The Kalispell Run

Chapter Four

“Scavengers!” Geronimo yelled.

There were at least thirty, attired in filthy rags and armed with a variety of weapons.

Blade knew their type well. They traveled in groups, preying on anyone they found, stealing food and guns and lives with indiscriminate abandon.

Thanks to the high walls encircling the Home, and the prowess of the Warriors, the Family was spared being ravaged by the bands of scavengers roaming the countryside.

“They’re all around us!” Star screamed, awake and terrified, gripping her mother, the knuckles on her hands white.

Blade destested these human vultures. He saw one of them runnng up to his side of the SEAL, carrying a knife, apparently intending to thrust it through Blade’s open window.

“Blade!” Rainbow needlessly cried a warning.

Blade slowly reached his right hand across his broad chest and drew the Dan Wesson .44 Magnum revolver from its leather shoulder holster.

Like Geronimo, he had lost many of the weapons he’d taken to the Twin Cities. Before departing for Kalispell, they had paid the armory a visit and selected their arms for this run. He liked the feel of this revolver. The Dan Wesson .44 Magnum was a big handgun, but in his massive hand it felt just right. In addition to the revolver, an Auto-Ordnance Model 27 A-1 was on the console beside him. It reminded him of the Commando Arms Carbine he’d used before. Like the Commando, the Auto-Ordnance was modified by the Family gunsmiths so it could function on full automatic.

The Auto-Ordnance was a re-creation of the Thompson Model 1927 used by gangsters during the early decades of the twentieth century.

“Blade!” Rainbow shouted.

Blade pointed the ten-inch barrel at the scavenger and squeezed the trigger. The boom of the .44 Magnum was deafening in the confines of the transport.

The scavenger reacted as though he’d slammed into a wall. His body was flung backward, sprawling in a heap at the side of the highway.

Blade aimed at a scavenger with a rifle and fired, the heavy slug taking the top of the scavenger’s head off.

Geronimo entered the fray. He still carried an Arminius .357 Magnum under his right arm, and his remaining tomahawk was tucked under his belt. The new addition to his personal arsenal was a FNC Auto Rifle, and he swung it out his window as three of the scavengers closed in. The FNC burped and the three men tumbled to the ground, one of them shrieking in agony.

Bullets and arrows were striking the body of the SEAL, some of them whining as they were deflected by the bulletproof plastic.

“Hang on!” Blade yelled as he accelerated, flooring the pedal.

The SEAL surged ahead, plowing into one of the attackers and bowling him aside.

Blade and Geronimo rolled up their windows as the transport raced down the hill. The men in front parted, firing at the vehicle in a fruitless attempt to stop it.

“Mommy!” Star screamed, frightened by the shouting, gesticulating men and the projectiles colliding with the body of the transport.

One of the scavengers, braver or dumber than the rest, stood his ground, a shotgun leveled at the SEAL.

Blade deliberately mowed the shotgun-wielder over, ramming the scavenger at the same instant the man fired. Carpenter’s scientists had performed their tasks, had met his rigid specifications, with remarkable precision; even at point-blank range, the shotgun pellets were unable to penetrate the impervious plastic shell comprising the SEAL’s outer surface. The scavenger, however, was not as indestructible. The front grill of the transport caught him in the chest and caved it in, his ribs folding in upon themselves. For the fleetest moment, the scavenger was airborne, his face pressed against the windshield, his mouth gaping in silent horror at his untimely fate. Then his body slipped under the SEAL, his shoulders angling to the left, and the asphalt clutched his bouncing form and hurtled him under the front tire. His head was immediately pulverized in a spray of flesh and crimson.

“We made it!” Rainbow voiced her relief as the transport raced away from the scavengers.

Unexpectedly, Blade wrenched on the steering wheel, slewing the vehicle to a stop, its sleek structure positioned across the highway.

“What are you doing?” Rainbow demanded.

“What’s he doing?” Star echoed her mother.

The scavengers, elated at this turn of events, charged the SEAL en masse.

Blade glanced at Rainbow and Star. “Nobody,” he growled, “attacks us with impunity.” He looked at Geronimo and grinned.

The scavengers were running toward the transport, giddy at the prospect of its impending capture.

“Ready?” Blade asked Geronimo.

Geronimo nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Too bad Hickok couldn’t be here. He’d appreciate this.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Rainbow angrily inquired.

Blade hastily rolled down his window, scooped up the Auto-Ordnance, and pointed it at the approaching scavengers.

The scavengers in the front rows of the pack saw what was coming and tried to slow, to stop, to get out of the way, but the ones behind them pushed forward, oblivious to the danger.

Blade, smiling, let them have it.

