“Who the blazes is it?” came a muffled response.
“Blade,” the giant announced.
“I’m busy!”
“I’ll bet you are,” Blade said, chuckling. “I can wait.”
“This might take a while, pard,” yelled the gunman.
“I can wait,” Blade reiterated. He leaned upon the rough wall and idly crossed his massive arms at chest height. This was the life! he told himself.
Taking it easy. Enjoying his wife and son and discharging his responsibilities as head Warrior with a minimum of fuss. The fewer hassles, the better. A robin alighted in a maple tree at the west end of the cabin. A squirrel crisscrossed the ground 15 yards away. The scene was tranquil and soothing.
As life should be.
The cabin door was jerked open, the gunman framed in the doorway with a diaper clutched in his right hand. “Is this important?” he demanded. “I’m kind of tied up at the moment.”
Blade grinned. “So I see. Did you reach the toilet in time?”
“You saw, huh?” the gunman asked sheepishly.
“I think I’m going to nominate you for daddy of the year,” Blade joked.
Little Ringo waddled into view between the gunman’s legs, his pants down around his ankles, his privates exposed to the world.
“Hi, Ringo,” Blade cheerfully greeted him. “Is Hickok behaving himself?”
Ringo looked up at his father. “Ringo pee-pee,” he said in his high voice.
“Now?” Hickok inquired.
Ringo nodded and proceeded to urinate all over the floor and Hickok’s moccasins.
“Blast!” Hickok said, taking hold of his son and scrambling toward the bathroom.
Blade laughed. “You sure you know what you’re doing?” he called out.
“Funny! Funny! Funny!” was the muttered reply from the bathroom.
“I don’t know if Sherry should leave you alone with Ringo,” Blade taunted his friend. “It could be hazardous to the boy’s health.”
“What about you, pard?” Hickok rejoined. “How come Jenny let you out of the house without your leash?”
“She’s over at Geronimo’s,” Blade answered. “Where’s your wife?”
“She went to see the Tillers about an extra allotment of veggies for Ringo,” Hickok revealed. “He had the runs, and the Healers said he needs more greens in his diet.”
“Gabriel had the runs last week,” Blade said. “He’s better now,” he added, referring to his own son.
Hickok emerged from the bathroom a minute later with Ringo in tow.
There was a distinct bulge on the left side of the boy’s pants.
“Are you certain you put that diaper on correctly?” Blade asked.
Hickok glanced at his son. “Yeah. Why?”
“It doesn’t look right,” Blade said.
“You’re just jealous ’cause you can’t do it as good as me,” Hickok retorted.
A slim, blonde woman, wearing a brown leather shirt and faded, patched jeans, walked around the east end of the cabin. A Smith and Wesson .357 Combat Magnum was belted around her narrow waist. “Hi, Blade,” she greeted the towering Warrior.
“Hi, Sherry,” Blade said to Hickok’s wife.
Sherry’s green eyes narrowed as they fell on Ringo. She shot an annoyed glare in the guman’s direction. “What’s wrong with his diaper?”
“He just went potty,” Hickok stated proudly. “And I got him there in time. Well, almost in time.”
“What did you do to his diaper?” Sherry reiterated.
“Nothin’. Why?”
Sherry knelt and tapped the bulge in Ringo’s pants.
“What’d you put in there? A rock?”
“I just put on a new diaper,” Hickok stated.
“What kind of knot did you use?” Sherry inquired.
“What does it matter?” Hickok said defensively.
“What kind of knot?” Sherry asked insistently.
“A timber hitch,” Hickok mumbled.
“A what?”
“A timber hitch,” Hickok declared. “I’m good at timber hitches.”
Sherry glanced at Blade, rolled her eyes, and sighed. She picked up Ringo and stalked into the cabin. “How many times do I have to tell you,” she said over her right shoulder, “you don’t use timber hitches on a cloth diaper.”
“So what’s the big deal over a teensy-weensy knot?” Hickok wanted to know. “The diaper stays on, doesn’t it?”
“Men!” Sherry exclaimed as she walked into the bathroom.
“Women!” Hickok muttered as he stepped outside and closed the cabin door. He looked at Blade. “So what’s up?”
“Plato wants to see us,” Blade said.
“How come?” Hickok asked as they strolled to the west.
“The Freedom Federation is going to have another conference,” Blade disclosed. “The leaders are going to meet here in a couple of months, and Plato wants to go over our security arrangements.”
Hickok snickered. “Just like the old-timer to get all frazzled about somethin’ two months away!”
“Don’t refer to Plato as an old-timer,” Blade said testily.
“Why not?”
“You should treat Plato with more respect,” Blade stated.
“I respect Plato,” Hickok said sincerely. “But when a man is pushin’ fifty, and he’s got long, gray hair down to his shoulders, and more wrinkles on his face than there are cracks in the mud of a dry creek bed, then I reckon he qualifies for old-timer status.”
“Plato is the Family Leader,” Blade said archly. “He deserves our courtesy and consideration.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’ve gotta kiss his tootsies,” the gunman remarked.
Blade sighed. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”
“Yep.” Hickok nodded. “My missus tells me that at least once a day.”
“She’s right,” Blade said.
The two Warriors were approaching the concrete block nearest the row of cabins, and Blade gazed at the compound ahead, marveling once again at how well the Founder had built the Home.
Kurt Carpenter had spent millions on the survivalist retreat. Square in shape, enclosed by brick walls 20 feet in height and topped with barbed wire, the Home was a model of efficiency and organization. The eastern half of the compound was preserved in its natural state and devoted to agricultural pursuits. In the middle of the Home, aligned from north to south in a straight line, were the cabins reserved for married Family members. The western section was the socializing area and the site of the large concrete bunkers—or blocks, as the Family called them. Arranged in a triangular formation, there were six in all. The first, A Block, was the Family armory and the southern tip of the triangle. B Block came 100 yards to the northwest of A Block, and it was the sleeping quarters for single Family members and the gathering place for community functions.
C Block was 100 yards northwest of B Block, and it served as the infirmary for the Family Healers, members rigorously trained in herbal and holistic medicine. D Block, 100 yards east of C Block, was the Family workshop for everything from carpentry to metalworking. Next in line, 100 yards east of D Block, was E Block, the enormous Family library personally stocked with hundreds of thousands of books by Kurt Carpenter. Carpenter had foreseen the value knowledge would acquire in a world stripped of its educational institutions. Consequently, Carpenter had stocked books on every conceivable subject in the library. These precious volumes, frayed and faded after a century of use, were the Family’s most cherished possessions. Finally, 100 yards southwest of the library was F Block, utilized for gardening, farming, and food-processing purposes.