Yellowstone Run

CHAPTER THREE

The Hurricanes possessed vertical-takeoff-or-landing capability, enabling them to ascend or descend much like a helicopter. Instead of the traditional lengthy runway required by most planes, they needed only 80 square feet of space from which to take off or land. As the pilot neared the west side of the Home, he put the aircraft into the VTOL mode and hovered over the field bordering the brick wall. As a security precaution, the Family kept the ground cleared for 150 yards in all directions from the compound.

An arrival of a Hurricane was always a fascinating event for the Family members. They flocked to the ramparts or streamed across the drawbridge situated in the center of the west wall, eager for a glimpse of the mighty jet, the only functional aircraft the majority of them had ever seen.

Blade, Hickok, and Geronimo joined the crowd moving across the drawbridge, with the giant in the lead.

“Hey, pard,” Hickok said. “If the Federation bigwigs have another assignment for you, why don’t you take us along instead of flyin’ all the way back to Los Angeles? Geronimo and I can use the exercise.”

“Speak for yourself, ding-a-ling,” Geronimo retorted. “I’m not addicted to action like you are.”

“Who says?”

“Face facts. You can’t get by without your daily adrenaline rush.”

The gunman snorted. “That’s not true and you know it.”

“Well, excuse me. Your weekly adrenaline rush, then,” Geronimo amended, grinning.

“I hope there isn’t another assignment,” Blade reiterated.

“If there is, you can always take Achilles.” Geronimo joked.

The idle suggestion prompted the giant to blink a few times, then smile.

He threaded his way through the gathering throng, taking long strides, repeatedly saying, “Excuse me.”

Its engines whining, the Hurricane slowly lowered to the turf 40 yards from the drawbridge, its nose pointed at .the Home.

“Blade! Over here!” called out a friendly voice.

The Warrior spotted the speaker, an elderly man with kindly blue eyes and a long gray beard who was wearing a brown shirt and faded jeans.

“Plato,” he said in greeting, and walked over to the Leader of the Family.

“Any idea why the Hurricane is here ahead of schedule?”

“None whatsoever,” Plato replied, eyeing the aircraft. “This is most unusual.”

Blade stared at the cockpit. The Hurricanes were designed to transport up to five passengers, and he could see two or three others seated behind the pilot.

Moments later the engines were shut down. The canopy slid back and a familiar face smiled at the giant and waved. “Yo, Blade! How goes it?”

“Fine, Pete,” Blade replied.

“Captain Laslo seems to thoroughly enjoy his work,” Plato commented.

“He does,” Blade confirmed. “The man loves to fly.”

Laslo lowered a green rope ladder from the cockpit and climbed down.

“I’ve brought some guests,” he announced, turning to the crowd and motioning upward.

Two people appeared, a woman and a man, both Indians, both attired in finely crafted buckskins. They immediately began to clamber down.

“Isn’t that Star?” Plato inquired in surprise.

“It sure is,” Blade said, wondering what had brought the leader of the Flathead Indians to the Home again.

Nineteen-year-old Star was following in her respected father’s footsteps. He had been the previous Chief, and he’d perished in battle while opposing the forces of the dictator who’d previously ruled the Civilized Zone. The rest of the Flatheads had been defeated and compelled to work as slaves until they were eventually freed by Blade. In large measure because of her tireless efforts to reunite her tribe and inspire her people, the Flatheads later selected Star to be their new leader. Despite her youth, she projected a stately bearing and exhibited a maturity far beyond her years. Lovely black hair hung all the way to her waist, swaying as she came down the ladder. She reached the grass, turned, and scrutinized the assembled Family members, her dark eyes settling on the giant Warrior and Plato. She beamed and hurried over to them.

Blade smiled at her, his eyes straying to the other Flathead, a man in his mid-twenties whose features were a little too bard for Blade’s liking.

The man had black hair down to his wide shoulders, and he packed a pistol in a holster on his right hip and carried an M-16 slung over his left shoulder.

