“You’re definitely more modest,” Blade rejoined.
“He’s right,” Jenny spoke up. “Hickok is the best shot in the Family, and I might as well learn from the best.” She reached out and tenderly stroked Blade’s right forearm. “You’re the best knife fighter, sure, but what good would it do me to learn knife fighting? It wouldn’t help me much if I was attacked by a mutate, would it? I need a weapon I can use at a distance, and guns have it over knives in that respect. So that’s one of the reasons I went to Nathan without consulting you.”
“What’s the other?”
“Actually,” Jenny said, grinning, “I was hoping to keep it as a surprise until your return from your next trip to the Twin Cities. I was planning to shock your shorts with my deadly prowess!”
Blade smiled, recognizing the validity of her reasoning. If the affair with the Trolls had taught the Family anything, it was one paramount fact: complacency could be fatal.
“You see my point?” Jenny asked.
Blade nodded.
“No hard feelings, pard?” Hickok inquired.
“Why should there be?” Blade demanded. He looked at Sherry, eager to drop the topic. “What about you? You learning to protect yourself too?”
“Nope,” Sherry responded. “I’m practicing to become a Warrior.”
“What?” Blade and Hickok cried in unison.
Blade glanced at Hickok, noting the gunman’s slack jaw and shocked expression. Sherry wasn’t a Family member; she’d been rescued by Hickok from the Trolls, and the two, rumor had it—although Hickok would not confirm the report—were an item. Did Sherry know. Blade wondered, about Hickok’s last love, a Warrior woman named Joan? Joan had been savagely killed in front of Hickok’s eyes, and Blade knew his friend still wasn’t fully recovered from that profound tragedy. How would Hickok react to this development?
“Like hell you are!” the gunfighter snapped, answering Blade’s query.
“What’s wrong?” Sherry demanded, perplexed by the hurt expression on Hickok’s face. “I thought you’d be proud of me if I could qualify to become a Warrior.”
“You thought wrong,” Hickok growled.
“Don’t the Elders allow women to become Warriors?” Sherry questioned him.
“There have been a few,” Hickok stated, his features clouding.
“Then why don’t you like the idea?” Sherry goaded him. “Is it because I’m not one of the Family? Is that it?”
“No,” Hickok snapped.
“Then what?” Sherry asked, confused. “You don’t think I’m good enough to qualify?”
“That’s not it either,” Hickok said harshly.
“Then what?” Sherry asked, annoyed, stamping her left foot in frustration.
“Yeah,” Shane interjected. “What’s so wrong…” He stopped, startled when Hickok spun on him, the gunman’s visage contorted in rage.
“When I want your opinion in a personal matter,” Hickok warned, his voice low and menacing, “I’ll ask for it.” He looked at Sherry a moment, muttered something about “damn contrary females” under his breath, whirled, and stalked off into the trees.
“Whew!” Shane said, letting out his breath. “For a second there I thought he was going to draw on me.”
“He’d never do that and you know it,” Blade stated.
“What’s wrong with him?” Sherry inquired of no one in particular.
“What did I say to get him so mad?”
“You don’t know?” Jenny questioned.
“Know what?” Sherry’s eyes were rimmed with tears.
“You’d better come with me,” Jenny said, placing her left arm around Sherry’s shoulders. “We’re going to have a girl-to-girl talk.”
“You know why he’s acting this way?” Sherry asked hopefully.
“I’ve a pretty good idea,” Jenny confirmed. “Let’s go find a spot where we can be alone.” She blew a kiss at Blade and led Sherry from the firing range.
“So much for practice today,” Shane mumbled.
“Hickok was right.”
“We could practice knife fighting,” Blade offered, patting his Bowie handles.
Shane gazed at the Bowies in evident distaste. “Thanks, Blade, but I’ll pass. Think I’ll go talk to my folks.” He smiled and walked away.
Blade surveyed the now empty clearing. “What is it?” he soliloquized aloud. “My breath?” He chuckled at his own joke, mentally debating whether he should requisition a firearm from the armory and get in some drill while the range was free.
The firing range was a large clearing located in the southeastern corner of the Home, situated as far as possible from the areas normally utilized by the Family to insure greater safety for all concerned. Because the Family congregated its activities in the western half of the thirty-acre Home, reserving the eastern half for agricultural endeavors and natural embellishment, the possibility of a stray bullet striking someone, or of a child stumbling across the range while it was being used, was extremely remote.
Blade stretched, contemplating the expanse of scenery in front of him, thankful the Founder of the Home, a wealthy filmmaker named Kurt Carpenter, had had the foresight to construct it with space to spare. The thirty acres were surrounded by the twenty-foot-high brick wall, and the wall was topped with barbed wire as an added security measure. A stream was diverted into the northwestern corner of the Home, serving as a moat at the base of the wall, another precaution against attack, and channeled out of the Home under the southeastern corner of the wall.
What was that? Blade detected movement to his left and turned, spotting one of the Warriors on guard duty on top of the wall making his rounds along the rampart. After the successful Troll assault, the Warriors had increased the frequency of their patrols, vowing they would never fail the Family again.
The Warriors. Blade sighed. As their chief, he would need to make his decision, his selections, soon. Plato and the Elders were awaiting his recommendations, his choice of the candidates for Warrior status. Four Warrior positions needed to be filled, one in an existing Triad and the other three for a brand new Triad. The Family Warriors were divided into four groups comprised of three Warriors apiece. Their code names were Alpha, Beta, Gamma, and Omega. Gamma required a replacement for a recent loss, and the Elders desired to add a new Triad, Zulu, as a guarantee that the Warrior ranks would be sufficient to adequately safeguard the Home.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of feet pounding on the ground. Someone was in a hurry, coming from the direction of the Blocks.
Blade placed his hands on his Bowies.
A tall man with short blond hair and brilliant blue eyes burst into the clearing. He wore buckskin pants and a brown shirt sewn together from discarded pillowcases. A long broadsword dangled from a leather belt at his waist.
“Blade…” the man began, breathless, his brow sweating, indicating the distance he’d covered to convey his message.
“Report, Spartacus,” Blade directed him.
Spartacus was a member of Gamma Triad, and one of the most trustworthy Warriors in the Family. “We’ve received the signal,” he hastily explained. “Rikki, Teucer, and Yama are in position. Your orders?”
Rikki, Teucer, and Yaraa constituted Beta Triad. “Follow me,” Blade ordered, and took off at a brisk run.
So! The trap was set to be sprung! All he had to do was give the word.
“You planning to take any of them alive?” Spartacus inquired.
“That decision will be up to Rikki,” Blade replied.
Spartacus grinned. “Then they’re dead meat!”
“Better them than us,” Blade said.
“You sound so grim,” Spartacus noted. “Lighten up. What can these bozos do to us anyway?”