles. Think. Why did we travel all the way to Yellowstone?”

“To exterminate the mutations responsible for the raids on the Flatheads.”

“Exactly. And we can’t exterminate them if we can’t find them. In which case we do the next best thing. We let them find us. If they’re out there somewhere, they’ll hear us and try to take us down.”

“In other words, you’re deliberately setting us up as bait?”

“Bingo.”

“My apologies. I should have realized. Normally my deductive reasoning is superb.”

“Not to mention your modesty,” Blade said. He came to a halt 20 yards from the river and scrutinized the opposite shore. The thicket where the grizzly had been concealed presented a foreboding aspect, visible as a dark wall of inky vegetation. “We’ll cross here and work our way southward along the other bank.”

“Do you want me to jump up and down every few feet to attract attention?”

Blade smiled. “That won’t be necessary,” he replied, and walked to the edge of the water. “Just keep your eyes peeled.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Achilles assured him. He picked up the trailing edge of his red cloak, draping the lower half over his left arm.

“Ready when you are.”

Unslinging the Commando, Blade held the weapon at chest height and proceeded into the frigid water. He advanced gingerly, feeling his way with his feet, hoping to avoid slipping on a rock. Ten feet from the bank he abruptly halted.

A rustling noise arose in the thicket, a loud crackling of branches and swishing of leaves.

Blade pointed the Commando at the obscure mass of dense brush.

“What if it’s a grizzly?” Achilles whispered.

“Don’t miss.”

The rustling suddenly ceased.

“Stay frosty,” Blade advised, and took two strides. The next sounds he heard brought a tingle to his spine, and he spun and stared to the west.

There had been two shots.

Two shots blending almost as one.

“Hickok!” Blade exclaimed, and surged toward the west bank, stepping past Achilles, and even as he moved there were two more shots. “Let’s go!”

Achilles started to follow when he detected movement on the east shore in the vicinity of the thicket. He hesitated, and a half-dozen shadowy figures materialized near the river.

The six creatures plunged into the water.

A hasty glance confirmed that Blade was almost to the shore. The giant seemed to have forgotten all else in his desire to reach the hill. Achilles looked at the things splashing toward him. He cooly leveled the Bullpup, aimed at the creature in the lead, and fired.

The blast knocked the figure into the river.

Grinning, Achilles backpedaled. Whatever they were, the creatures could be killed. His elation lasted all of five seconds, however.

The thing he had shot rose out of the water and resumed its pursuit.

Achilles moved faster. He shot another of the creatures and saw it go down, only to stand erect moments later. What in the world were they? He wondered, and bumped into the bank. A heavy hand fell on his right shoulder. Startled, he looked up.

“This is no time to go swimming with the natives,” Blade said, and helped the younger man clamber onto the bank.

“They’re still coming!” Achilles declared, his eyes on the six charging things.

“Let them,” Blade said, and gave the novice a shove westward. “Run as you’ve never run before,” he ordered, and took off, gratified when Achilles came alongside him on the right.

Two more shots sounded from the hill.

“Hickok and Geronimo must be holding their own,” Achilles remarked breathlessly.

Blade didn’t bother to respond. He conserved his energy, staring at the circle of light crowning the prominence, dreading that he had committed a monumental blunder by dividing his forces.

A large, vague shape suddenly came into view on the left, angling to intercept them.

“Blade!” Achilles cried in warning.

“I see it,” the giant replied, and aimed the Commando on the run. He squeezed the trigger, shooting by instinct, and his aim turned out to be unerring.

The thing clutched at its torso and toppled.

Blade faced front, his legs pounding, his heart doing the same. What if he was too late? What if the mutations had killed his friends and the others? What if his blunder wound up costing lives, the lives of the two best friends he had?

“On the right!” Achilles shouted.

Blade glanced to the north and spotted two more of their assailants loping toward them. “Waste them!” he barked, and fired the Commando at the same instant Achilles cut loose with the Bullpup.

One of the creatures fell, but the second bounded closer.

Aiming carefully, Blade fired at the thing’s head.

The other figure dropped.

Blade raced onward, scanning the field for more .creatures. He gazed over his right shoulder and saw the mutation he’d just shot stand and sprint after them. Talk about tough! He looked at the hill and poured on the speed.

