It was all up to him.
Blade labored to rise, his battered and bruised body sluggish in responding.
Krill was watching Blade, grinning and waiting.
“You must want me real bad,” Blade muttered. He was astonished when the brute nodded.
“You can understand what I say?” Blade said, gawking.
Krill’s smile widened.
“But that’s impossible…” Blade mumbled.
Krill pounced, reaching Blade in a single mighty bound. His huge hands gripped Blade’s head and he began tugging, intending to literally tear Blade’s head from his body.
Blade reacted automatically, reaching up and gouging his thumbs into the brute’s eyes.
Krill released him and stumbled aside, rubbing his watery eyes, trying to clear his blurred vision.
Blade cast about for a weapon. He spied one of the tomahawks, on the ground near Geronimo, and ran to it, grabbing the handle, never stopping as he turned and closed on Krill, sweeping the tomahawk all the way back and, as he reached the brute, jumping as high as he could into the air while crashing the blade onto the top of the brute’s head, completely burying it in Krill’s cranium.
The brute sagged and collapsed on its knees, barely conscious.
Blade stepped back as Joshua ran up, holding the Browning. “Finish it off,” Blade ordered. When Joshua went to object, Blade savagely poked him in the chest. “Finish it now!” he shouted.
Startled, bewildered at Blade’s attitude, Joshua reluctantly placed the barrel against the brute’s ear and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Twenty
They were gathered in the headquarters building while Joshua ministered to their injuries.
“Josh the brute-slayer!” Hickok was teasing. “Has a ring to it!”
“Please.” Joshua grimaced. “Don’t remind me!”
“Wait until the Family hears about this,” Hickok remarked. He was lying beside Bertha, near the bar. Blade was at the table, Geronimo standing guard.
“Please,” Joshua addressed Hickok. “Don’t inform the Family.” He was bandaging Blade’s wounds.
“Why not?” Hickok demanded.
“I simply don’t want to be known as a…” he paused.
“As a killer,” Hickok said, finishing the sentence for him.
“Exactly.” Joshua nodded.
“You get used to it,” Hickok informed Joshua.
Joshua stopped his ministrations and stared into Hickok’s eyes. “Unlike you, I could never get used to it. Never.”
“If that’s what you want,” Hickok said, shrugging, “it’s fine by me. It’ll be our little secret.”
“So what’s our next move?” Geronimo inquired.
“Do we have any choice?” Blade answered, flinching as Joshua applied a compress to his right shoulder.
“The beast took quite a bite out of you,” Joshua noted.
“Yeah,” Bertha cracked. “He and I have a lot in common!”
“As I was about to say,” Blade commented, “I don’t think we have any other choice. As I see it, we head for our Home instead of the Twin Cities.
Anyone disagree?”
No one spoke.
“Fine.” Blade nodded. “The Twin Cities will wait for another week or two, while we rest and recuperate.” He stared at the floor, reflecting. It was funny. First, he had wanted to reach the Twin Cities as quickly as possible, and he had even persuaded Bertha to go along against her better judgment. Then, after Hickok and Bertha had been hurt, he had prevailed on them to return to the Home, using the pretext of their injuries, when in reality he wanted to see his darling Jenny again and ferret out the power-monger in the Family. It was as if he had looked for an excuse, any justification, for heading back. Now there was nothing else they could do.
With three of them seriously wounded, the Twin Cities were definitely out of the question. It was funny, sometimes, how things worked themselves out.
“What about the truck and those jeeps?” Geronimo asked.
“What about them?” Blade inquired.
“Do we take one of them with us? The Family could really use another vehicle,” Geronimo stated.
“Who’d drive it?” Blade inquired.
“I could do it,” Hickok chimed in. “I’ve driven the SEAL before, you know.”
“Except for one thing,” Blade commented. “When Geronimo and I examined them earlier, I discovered both of the jeeps, and probably the truck too, are not like the SEAL.”
“How so, pard?” Hickok questioned.
“The SEAL is what Plato called an automatic,” Blade reminded him.
“The Watcher’s vehicles are not automatics. They’re the old shift variety, using something called a clutch. I don’t know how to drive one of those. Do you?”
“No,” Hickok admitted. “But I could learn.”
“We don’t have the time,” Blade said. “It’s almost noon.”
“The reinforcements aren’t due until this evening,” Hickok said.
“Maybe I could learn by then.”
“And what if they arrive sooner than expected?” Blade retorted. “What if they send an advance patrol? We’re hardly in condition for another fight.”
“Okay. So it’s not such a hot idea,” Hickok conceded. “No need to get all testy about it.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Blade corrected him. “I think it’s a great idea, and if we had the time, and if we weren’t in such lousy shape, I’d go for it.
But…” He left the thought dangling.
“So what do we do?” Geronimo asked.
“We stick with the original plan,” Blade answered. “We load up the generator and the supplies we confiscated, and whatever we can cram in from the truck, and take off for the Home.”
“Don’t forget the radio,” Hickok added.
“That too. Anything I’ve forgotten?” Blade looked at each of them.
“There is one small thing…” Joshua said quietly.
“What is it?” Blade asked him.
“It’s about the dead Watchers…”
“Oh no,” Hickok groaned. “Here we go again.”
“I don’t suppose we could provide them with a proper burial?” Joshua inquired.
Blade shook his head. “I’m sorry, Joshua. We haven’t got the time to spare.”
“Just thought I’d ask,” Joshua stated.
“Let’s get cracking,” Blade announced.
While Hickok and Geronimo retrieved the provisions hidden before the convoy arrived, Blade, with the assistance of Joshua and Bertha, dismantled the generator and the stereo. By three in the afternoon they had the supplies, the generator, various miscellaneous items, and a stack of M-16’s piled into the transport, utilizing all the space available until there was scarcely room for them.
“I reckon it’s about time, pard,” Hickok said to Blade as they stood on the steps.
Blade nodded, his hands on his Bowies. He’d found his weapons stashed in the rear of the truck, and he had thanked the Spirit for the return of the long knives when he’d strapped them to his waist.
“The Family will be plumb tickled,” Hickok commented.
“I’d like to know somethin’,” Bertha said, coming through the door.
“What’s that, Black Beauty?” Hickok asked her.
“How come you talk so funny sometimes?” Bertha inquired.
“Talk funny?” Hickok repeated.
Geronimo came through the door, laughing. “He does that because he’s a fanatic about the Old West, as it was called in the books in our library,” he explained. “Hickok likes to talk like he thinks they did way back then.
You know, and I know, he sounds like a congenital idiot, but it’s impossible to argue with a man who has rocks for brains.”
“You’re weird, White Meat.” Bertha shook her head. “You’re really weird.”