“Like to, but Plato also wants me to find Joshua. Catch you later.”
Geronimo ambled toward a stand of trees growing near A Block, one of Joshua’s favorite places for meditating and worshiping.
Blade casually walked in the direction of the library, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin, relishing the feeling of being healthy again.
He thoroughly detested the forced confinement imposed on him because of the infection. The Healers, his darling Jenny one of them, had refused to brook any argument and compelled him to remain in bed until they were satisfied as to his recovery. Thank the Spirit the illness had waited to strike until they’d returned from Fox, the headquarters of the Trolls! He spotted Cindy and Tyson, the brother and sister who were living an uncertain nomadic existence until the Alpha Triad had found them and brought them to the Home. They had adjusted quickly, and now appeared to be happy and contented.
One of the Gamma Warriors was on guard duty, pacing the rampart above the drawbridge. He saw Blade and waved.
Blade recognized the balding head and fancy blue uniform of Napoleon, the leader of Gamma Triad. Napoleon had found an old Air Force uniform in the storeroom of clothes and material the Family maintained in the rear of B Block, sewn the holes and patched the rips and tears, and added silver buttons and a bright red sash. Hickok referred to Napoleon as “the Family dandy,” a reference Napoleon strongly resented. Once, during a lighthearted social period around a fire, Hickok made a joke about Napoleon’s style of dress. Blade recalled being shocked by the intense expression of hatred momentarily flickering across Napoleon’s face. He remembered Napoleon had even reached for the Taurus revolver he wore, then stopped, evidently realizing drawing on Hickok was certain suicide.
But why had Napoleon reacted so violently to a harmless jest?
Blade’s reverie was interrupted by the sight of the SEAL.
SEAL was an acronym for Solar Energized Amphibious or Land Recreational Vehicle, a prototype Kurt Carpenter had expended millions developing. After its construction, Carpenter had hidden the vehicle in an underground chamber. In a diary he had left behind, Carpenter advised his followers to avoid contacting the outside world for as long as possible.
He had known society would revert to bestial levels after the War, and had wanted to protect his Family. Carpenter also had realized the Family would require a very special mode of transport once it decided to venture any distance from the Home. The SEAL was his gift to subsequent generations, a revolutionary vehicle designed to withstand the rigors of travel in a landscape altered by the ravages of nuclear war.
The SEAL was powered by the sun, the light collected by two solar panels affixed to the roof of the vehicle. The energy was converted and stored in unique new batteries located in the lead-lined case under the transport. The scientists and engineers had assured Carpenter the SEAL would continue to function provided the battery casings and the solar panels were not damaged.
In appearance, the SEAL resembled pictures in some of the library books of vehicles calls vans. The floor was an impervious metal alloy, while the body, the entire shell, was composed of a shatterproof and heat-resistant plastic, fabricated especially to meet Carpenter’s rigorous specifications. Four puncture-resistant tires, each four feet high and two feet wide, supported the transport.
There was no sign of Plato.
Blade stopped at the driver’s door and peered inside through the open window. The body itself, a light shade of green, provided one-way viewing; those inside could see out but, for security reasons, anyone outside could not perceive the occupants.
“Plato?” Blade called, wondering where his wizened mentor could be.
“I thought I recognized the owner of those large pedal extremities,” said a voice from under the SEAL.
“Plato?” Blade knelt and peered under the vehicle.
“Thanks for responding so promptly.” Plato grinned, his affection conveyed in his kindly blue eyes. The head of the Family viewed Blade as the son he never had. His long gray hair and beard were streaked with dirt and grime, as were his baggy pants, a tattered pair of jeans, and his loose-fitting brown shirt. “I’ve been checking the SEAL to insure operational integrity,” Plato explained. He crawled from under the vehicle and slowly stood, his arthritic knees bothering him as he straightened.
“Is it all set to go?” Blade asked.
“Absolutely,” Plato replied, whacking the side of the transport. “Fit as the proverbial fiddle. Unfortunately, though, I’ve failed to ascertain the function of the mysterious toggles.”
Blade knew the switches Plato referred to. The SEAL’s Operations Manual, although it contained explicit instructions on the procedural operation and functions of the vehicle, did not mention the purpose of the four toggle switches in the center of the dashboard. They were marked M, S, F, and R. “No problem,” Blade told Plato. “We can get by without using them.”
“Just be certain no one touches them until I discover their primary function,” Plato advised.
“We won’t,” Blade assured him.
“You know the reason I requested to speak with you?” Plato asked, his tone turning somber.
“I imagine you want us to leave for the Twin Cities soon,” Blade responded.
“Affirmative,” Plato acknowledged. “Tomorrow morning.”
“What?” Blade’s face reflected his surprise. “So soon?”
“The sooner the better,” Plato stated.
“But it’s such short notice,” Blade protested. “Jenny will be extremely upset.”
“Would you rather inform her a week before your departure,” Plato said gently, “and have her moping and crying for a whole week instead of one night? Which would be easier on her emotionally?”
Blade frowned and stared at C Block. “I see your point,” he admitted regretfully.
Plato placed his right hand on Blade’s broad back. “I am truly sorry for the imposition and inconveniences, but you know our records indicate each generation is experiencing decreased life spans and suffering from a form of premature senility. I have it,” Plato said softly, “and it’s affecting my behavior. I ache, I get absent-minded, and at times I behave like a silly ass. We must find a cure, and we need certain medical and scientific supplies to do it. Minneapolis and St. Paul are the nearest major cities.
We believe they were spared a direct hit, and have every reason to speculate they are still standing. A major metropolis might contain all of the equipment we need. The Twin Cities is our best bet. I’m aware of the great distance involved, some three-hundred-and-seventy-odd miles, but it is imperative Alpha Triad make the trip.”
“I know all of this,” Blade reminded Plato. “It’s just that after what happened with the Trolls, I’m not mentally prepared to leave Jenny, to be separated from her again.”
“None of you have revealed much concerning your trip to Fox,” Plato commented.
Blade stared into the distance, watching a flock of starlings wing over the forest.
“Would you care to talk about it?” Plato said softly.
Blade shook his head.
“You came close, didn’t you?” Plato asked.
“We came close,” Blade confirmed, vivid memories of sharp teeth and slashing claws, of a shredded throat and a bloody woman Warrior filling his mind, haunting him with their intensity.
“I will never be able to express the full extent of my gratitude,” Plato said, opting to change the subject, “for saving my dear wife. I had given her up for dead long ago.”
“You have been happier than I can remember ever seeing you,” Blade stated.
“You rejuvenated my life, and have filled my soul with soaring melodies of love and an inner feeling of contentment. I feel complete again,” Plato declared, smiling broadly, He noted Blade’s sad face. “There is another reason…” he blurted out, then paused.