Achilles did likewise. “Go on ahead of me!” he urged.

“Be serious,” Blade replied.

“You can run faster than I can. They might need you,” Achilles said.

“Priscilla could be in trouble.”

“We’ll stick together.”

“But Priscilla—”

“Just move it!” Blade snapped. He scanned the field to the right and the left, relieved to note none of the creatures were trying to overtake them.

But there was still the one to their rear. He looked back again, and felt momentarily disconcerted at discovering the thing had vanished.

What was going on?

A minute elapsed without incident and they reached the base of the hill safely.

“Cover my back!” Blade ordered, and sped toward the summit, fearing he would find the worst, afraid everyone would be dead. He swept over the rim and crouched, the Commando tucked against his right side, ready to combat all comers.

But there was no one to fight.

Not a soul was in sight. Hickok, Geronimo, Priscilla, and Eagle Feather were all gone. Only the fire still pulsed with a life of its own, its fingers of flame dancing heavenward.

“Where are they?”

Blade looked at the novice, who stood on the crest, and shook his head.

“They took Priscilla?”

“They took everybody,” Blade corrected him. A glint of firelight off a gleaming object in the grass near the fire drew his attention. He hastened over and bent down to find both of Hickok’s Pythons lying on the ground.

The presence of the revolvers filled him with anxiety; Hickok never went anywhere without those guns. There was even a joke currently making the rounds, started by Geronimo, to the effect that the gunfighter even wore his prized Colts when he made whoopee.

Achilles walked to the fire, evidently stunned by the disappearances.

“They took everybody?” he repealed absently.

“Check for weapons,” Blade directed.

“What?”

“Weapons, man. Weapons. The creatures didn’t take the weapons. We’ll need every one we can find.”

“Right away,” Achilles said, grateful for the chance to do something, anything, so he wouldn’t need to dwell on Priscilla’s probable fate.

Blade picked up the Pythons and stuck them under his belt. Nearby he found the Henry and slung the rifle over his left shoulder.

“Here’s the FNC and Geronimo’s Arminius,” Achilles announced, waving the firearms.

“You’ll have to carry them,” Hade stated. He started to make a circuit around the fire, moving in ever-widening circles as he searched for weapons and clues to the direction the attackers had taken.

Achilles walked in a zigzag pattern to the north. He spotted a long object partly concealed by the grass and stooped down to grab it. A brief inspection sufficed to reveal the object was a Winchester with a shattered stock. “Hey, took at this,” he declared.

Blade stepped over and took the gun. He examined the stock for a few seconds, then hefted the rifle. “This is Eagle Feather’s. Interesting, isn’t it, that they threw all the guns away.”

“How so?”

“Guns are at a premium everywhere. If human raiders had been responsible for this ambush, they would have taken all the guns and left bodies. But these Bear People, these mutations, obviously couldn’t care less about weapons. They prefer to rely on their mutant abilities, on their strength and speed.”

“Maybe the things are too stupid to know how to operate a firearm,” Achilles speculated.

“Maybe, but somehow I doubt it,” Blade said. He tossed the Winchester aside.

“Shouldn’t we take it with us?” Achilles asked. “The stock can always be repaired.”

“I know, but we’ll have our hands full as it is,” Blade replied. “We’ll cover the Winchester with deer hide and come back for it after we find out what’s happened to the others,” Blade proposed, and surveyed the summit.

“Wait a minute. Where’s the buck?”

“What?”

“The mule deer Eagle Feather shot. The buck was carved up for supper.

There was a lot left over,” Blade observed. “Where did the carcass go?”

Achilles looked around. “They took it.”

Frowning, Blade moved closer to the fire. “We’ll spend the rest of the night here. I’ll take the first watch.”

“We’re not going after them?”

Blade glanced at the novice. “Which way would we go?”

Bafflement etched Achilles’ features. He turned to the north, then the south. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

“There’s nothing we can do until daylight,” Blade said. “We can’t track them at night. At first light we’ll scour the hill and the plain for sign. If we’re lucky, we’ll find tracks.”

“And if we don’t discover any tracks?”

“Then we’ll have no way of knowing the direction they took,” Blade answered, his broad shoulders drooping, “and we may never see Hickok and Geronimo again.”