The Auto-Ordnance bucked as the first rounds ripped into the scavengers, the slugs decimating the front rows, the scavengers tripping over one another as legs became entangled in falling bodies and limbs flew every which way.

Geronimo flung his door open and stood, his feet on the sideboard, the FNC supported by the roof for a better aim. He fired into the rear ranks of the scavengers, venting his war whoop.

The scavengers broke. Those still alive and able fled, disappearing into the forest. The road was covered with dead or dying scavengers, moaning and groaning and pleading for assistance.

Blade and Geronimo ceased firing.

“With a hundred like you two,” Rainbow commented, “my people could easily defeat the Citadel army.”

Blade placed his Auto-Ordnance on the console and wheeled the SEAL

on its westward course, slowly picking up speed.

Geronimo slid into his seat and closed the door, keeping his eyes to their rear. “No sign of pursuit,” he mentioned.

“I don’t expect any,” Blade remarked.

“When you think about it,” Geronimo commented, “we’ve been pretty lucky so far.”

“How so?” Blade asked.

“That was the first time we were attacked on this trip,” Geronimo noted. “We’ve been keeping on the highway too, right out in the open.”

“Not too surprising,” Blade said. “The wild animals shy away from the SEAL for some reason. Even the mutates, like that one we spotted yesterday afternoon, seem to sense the transport is not a living thing and avoid it. As for the Watchers, they prefer to congregate near inhabited areas and maintain their outposts in the larger towns. If we can avoid a Watcher patrol, we will probably reach Kalispell in one piece.”

“Probably?” Rainbow questioned.

“You never know,” Blade stated fatalistically.

“I’m hungry,” Star announced.

Blade glanced at Rainbow, “Why don’t you give her some jerky. Take some for yourself too. We won’t stop until it’s almost dark. I want to go as far as we can today.” Because, he reflected, the sooner we reach Kalispell, the faster I can return to my darling Jenny.

Rainbow nodded and turned to her rear. A glass jar, filled with venison jerky, was on top of a pile of supplies in the rear section of the vehicle. She picked up the jar, unscrewed the lid, and handed a strip of meat to her daughter.

“Thanks, Mom,” Star said, dutifully expressing her gratitude.

Rainbow removed another piece of jerky and bit into it. “Do either of you want some?” she inquired of Blade and Geronimo, her mouth full of venison.

The two Warriors shook their heads.

“But I would like to ask you some questions,” Blade said.

“What’s on your mind?” Rainbow replaced the jar in the back of the transport.

“What’s life been like for your people” Blade queried her. “Since the Big Blast, I mean?”

“Since the war?” Rainbow thought a moment. “My parents told me it was real rough right after the war. There were shortages of everything. But then things changed.”

“Changed?” Blade echoed. “How?”

“The white man was gone,” Rainbow elaborated. “Evacuated from all the towns and cities by the Government and moved south.”

“Why weren’t your people evacuated?” Blade interrupted.

Rainbow shrugged. “Beats me. We were left to fend for ourselves. After the tribal leaders organized, after the initial shock passed, we discovered we could do a lot better on our own, better than we did under white rule.

Western Montana was not hit by any of the nuclear missiles, except for Great Falls, hundreds of miles to the southeast of Kalispell and the Reservation. The prevailing winds blew the Great Falls fallout to the east, away from us. My people found themselves exactly as they had been before the white man arrived in this country: living in fertile land teeming with game and abundant water. We reverted to a simpler lifestyle, living as the Indian had for centuries before the coming of the whites. My people became hunters and tillers of the soil. We rediscovered our heritage and our dignity. Within a generation after the war, alcoholism, once a rampant problem, was almost eliminated.” She paused, then stared at the passing scenery. “My people discovered they were better off without the whites. Of course,” she stressed, “all of this happened before I was born, but my parents and grandparents told me all about it. We are a free people now, and we will never submit to the white man’s rule again!”

“Your people have stayed on the Reservation?” Blade inquired.

“We spread out some,” Rainbow replied. Many moved north and east and settled around Flathead Lake.”

“You said before,” Blade pointed out, “that Kalispell has been deserted all these years. Why didn’t your people just move into Kalispell or one of the other towns?”

“Because they belonged to the white man,” Rainbow said distastefully, “and we want nothing to do with anything belonging to our former masters.”

“You sound bitter,” Blade observed.

“Can you blame me? I know our history. The whites lied to us, murdered us, stole our land, and then forced us to live on a small parcel they so graciously offered. My people were little more than slaves! What hypocrites the whites were! They proudly claimed they released the black man from bondage, while at the same time they kept the red man confined to the reservations. No, my people want nothing to do with the white man or anything belonging to the white man! Be thankful we’re the way we are. It’s the only reason the hospital in Kalispell went untouched all these years.”

