“I understand,” Geronimo said.
“Hey,” Hamlin interjected, looking at Geromino. “Why’d you ask about the reading? I can’t read. What’s the big deal over a bunch of stupid books?”
“My Family are readers,” Geronimo divulged. “I would imagine the citizens of the Civilized Zone can read too. But it’s not that way elsewhere. Reading and education are lost arts.”
“So what’s the big deal?” Hamlin reiterated.
“Readers are thinkers, Hamlin,” Geronimo told him.
“So who needs to think?” Hamlin wanted to know.
Their discussion was abruptly punctuated by the sharp retort of gunfire ahead.
Kilrane reined in and the remainder of the patrol did likewise.
The two point men were approaching at a gallop. Behind them rose a spreading dust cloud.
“Three guesses what that is,” Hamlin remarked nervously.
Geronimo knew what he meant, even before the point men arrived.
“It’s a Cavalry unit!” one of the point riders shouted. “About three dozen.”
“They took some shots at us,” the second point man yelled, “but they were too far off.”
“We’ll head southeast,” Kilrane ordered. “Maybe we can swing around them.”
The patrol wheeled.
“Look!” someone cried. “There’s more of them!”
Geronimo estimated another three or four dozen were fast approaching from the southeast. With the first group coming in from the west, Kilrane wasn’t left with many options. If he attempted to travel south, his patrol would be caught between the two larger Cavalry units. There was only one viable alternative.
“We go north!” Kilrane directed, waving his right arm over his head.
“We can’t!” Hamlin exclaimed, alarmed. “Look!”
More Cavalry riders were coming at them from the north.
“We’re boxed in!” a Legionnaire voiced the obvious.
“No, we’re not!” Kilrane declared, and indicated the northwest.
Many of the men exchanged anxious looks.
“The Dead Zone,” Hamlin said in a subdued tone.
“What if you just surrender?” Geronimo asked.
“Rory would have us shot,” Kilrane replied. “No, there’s only one way out of this, and I’d bet they planned it this way.”
“They’re trying to force you into the Dead Zone?”
Kilrane nodded, his blue eyes glaring at the Cavalry riders. “What else? They outnumber us, sure, but why waste men and ammunition when they can let the Dead Zone do their dirty work for them?”
“Maybe we could make a stand here?” Hamlin feebly suggested.
Kilrane motioned with his arm and urged the Palomino forward, bearing northwest.
After a moment’s hesitation, his men followed his example.
Geronimo stayed alongside Kilrane, reluctant to allow Cynthia out of his sight. She was visibly pale, evidently quite frightened. Who could blame her? What was it Kilrane had said? Fantastic tales of bloodthirsty monsters?
Great!
Just great!
The next time I want to be alone with my thoughts, Geronimo promised himself, I’ll simply dig a hole somewhere in the Home and meditate in it until I’m ready to come out again.
Someone should have warned him.
Introspection could be hazardous to your health!
Maybe Hamlin had the right idea after all.
Who needs to think?
Chapter Six
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was concerned. The diminutive, wiry leader of Beta Triad counted eleven uniformed soldiers in front of him, meaning his Triad was outnumbered by almost four to one. Not the best of odds.
Ultimately, though, the amount of their opponents was irrelevant. Orders were orders. There could be twenty-five soldiers and it wouldn’t negate their instructions. Blade’s directive had been explicit: “We can’t permit them to return to their headquarters with more information concerning the Family. Take them out. If possible, a prisoner or two would be nice. But beyond that, there must be no survivors. Understood?” All three members of Beta Triad had acknowledged their comprehension.
Their moment of truth was upon them.
Rikki was crouched behind a boulder on the western edge of the hillock.
He wore his usual baggy black pants and shirt and ankle-high moccasins.
His black hair and brown eyes matched the serious, intense expression on his angular face. Clutched in his left hand was a long black scabbard containing his prized katana, the only genuine Japanese sword the Family owned. It was his by virtue of his amazing skill in the martial arts, exactly as Hickok possessed the Colt Pythons and Blade his cherished Bowies; they were the best with those particular weapons. Every Warrior took lessons in unarmed combat, taught by an Elder, a former Warrior. These lessons were called simply Tegner, because the manuals of instruction were dozens of books written by a man named Bruce Tegner.
Kurt Carpenter had placed every book Tegner ever wrote in the Family library: illustrated, step-by-step volumes on kung fu, savate, karate, jujitsu, judo, and other styles of martial combat. Rikki-Tikki-Tavi was the Family’s premier martial artist.
Rikki glanced to his left and spotted Teucer behind a tree, his compound bow in his hands, an arrow already notched on the string. A full quiver was attached to his belt and slanted across his right hip. His green pants and shirt provided perfect camouflage. A six-inch strip of leather secured his shoulder-length blond hair at the base of his neck, suspending his blond locks in a ponytail. His blond beard was trimmed so that it jutted forward on his chin, presenting a decidedly medieval appearance. As he had several times before, Rikki wondered why the bowman had selected the name Teucer instead of Robin Hood or William Tell at his Naming. It was probably for the same reason Rikki had picked his own name; Teucer was as ardent a fan of Homer as Rikki was of Kipling.
The final member of Beta Triad was lying behind the fallen trunk of a former giant of the forest, off to Rikki’s right. Rikki could see his motionless, muscular form prone on the ground. Of all the Warriors in the Family, only one came anywhere close to matching Blade’s awesome physique and deadly ability with knives; of all the Warriors, just one could approximate Hickok’s incredible skill with handguns; and when it came to the martial arts, this same man was able to hold his own against Rikki and Seiko in competition. While not necessarily outstanding with any one weapon, or extremely exceptional in any lethal art, he was recognized as the best all-around Warrior the Family currently had, the one man capable of doing all things well. Rikki was grateful Plato had assigned him to Beta Triad. He just wished the man had chosen a more conventional name. Who in their right mind would want to be named after the Hindu god of death? And who else would have asked the Weavers to create a seamless dark-blue garment with the ebony silhouette of a skull on the back?
Only Yama.
There was another essential difference between Yama and the other Warriors. Although all of the Warriors were proficient in the use of various firearms and other weaponry, most evinced a predilection for a particular favorite: Blade, his Bowies; Hickok, his Pythons; Geronimo, his tomahawk; Teucer, his bow; and Rikki his katana. Yama displayed a small preference for a carved scimitar, but he tended to utilize a vast variety of arms, far more than any of the other Warriors. For this occasion he was armed to the proverbial teeth. He carried his scimitar in a sheath attached to his belt above his left hip. On his right hip was a fifteen-inch survival knife. In a shoulder holster under his right arm was a Browning Hi-Power 9 millimeter Automatic Pistol. Under his left arm he sported a Smith and Wesson Model 586 Distinguished Combat Magnum. Today he also had a Wilkinson “Terry” Carbine, converted to full automatic by the Family Gunsmiths and adapted to hold a fifty-shot magazine instead of the standard thirty.