“Plato! Blade!” Star declared happily, walking up to the Family leader and giving Plato an affectionate hug before he had time to react. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”

“And I’ve missed you, child,” Plato replied tenderly, embracing her gently.

A hearty laugh issued from Star’s throat. “Child?” she repeated, and stepped back to take a good look at the man who had raised her for a while after the death of her father. “I don’t think I qualify as a child anymore.”

“You’ll always be my little girl,” Plato said softly.

Star glanced at the giant. “What do you think, Blade? Am I still a child?”

The Warrior chuckled. “I refuse to answer on the grounds my wife might overhear and beat me to a pulp.”

“I don’t mind answering,” Hickok interjected. “I think you’re a foxy momma.” He straightened and scanned the crowd, then added, even louder, “Of course, you’re not as foxy as my missus. No one is.”

“Coward,” Geronimo muttered.

“To what do we owe the honor of your visit?” Plato asked.

Star looked at Blade. “We need your help.”

The Flathead bearing the M -16 had halted behind her and was regarding the Warriors rather coldly. Now he arrogantly stated, “No, we don’t.”

Blade faced the Warrior. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Iron Wolf, War Chief of the Flatheads,” the man declared proudly.

“War Chief?” Blade gazed at Star. “I thought you were the Chief of the Flatheads?”

“She is the Principal Chief, but I am War Chief,” Iron Wolf emphasized.

The giant locked his eyes on the Flathead’s. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

Iron Wolf bristled, his mouth curling downward and his eyes narrowing. For a moment he appeared ready to hurl himself at the giant, but a quick movement on Blade’s left drew his attention to the gunfighter, the one called Hickok. The blond man stood with his hands on the pearl handles of his Pythons and a gleam in his blue eyes. Iron Wolf forced himself to relax, recalling the many stories he had heard about the man in the buckskins, and mustered a grin. “I didn’t mean to offend you. My people have selected me as their War Chief, and I must be true to their best interests.”

Star pivoted. “And I don’t have their best interests at heart?”

“We don’t need these outsiders to help us,” Iron Wolf said.

“These outsiders are our friends.”

“Friends do not butt in where they are out wanted.”

“I want them to help us, and so do most of the other leaders of our tribe,” Star remarked testily.

“Which is why I have bowed to the will of my people,” Iron Wolf said humbly.

Hickok snickered.

“What is this all about?” Plato inquired. “Why are you here?”

Star nodded toward the drawbridge. “Can we talk inside?”

“Certainly,” Plato said, and took her hand. They walked off, Iron Wolf following, and Plato looked back at the giant. “Coming, Blade?”

“Be right with you,” the Warrior replied.

“I don’t trust that varmint,” Hickok said softly.

“Nor do I,” Geronimo agreed.

“So that makes it unanimous,” Blade stated. “Geronimo, I want you to take care of Peter. See if he’d like some food. Hickok and I will get to the bottom of this.”

“Save a piece of Iron Wolf for me,” Geronimo said. He headed toward the pilot, who was busy inspecting the underside of the Hurricane.

“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” Hickok asked Blade as they hastened after Plato and their visitors.

“I think Star is in more trouble than she realizes. Did you notice the tone he used when he referred to the Flatheads as his people?”

“I sure did.”

“Star could have a power monger on her hands.”

“She’s a bright gal. She must know he’s pond scum.”

“Maybe. But I’ll have a talk with her the first chance I get.” Blade said.

They caught up with Plato and the others in time to overhear Star addressing the Family Leader.

“—held a council meeting of all the subchiefs and it was agreed that I should come see you. I persuaded Captain Laslo to fly us directly here instead of continuing on his normal rounds; He was supposed to fly to the Moles next, but he realized the importance of our mission once I explained everything to him.”

