Hickok looked at the three Family men manning the drawbridge mechanism. He gestured upward with his right hand. They proceeded to elevate the wooden bridge, the massive chain rattling and clanking as it moved the gears.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Spartacus commented.
“I wish Blade and the rest of the Freedom Federation Army was with me,” Hickok commented.
“Do you have any idea how many we’re up against?” Spartacus inquired.
“Two thousand,” Hickok answered.
“Two thousand,” Spartacus repeated. “Our estimate was right.”
“That ain’t the worst of it, pard,” Hickok declared.
“What could be worse?”
“They’ve got a tank,” Hickok told him.
“A tank!” Spartacus couldn’t keep his shock from showing.
“Things are gonna get hot around here,” Hickok predicted.
“What are we going to do to stop their tank?” Spartacus asked.
“Beats me,” Hickok replied. “The Founder didn’t leave us any antitank guns or heavy explosives.”
“Then what will we do?” Spartacus queried, aghast at the idea of pitting puny automatic-rifle fire against a tank.
“We’ll do what I always do,” Hickok stated. “We’ll play it by ear. Trust me.”
“But a tank!” Spartacus exclaimed.
“Calm down, pard,” Hickok advised. “Don’t let it get you in an uproar.”
“How can you be calm,” Spartacus retorted, “knowing two thousand soldiers and a tank are going to attack our Home?”
“What good would it do me to lose sleep over it?” Hickok countered.
“You should have a philosophy of life like mine.”
“You have a philosophy of life?” Spartacus asked in amazement, emphasizing the first word.
“You bet your boots!” Hickok affirmed. “You’ve got to take what comes your way in life and make the best of it.”
“That’s your whole philosophy?”
“And don’t sweat the small potatoes,” Hickok amended his statement.
“A tank is small potatoes?” Spartacus rejoined.
“Look at the bright side,” Hickok recommended.
“What bright side?”
“They ain’t plannin’ to nuke us.” Hickok yawned. He stared to the east.
“Is Sherry in our cabin?” he inquired.
“As far as I know,” Spartacus responded. “She wanted to pull guard duty tonight, but I told her to get some sleep.”
Hickok gazed into his friend’s eyes. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“She’s supposed to be on the east wall by dawn,” Spartacus said.
Hickok smiled. “Dawn is hours away. I reckon I’ll mosey on over to our cabin and let her know her heartthrob has returned.”
“You go ahead,” Spartacus said. “I’ll be waiting for you here, on top of the wall. I don’t think I could get any sleep anyhow.”
Hickok started to amble off. “Give a yell if you need me.”
“I will,” Spartacus promised. He waited until the gunman was obscured by the night, then he turned and climbed the stairs to the western rampart.
How did Hickok do it? He always remained so cool and confident, even when confronted by the gravest danger. Nothing seemed to bother the gunfighter. Or did it really affect him, and he only pretended to be indifferent? Whatever the case, Spartacus was now wholeheartedly happy the gunman was back.
Spartacus wondered how he would fare in the battle ahead. He had fought scavengers, mutates, and Trolls in the past, but never a threat of this magnitude before. Neither had most of the Warriors. Their crucible of combat loomed with the rising of the fiery sun. If the Warriors proved unworthy, the Family would fade into oblivion, its memory erased from the historical record of humanity with few to mourn its passing. The wind from the north gusted again, and for the first time that night Spartacus felt the cold. He shivered.
Chapter Nine
Kurt Carpenter, the immensely wealthy filmmaker responsible for constructing the survival site he dubbed “the Home,” and for organizing his followers into “the Family,” had wanted to make the postwar transition as smooth as possible. Carpenter attempted to forsee the Family’s future needs and provide for them. He projected a breakdown of law and order, and proceeded to amass an extensive weapons collection to insure the Family’s survival. He considered an enormous library essential to the Family’s welfare. How else were they to obtain the knowledge crucial for maintaining the basic necessities of life? Close to half a million books were stocked in E Block: books on gardening, hunting, fishing, and metalsmithing, natural medicine, herbal healing, geography, history, and religion and philosophy, the martial arts, military tactics, and photographic books, encyclopedias, dictionaries, sundry reference books and much, much more.
Carpenter also left them the SEAL. The Solar Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle— SEAL, as it became known—cost Carpenter millions upon millions. Of revolutionary design, it ran on solar power collected by a pair of unique panels on the roof of the van-like vehicle. Its body was constructed of impervious plastic, shatterproof and heat-resistant, tinted green and designed to prevent anyone outside the transport from seeing within. Six extraordinary batteries, each with an unlimited life span, capable of being recharged countless times, were stored in a lead-lined case under the SEAL. Four huge tires served to convey the vehicle over any terrain. The SEAL had been Carpenter’s pride and joy.
The Family saw it as an irreplaceable blessing. Without it, they would not be able to travel great distances from the Home. With it, they could go virtually anywhere. Its indestructible body shielded the occupants from harm, and Carpenter’s modifications turned the SEAL into an awesome dreadnaught.
Carpenter had hired several mercenaries, skilled weapons specialists, and told them to make the SEAL unstoppable. They did their best. A pair of 50-caliber machine guns were mounted on the vehicle, one under each headlight. A miniaturized surface-to-air missile, dubbed a STINGER, was fitted in the roof above the driver’s seat. At the flip of a toggle switch, a roof panel would slide aside, the missile would slant upward on its launch track, and presto! A flamethrower was positioned behind the center of the front fender, an Army Surplus model with a range of 20 feet. As if all of this weren’t enough, a rocket launcher was secreted in the middle of the front grill. Shielded against the heat from the flamethrower, the rocket would emerge from its concealed compartment at the flick of the appropriate switch.
When it came to offensive weaponry, Blade reflected, the SEAL was armed to the proverbial teeth. He skillfully drove the transport south on U.S. Highway 287, avoiding the ruts and potholes in the road. The highways in the Civilized Zone weren’t in much better shape than those outside the Civilized Zone; a century of neglect had taken its toll.
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi sat across from Blade in the bucket seat next to the passenger door. His katana was cradled in his lap. Behind the pair of bucket seats separated by a console was a seat running the width of the vehicle. Yama and Teucer occupied this seat, Yama behind Blade and Teucer behind Rikki. The rear section of the SEAL was devoted to a large storage space for provisions. Curled up on top of the pile of supplies, taking a snooze, was Lynx.
“Where are we now?” Blade asked. Another small town was directly ahead, and like all of the others it was deserted.
“We just passed a sign,” Rikki commented. “I didn’t catch the name.”
“I saw part of it,” offered Teucer. “Something about The Garden Spot of Colorado.”
Blade scanned the sparse landscape on both sides of the highway.
Except for a few trees here and there, there was nothing to compare to a “garden.” Which wasn’t too surprising. One thing he had noted, after many hours of studying the maps and atlases in the Family library, was that the people of long ago picked the weirdest names for places, usually with no semblance of rhyme or reason. Many aspects of the prewar culture were decidedly strange, some even perverse. Small wonder the idiots had almost destroyed the world!