“No.”
George breathed a tremendous sigh of obvious relief.
“What’s the quickest way to Denver?” Blade inquired.
George pointed to the east. “Take 56 east to Interstate 25. Follow 25 south into Denver.”
“Get the convoy ready to move out,” Blade said to Rikki.
Rikki nodded and left.
Blade nodded at Yama, who stepped back, withdrawing his Wilkinson from the Assassin’s ear.
George rose to his feet, anxiously eyeing those around him.
“Let me pose another question,” Blade said.
“Sure,” George responded.
“What would happen if Samuel was killed? If the military rule of the Civilized Zone was overthrown? How would the average person react?”
Blade queried.
“They’d be dancing in the streets.”
“You really think so?” Blade asked.
“No one likes living under a dictator,” George stated.
Blade looked at Yama. “Take him away. Place him in one of the trucks. Tie him up.”
“I won’t run away,” George said. “I promise.”
“Sorry,” Blade remarked. “I can’t take the chance. We’ll release you after this is all over.”
Yama motioned for George to start toward the parked troop transports, then followed. George moved slowly, limping, his knee hurting.
“So, big guy,” Lynx said in his high voice, “it looks like the showdown is almost here.”
“I just wish I knew where those missing two thousand troops are,” Blade commented, worried.
“What’s the big deal?” Lynx demanded. “If they show their ugly faces, we’ll stomp ’em into the dirt! Who cares where they are?”
“I care,” Blade replied.
“Boy, are you a worry wart!” Lynx exclaimed sarcastically.
Blade glanced down into Lynx’s lively green eyes. “You think so?”
“I know so,” Lynx affirmed. “Look! You’ve got everything going your way. Sammy is holed up in Denver, pissin’ in his pants. His Army isn’t at full strength. The people will probably make you a national hero if you kick Sammy’s butt. And you sent that guy…” Lynx paused. “What was his name again?”
“Toland.”
“Yeah. You sent that Toland guy from Cheyenne to spread the word that you were coming. He was a rebel leader, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“So he’s out gathering all the rebels so they can meet you at Denver. Sammy doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell.”
“I appreciate your analysis,” Blade said.
“Anytime,” Lynx commented. “Say, how long do you think it will take us to reach Denver?”
“I don’t know,” Blade answered. “We’re close. Not more than fifty miles away. But we’ll be moving very slowly. I won’t run the risk of an ambush.”
He paused. “Why’d you want to know?”
“I was kind of hoping we’d run across an open post office,” Lynx said, grinning.
“A post office?”
“Yeah. You know. Where you send mail and packages and stuff like that.”
“We don’t have post offices outside the Civilized Zone,” Blade reminded his furry associate.
“Oh. Yeah. That’s right,” Lynx said.
“What do you want one of these post offices for?” Blade inquired.
“I wanted to send a package to Sammy.”
“A package?” Blade reiterated, puzzled.
“Yep. A box of diapers.” Lynx chuckled.
“Diapers?”
“Of course,” Lynx stated. “I don’t want Sammy to be all smelly when I rip ‘im to shreds!”
Chapter Fourteen
Where in the world was he?
The eastern horizon was tinged with a touch of red and pink, indicating the dawn was not far off.
He had to keep his eyes open!
He had to!
But he was so very, very tired. More fatigued than he had ever been. His eyelids drooped lower and lower with each passing minute. And small wonder! When was the last time he had slept? Wasn’t it that nap he took in the troop transport? He sighed. Maybe he should have taken Boone up on the offer to have a Cavalryman accompany him. Then again, none of the Cavalrymen knew how to drive a jeep. And—so he reasoned—the less weight in the jeep, the more mileage he could get out of each gallon of gas.
His fuel consumption was crucial. He’d barely have enough to reach Denver and warn Blade as it was!
Boone and his men had arrived at the truck less than an hour before he took off in the stolen jeep. He’d been overjoyed to learn Hickok was alive and well.
He vigorously shook his head, striving to resist his overpowering impulse to sleep. Sweet sleep. Great Spirit, preserve him!
Was he still heading in the right direction? It was difficult to determine without the aid of a map. So far as he knew, he was in southwestern South Dakota, not far from what had been once known as Rapid City. Amazingly, he hadn’t encountered any opposition on his journey. Once, the day before, he’d seen about a dozen riders on a hill to his west. He speculated they might have been Cavalry riders, but what if they hadn’t been?
He prayed the jeep would hold up. First, it had sputtered and died in northeastern South Dakota. It’d taken mere minutes to realize the jeep was out of fuel and to refill the tank using one of the spare cans attached to the rear of the vehicle. Then, when he’d attempted to restart it, he must have done something wrong. The engine had coughed and belched, but wouldn’t turn over, and a pungent odor had enveloped the vehicle. He’d tried again and again to restart it, to no avail.
Hours later, after the odor had dissipated, he was able to get the motor running again.
But he’d lost so much time!
And then there’d been the mutate! One of those hairless, pus-covered, perpetually ravenous mutations proliferating over the landscape since the Big Blast. He’d spotted it lying in the center of the road, apparently sunning itself, blocking his path. He debated whether to simply shoot it, but he was leery of attracting unwanted attention with the gunblast. The mutate had been huge; driving around it was out of the question. The highway was hemmed in on both sides by dense forest. So he’d have to wait until the mutate rose and shuffled into the trees. He was surprised the vile thing hadn’t seen his jeep, parked 500 yards away to the top of a low rise. The moment the creature was out of sight, he’d gunned the engine and continued his trip. He could have tried to run the mutate down with his jeep, but the vehicle might have been damaged.
So here he was, on his last legs, valiantly resisting an urge to cease defying the inevitable and accept the necessity of slumber. He found his mind drifting, and he inadvertently closed his eyes.
Seconds passed.
With a start, he opened his eyes.
The jeep was heading toward a large boulder at the side of the highway!
He wrenched on the steering wheel, aligning the vehicle on the road once more.
It was no use! He had to get some sleep! What good would it do anyone if he crashed?
He applied the brakes and pulled to the shoulder of the cracked and pothole-covered road. Disgusted at his lack of fortitude, he twisted the key to the Off position and leaned his weary forehead on the steering wheel.
Just a little sleep.
That was all he needed.
The sun rose above the eastern horizon, and the scenic countryside was suddenly aglow in soft yellow light.
He slowly raised his head, glancing around to insure he was alone. He didn’t want anyone to sneak up—
What was that?
For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Where was he, anyway?
Had he taken a wrong turn in the darkness of the night?
There were four gigantic faces carved into a towering granite cliff. Each face must have been 50 to 60 feet high. Each had been carved in remarkable detail. The one on the left had an imposing countenance, highlighted by a sloping nose and the firm set of his chin. The second from the left seemed to have his hair parted in the middle, and he had an honest, open expression. The next one in line sported a thick mustache, and the last one a beard.