“The courier pilots are under standing orders to go where they’re needed,” Plato mentioned. “They do an outstanding job.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Star said. “The counselors didn’t want me to make the journey alone, so it was decided that Iron Wolf would accompany me.”

“Lucky you,” Hickok quipped.

Plato glanced over his left shoulder. “Oh, there you are. Nathan, I’ll thank you not to be rude to our guests.”

“Wouldn’t think of it, old-timer.”

Iron Wolf made a show of studying the gunman from head to toe.

“Although we haven’t been introduced yet, I know you are the famous gunfighter, Hickok.”

“I guess I am a mite well known.”

“Yes,” Iron Wolf said, and smirked. “They say the only thing faster than your hands is your mouth.”

Hickok abruptly halted, his hands hovering next to his Colts. “I take that as an insult, friend.”

“Take it any way you want,” Iron Wolf retorted, stopping.

The gunman’s next words were tinged with menace. “Any time you reckon you’re man enough, I’m ready.”

“How about right now?”

“It’s your funeral, cow chip.”

“Enough!” Star snapped, glaring at the War Chief. “These are our friends!”

“They’re your friends,” Iron Wolf replied.

“And as for you, Nathan,” Plato interjected, “I believe you’re way out of tine.” He looked at Blade. “Don’t you agree?”

The giant’s countenance was inscrutable. “Hickok, why don’t you go give Geronimo a hand?”

“Sure, pard,” Hickok answered dutifully, his icy gaze still riveted on the Flathead. He wheeled abruptly and stalked off.

Star uttered a nervous, flighty laugh. “Where are my manners? Did I forget to introduce everyone? Iron Wolf, this is Plato, the man who took me in after my parents were killed and the tribe was taken captive,” she said, indicating the Family Leader. “And this big guy is Blade, the top Warrior.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Plato stated, offering his right hand.

“I’ve heard a great deal about you,” Iron Wolf remarked, shaking hands.

“You helped Star through a very trying time.”

“My wife, Nadine, did most of the helping. She took Star under her wing and gave the princess all the love and sympathy she needed.”

“You’re too modest,” Star mentioned. “Both of you were there when I needed you.”

Plato smiled at her. “And we’ll always be here should you need us.”

Iron Wolf glanced at the giant. “And I’ve heard a lot about you too.

They say you are the deadliest man alive.”

“Not true,” Blade said, and pointed at the retreating back of the Family’s preeminent gunfighter. “There goes the deadliest man alive.”

“Oh, really?” Iron Wolf responded, smirking.

Blade nodded. “Really.”

The War Chief regarded the giant for a moment, then stared at the gunman. “What makes him so deadly?”

“Do you mean other than the fact that there isn’t a person alive who can beat him on the draw? Well, for one thing, he has the perfect Warrior mentality. He has a warrior’s soul. And he has the will.”

“The will?”

“The will to kill. Not all men and women can kill when it’s required.

Hickok, on the other hand, will kill anyone or anything, anytime, if it’s required in the line of duty.”

“How can you say he has the perfect Warrior mentality when he becomes offended so easily?”

“We all have our little quirks,” Blade said flatly.

Iron Wolf seemed to ponder the information for a few seconds.

“Perhaps I should apologize to him.”

“I’ll do it for you,” Blade proposed.

“You’d do that for me?”

“Sure? Why not?”

Plato cleared his throat. “Now that we have that out of the way, why don’t we go to my cabin and discuss the reason for your trip to the Home?”

“I can fill you in while we walk,” Star said, and looped her arm around his.

The four of them headed eastward, crossing the drawbridge and moving toward the concrete blocks.

“Whatever has brought you here must be extremely urgent,” Plato commented after a bit.

Blade, walking behind them, inadvertently tensed when he heard Star’s reply.

“You don’t know the half of it. Members of our tribe have mysteriously disappeared. Hunters have been torn to pieces in the deep woods. And the search parties we’ve sent out have never returned.” She paused. “I think we have a mutant problem.”