“I’m not fooling!” the sergeant warned. “Do it right now or else!”
Hickok’s left hand drifted to his belt buckle. “I don’t reckon I could prevail upon you to surrender peaceably?”
“What? Are you nuts?”
“Nope. I’m alive,” Hickok stated, “which is more than I can say for you.”
The sergeant never saw the massive arm encircling his neck, nor did he feel more than a twinge of pain as the razor point of a Bowie knife ripped up and into his neck, piercing his jugular, driving past his jawbone, and imbedding itself in the base of his skull. He gurgled once, blood erupting from the wound and cascading down his chest.
The remaining pair of soldiers, intent on keeping an eye on the man in the buckskins, glanced at their sergeant, astonished to see a steely giant looming behind him. One of them tried to bring his M-16 to bear, but the woman on the ground suddenly swung her legs in an arc, clipping him behind the knees and sending him sprawling to the highway.
Frantic, the third trooper swung toward the giant in the black vest.
Before he could fire, the gunman was there.
Hickok charged in a rush, grabbing the stiletto from behind his back and lunging, the narrow blade penetrating the third trooper’s left eye.
The trooper screamed and fell to his knees, futilely striving to extract the stiletto from his eye.
He quivered for a moment, then toppled over, dead.
Bertha was on top of her foe, pinning him to the road with the M-16 pressed against his neck. He was gaping at her in sheer horror.
“Please don’t kill me!” he wailed.
Blade and Hickok joined her.
“What should I do with him?” Bertha asked.
“Watch him for a moment,” Blade instructed her. He turned and strode into the darkness.
Bertha stood, the M-16 in her hands. “Don’t move!” she told her prisoner. “And keep quiet!”
The young soldier froze, his eyes wide.
Bertha looked at Hickok. “Thanks for the assist, White Meat.”
“Any time.”
“Too bad you had to go and marry Sherry,” Bertha stated. “We would of made a great combo.”
Hickok nodded at the captive. “Now’s not the time nor the place.
Besides, I thought we had this all settled.”
“I never made any promises,” Bertha mentioned.
Hickok, desperate to change the subject, leaned over the soldier. “Did I just see your eyelid twitch?”
“No, sir!” the trooper timorously replied.
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Well, don’t let it happen again!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Leave the poor boy alone,” Bertha said. “He might pee his pants if you keep it up.”
They clearly heard the sound of the SEAL starting, and a few seconds later Blade drove the transport onto the roadway. He braked, turned it off, and jumped outside to the ground. Geronimo and the others followed his example.
“What do we have here?” Orson demanded. He walked up to the soldier and, without warning or explanation, kicked him in the side.
“What the hell do you think you’re doin’, big belly?” Bertha angrily inquired. “There was no need for that!”
“Just giving him some of his own medicine,” Orson answered, surprised by her attitude. “What’s the big deal.”
“Leave him alone,” Blade commanded, stepping up to Orson.
The bearded grumbler started to say something, decided it wouldn’t be wise, shrugged instead, and walked away.
“What are we going to do with him?” Geronimo asked.
“First things first,” Blade said. He looked at Rudabaugh. “Take the binoculars up that rise and keep your eyes peeled. If you see anything heading our way, come running.”
Rudabaugh nodded and left.
Blade squatted next to the soldier. “I’m going to ask you some questions. I want honest answers.” He drew his right Bowie, the one he’d used to kill the sergeant. “If I suspect you’re lying, you know what I’ll do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fine. How many soldiers are left in Catlow?” Blade inquired as a test question.
“Let me think,” the trooper said hastily, calculating. “About twenty-five,” he concluded.
Blade nodded. The number fit. He’d already known there were originally 40 in Catlow. They had wiped out the 12 guarding the Flatheads. The 3 here made it 15. Subtract 15 from 40, and the result was 25. The trooper was telling the truth.
“Where is the garrison located?” Blade wanted to know.
“There’s a large square in the center of town,” the soldier said. “Our headquarters is a concrete building to the south of the square.”
“Were you sent to check on the road crew, on the Flatheads?”
“How did you know?” The trooper asked, gawking.
“Who’s in charge in Catlow?”
“Captain Reno.”
“When will he expect you back?” Blade queried.
“Not before morning,” the soldier stated. “He told us he thinks they had mechanical trouble, and they wouldn’t want to leave one of the transports with a load of Indians out overnight. He said they were probably camping out and would send the jeep back in the morning for a mechanic. It’s happened before.”
“Why wouldn’t they just send someone back at night?” Blade inquired.
“We don’t do a lot of driving at night, not unless it’s really necessary.”
“I don’t get it. Why not?”
The soldier fearfully gazed skyward. “There are… things… out at night.”
“But the captain sent you?”
“He felt it would be safe,” the trooper responded. “The moon is not out tonight.”
“What the blazes does the moon have to do with anything?” Hickok questioned.
“I don’t rightly know. I’m kind of new here. I was assigned to Catlow only a month ago. I’ve heard a lot of stories— “
“Maybe we shouldn’t be standin’ out here,” Bertha said, looking up.
“What do we do with him?” Geronimo mentioned again.
“We could tie him up and leave him at the side of the road,” Hickok suggested.
“Please! No!” the soldier pleaded. “They might get me!”
“Who might get you?” Blade asked.
“The… things.”
“Why not give him to me?” Lynx requested. He had been quietly leaning against the SEAL, but now he moved forward and stood near Blade. “I could use a tasty snack.”
At the sight of the genetic mutant, the young soldier recoiled in stark fear. “Keep him away from me!”
“He won’t hurt you,” Blade promised.
“Sure, sonny,” Lynx said, grinning, his green eyes twinkling. “I was only foolin’.”
“I know who you are,” the trooper informed Lynx.
“Oh. you do?”
“Yeah. I saw you on the news. You’re the one who tried to kill the Doktor! You’re the one who nuked the Citadel!” The trooper’s eyes were terrified saucers.
Bertha glanced at Lynx. “You nuked the Citadel?”
“What’s the big deal?” Lynx demanded defensively. “It wasn’t a big nuke! Just a little thermo, the portable missiles they used a lot during World War Three.”
“You nuked the Citadel?” Bertha shook her head in disbelief. Her knowledge of nuclear weaponry was scanty, a result of her lack of schooling. But she had heard many tales during her gang years in the Twin Cities, and she knew from firsthand experience some of the horrifying results of the nuclear devastation caused by the Third World War.
“You’re the one they call Lynx!” the soldier exclaimed. “You’re the reason they had to evac—” He abruptly stopped, his head cocked to one side.
“SSSShhhhh,” Hickok said.
“Does anybody hear anything?” Geronimo asked.
They all listened intently. There was a faint swishing sound in the air.