There had to be an answer! Some element the Healers had overlooked as they struggled to ascertain the cause of the senility. But what?
Plato felt his eyes moisten. It couldn’t end like this! It simply couldn’t!
His precious Family, snuffed out with a whimper from the pages of mortal history.
Everything depended on Alpha Triad. This time, they had to return with the scientific and medical items the Healers needed. Time was running out.
Please, O Spirit, he silently prayed, protect your children, Blade and Geronimo, and see them safely back to the Home.
Please!
Chapter Seventeen
As Lieutenant Angier dove for his M-16, Blade reached overhead and grabbed the boat hook.
Angier swept the M-16 up and around, his finger tightening on the trigger. He caught a motion out of the corner of his left eye, and agony exploded inside his head.
Blade swung the handle of the boat hook a second time, slamming it against the Watcher’s ruptured left ear. Blood flowed down Angier’s neck as the soldier slumped to his knees, then slid to the wooden planks. The M-16 slipped from his hands.
Perfect!
Blade retrieved the rifle and crouched beside the door-way. The coast seemed clear. The other Watchers were probably concentrating on the road, and Gremlin was fast asleep. If his luck held, he’d be able to sneak along the shoreline and return to Kalispell. Geronimo must be worried silly by now.
The bushes and trees nearest the boathouse were shrouded in the shadows of twilight.
Just the cover he needed.
Blade cautiously stepped from the boathouse and moved to his left, bearing north.
Just as a Watcher rounded the corner of a building twenty yards away, carrying a cup of juice and a tin of hash, bringing supper to Lieutenant Angier.
Damn!
Blade heard the man shout “Stop!” then the Watcher hastily dropped the food and clutched at his M-16, slung over his right shoulder.
Not now!
Blade raised the M-16 and fired, the slugs ripping into the Watcher’s midsection and throwing him to the ground.
Another Watcher came into view from behind a tree, his rifle already pressed against his left shoulder, and he sighted on the giant Warrior and squeezed the trigger.
Blade flattened and rolled toward the doorway to the boathouse. He heard the bullets striking the boathouse wall and splinters stung his face.
Yet another Watcher joined the fray, opening up from a stand of bushes thirty yards to the northeast.
Blade crawled inside the boathouse, keeping low, as more and more slugs tore through the walls. He twisted, peered around the door jamb, and aimed at the Watcher alongside the tree. The M-16 burped, and the soldier crumpled.
The firing outside intensified, and the interior of the boathouse was filled with the buzzing of the slugs and the cracking and shattering of the wood.
All of them must be out there, Blade deduced.
Let’s see.
Angier was out cold. He’d killed the one with the food and the one by the tree. There were six, originally.
That meant three to go.
And Gremlin, of course.
But how to do it? The Watchers had him pinned down, and their guns covered the only exit from the boathouse. If he attempted to dash into the underbrush, he’d be cut down before he got ten yards. They could wait him out, if need be. They had food, he didn’t. He did have plenty of water, though, an entire lake at his…
Water?
The lake!
Blade grinned as he snaked to the edge of the wooden planks and glanced down. There was another exit from the boathouse, and one the Watchers couldn’t possibly cover unless they had a boat. Which they didn’t.
He hoped.
Blade eased over the edge and slid into the water, tentatively feeling for bottom with his feet. He touched small rocks and slowly stood, the water level coming to his waist.
The Watchers were still intent on whittling the boat-house to its foundation, chip by chip.
Blade moved deeper, the water rising to his chest as he reached the end of the boathouse and glanced around the corner.
No sign of anyone. Or anything.
He lowered his muscular body until only his head remained above the surface of the lake, holding the M-16 parallel to the surface and an inch in front of his nose. If the Watchers kept their attention on the boat-house, he’d be able to follow the shore until he was beyond their range.
The chorus of M-16’s was continuing to perforate the boathouse.
Blade moved quickly now, knowing he would be at a tremendous disadvantage if they caught him in Flathead Lake. His body tensed as he crossed a stretch of open water, angling for a line of trees near the shore.
So far, so good.
He alertly scanned the trees as he approached the shoreline, the water level dropping to his waist, then his knees, and finally to his ankles as he hurried from the lake and ran to the trees.
The Watchers had stopped shooting at the boathouse.
Blade leaned against a trunk and assessed his situation. He was about twenty-five yards from the boat-house, north of the Watchers and hidden from their view by the trees. He could head for Kalispell again.
Only one thing bothered him.
Where the hell was Gremlin?
Surely the creature had heard the commotion. No one could sleep through all that racket. So where was he? With the Watchers outside the boathouse? Where?
Blade shook his head, watery droplets flying in every direction. Did it matter? There was no way Gremlin could stop him now.
Good riddance.
Blade cautiously weaved between the trees as he traveled away from the vicinity of the boathouse. The brief twilight was gone, replaced by the encroachment of nightfall. Must be careful, he warned himself. He could easily trip and sprain something, or worse. The vegetation was dense and clung to his damp clothing as he passed. He swerved to his left, struck by an idea. The shore near the lake was clear of growth; he could make better time.
Flathead Lake was reflecting the stars, the waves lapping at his heels, as Blade ran northward, eating up the distance.
How long would it take him to reach Kalispell? He wasn’t sure of the distance involved. The last sign he could recall was for a small town called Bigfork, and mileage wasn’t printed on the sign. If he could maintain a steady pace, he knew he’d arrive in Kalispell by morning.
Something padded on the shore behind him.
Blade whirled, leveling the M-16, his eyes striving to pierce the darkness.
Nothing.
I must be getting jittery in my old age, he mentally joked, and resumed jogging northward.
The shoreline of Flathead Lake was a narrow band of rocky earth ringing the body of water. The pebbles and stones covering the shore gouged the soles of his moccasins. It would be easier, he reflected, if he crossed over to Highway 35 at first light.
The night was filled with sounds: the rhythmic lapping of the waves onto the shore, the breeze rustling the trees, a fish splashing in the water as it made a graceful arc, a bird twittering nervously in the pines, and footsteps from somewhere to his rear.
Blade dropped to his knees and stared along his back-trail.
There!
A lean form flattening on the ground.
Three guesses who.
Blade rose and ran at full speed, hoping Gremlin would fall for his gambit.
The creature did.
Blade could hear Gremlin pursuing him now, apparently throwing caution to the wind in an effort to overtake him. He could hear the pounding of Gremlin’s feet and the creature’s harsh breathing.
Tuning was critical now.
Blade concentrated on speed, while gauging the space between them.
He had to make his move at the right moment. Too soon, and Gremlin would have time to react and get out of the way. Too late, and the creature would be on him before he could defend himself.