“What about this Cheyenne Citadel?” Blade questioned her. “Are all the people living there white? Do you have any idea who these people are, and why they’ve sent an army to attack you?”

Rainbow glanced down at her daughter. Star was asleep again, curled up on the seat, her head resting on Rainbow’s lap. “We know very little.

The Cheyenne Citadel is a fortress. We believe the people living in the Citadel, and those south of it, in what was once called Colorado, are the descendants of the ones the Government evacuated at the outset of World War Three. Once, years ago, before I was born, one of these people, a fugitive, came to live with my tribe. He told us about his life…”

“Your tribe didn’t kill him?” Blade interjected.

“No. Why should we?” Rainbow responded, puzzled.

“He was white, wasn’t he?”

“You’ve misunderstood,” Rainbow stated. “We don’t hate individual whites. I don’t hate you. We can’t blame you for what happened centuries ago. It’s the bastards who were running your Government—the crooked politicians, as they were called—and the bigots and the greedy fleecers. It’s their memory we despise. So long as one Flathead remains to tell the story to our children, my people will remember. And, remembering, we will never become slaves again!”

“What did this man tell your people?” Blade wanted to know. He looked at Geronimo, wondering why his friend wasn’t contributing to their conversation.

Geronimo was gazing out the windshield, apparently uninterested.

“He said the city of Denver, Colorado, is now the capital of the United States Government. He told my parents the Government was oppressive, and he left because he couldn’t tolerate being completely controlled and told what to do and when to do it. About a month after this man came to live with my tribe, he was found dead one morning, still in his sleeping blankets.”

“What did he die from?”

“No one knew. They couldn’t find a mark on him. Anyway, we haven’t had anything to do with the Citadel or the people living there. We kept to ourselves. They kept to themselves. At least, that’s the way it was until several years ago. Then they began sending patrols into our country, and these patrols fired at us whenever they saw us. Our warriors usually chased them off. Nothing else happened until this army marched from the Citadel and attacked us, forcing us into Kalispell and surrounding us. We know they intend to wipe us out, but we have no idea why. They’re better armed than we are, and it’s only a matter of time before my people run out of food in Kalispell.”

“So why are you going back?” Blade asked.

“I must,” Rainbow said. “We should never have left.”

“So why did you?”

Rainbow stretched and yawned. “I’m getting tired. Do you mind if I take a nap? We can talk some more later.”

“Fine by me,” Blade said, watching her close her eyes and lean her head on the seat. Why was she avoiding his question? Did she know more than she was telling? Who was she, really? After all, three soldiers had followed Star and her over a thousand miles, intent on killing them. Why?

The terrain was hilly and covered with brush, the highway winding across the landscape like a giant black snake.

Blade glanced at Geronimo.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You’re not saying much.”

Geronimo sighed and faced Blade. “I thought I was the last Indian.”

“I know.”

“It’s been quite a surprise to learn differently,” Geronimo stated.

“I can imagine,” Blade commiserated with him.

“Can you?” Geronimo asked doubtfully. “I’ve read every book in our library on Indians. I know our history as well as she does.” He pointed at Rainbow. “I’m proud to be an Indian. That’s one of the reasons I selected the name Geronimo at my own Naming. Geronimo inspired me in my youth. He refused to abandon the Indian ways, and fought against being dominated and domesticated. Geronimo is a symbol of me, a reminder I must never lose sight of my Indian heritage. Now, I learn an entire tribe feels the way I do. Now, I’m not so sure…”

“About what?”

“About where I belong.”

“What do you mean?”

Geronimo stared at Rainbow and Star. “I’m not so sure I should stay with the Family.”

Blade struggled to prevent his shock from showing. “What?”

“Maybe I should be living with the Flathead Indians,” Geronimo stated.

“You can’t be serious!”

“I am,” Geronimo declared. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.

The Flatheads and I share a common heritage. I’ve always felt slightly different from the rest pf the Family…”

“Because you’re the only Indian in the Family?” Blade asked.

“That’s part of it,” Geronimo admitted. “I’ve talked with Rainbow about it, and she says her people would welcome me into their tribe. She wants me to come live with them.”

“She does, does she?” Blade remarked, his tone tinged with anger.

“Yes.” Geronimo turned and watched a hawk high overhead. “In fact, she was the one who first suggested the idea.”

“Really.” Out of the corner of his eyes, reflected in the rear-view mirror, Blade caught sight of Rainbow’s face.

She was still leaning her head on the seat, still lying with her eyes closed, still taking her nap.

But she was grinning in smug satisfaction.