Tomorrow, the Alpha Triad and Joshua would depart on a trip destined to decide the fate of the Family. What would that fate be? he reflected.
Life?
Or death?
Chapter Three
The July sun was beating down mercilessly even at this early hour. Climate had been drastically affected by the Third World War. Immediately after the War, the atmosphere had become choked with radioactive debris, dust, and smoke. Within five years, most of this had dispersed. Now, a century later, the sky was near normal, and the Temperate Zones still enjoyed the passing of seasons, but with a difference. The transitional seasons, spring and autumn, were of shorter duration than before the War. Summer and winter were dramatically altered, characterized by an extreme latitude of temperature fluctuation. Summers were suffocatingly hotter, and the winters were icily colder. Thunderstorms could attain a staggering, raging intensity. Periodically, inexplicably, every winter, pink snow would descend.
The Family was gathered for the departure.
“It’s going to be another hot one,” Blade commented as he, Hickok, Geronimo, and Joshua approached.
Plato wiped the back of his right hand across his sweating brow.
“Indeed. How was your repast?”
“It was a good feed, old-timer.” Hickok patted his stomach. “I’m going to miss the grub around here.”
“You’ll return to partake again,” Plato said. “Bet your boots!” Hickok pointed at the SEAL. “This contraption ready to go?”
“The SEAL is fully functional,” Plato replied. “The only exceptions are those switches on the dash. As I advised Blade, you must not tamper with them until we discover their purpose. It is most peculiar they are not included in the Operations Manual.”
“Don’t fret yourself,” Hickok suggested. “We managed to get to Fox and back without using them.”
“Before you depart, there is something I must say.” Plato stared earnestly at each of them in turn. “Believe me, if any other option were available, I would not be advocating this venture. If you only knew how often I have prayed there were another recourse available…” He let the thought trail off.
“The Spirit will guide us,” Joshua assured him. Joshua was attired for the trip in faded beige pants and a brown shirt. He wore a gold chain and large cross around his neck. His brown hair, grown long, draped across his shoulders. He adorned his face with a full beard and mustache. His brown eyes, even his every facial feature, reflected an inner, sublime serenity.
Plato knew the identity of Joshua’s childhood hero, and he understand why the sixteen-year-old Robert had adopted Joshua at his Naming. “Do you think I should call the trip off?” he asked, racked with doubts. “No,” Blade immediately answered. “You don’t?” Plato needed further assurance. “The Family is depending on us,” Blade stated.
“Whether we personally like it or not, we’re committed. We can’t turn back now, before we’ve even begun.” He paused and locked his gray eyes on Plato. “After all, we don’t want to be accused of timid leadership, now do we?”
Only Plato realized the significance of the statement, and he averted his gaze. Wasn’t this ironic? he mentally told himself. Yesterday, Blade had wanted to call the Twin Cities Run off. Now, he did. When it came right down to it, he simply couldn’t bear the thought of one member of his precious Family, the people he viewed as his cherished children, coming to any harm.
“Then it’s settled,” Hickok said. “Which is fine by me. I’m looking forward to a little action.”
“If this trip is anything like the Troll affair,” Geronimo cracked, “you’ll get more action than you can handle.”
Hickok patted the Pythons. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, pard.”
“The SEAL is loaded with all the supplies you should require,” Plato remarked. “Do you have your weapons?”
“I refuse to bear arms,” Joshua answered quickly.
“We have our weapons,” Blade replied, speaking for the Warriors. His Commando Arms carbine was in the rear of the SEAL, along with Geronimo’s Browning B-80 automatic shotgun and Hickok’s Navy Arms Henry. The Family armory, in A Block, contained hundreds of weapons, a diverse assortment personally stocked by Kurt Carpenter. Carpenter had known his followers would need all the firepower they could muster if they were to endure, to survive in the shambles of civilization remaining after World War Three. He had overseen the stacking of crate after crate of the appropriate ammunition, and had included the equipment necessary for reloading and repair.
In addition to the Bowies on his hips and the Vegas in the shoulder holster, Blade carried two daggers, one strapped to his left wrist, another to his right calf. Three Solingen throwing knives, in a small leather sheath, were attached to his belt in the small of his back, hidden by the green shirt he wore. A folding Buck knife was in his right front pocket.
Hickok, as always, wore his Colts. In a miniature brown holster affixed to his right wrist, under his buckskin sleeve, was a two-shot Mitchell’s Derringer. Tied above his left ankle was a four-shot C.O.P., in .357 caliber.
Geronimo carried the fewest weapons. An Arminius .357 was in a shoulder holster under his right arm. A pair of genuine Apache tomahawks, his favorite weapons, were angled under his belt, near the buckle.
“There is ample space if you want to take more,” Plato mentioned.
“We have all we’ll need. We should get going,” Blade said.
“At last!” Hickok walked around the transport to the passenger side.
“But first…” Blade scanned the dozens of faces and spotted Jenny. She was standing forlornly under a nearby tree. “I’ll be right back,” he informed the others and moved through the crowd to reach her side.
Her blue eyes were watering, her cheeks streaked with her tears, and her beautiful blond hair was disheveled. “I don’t know if I can take this,” she informed him.
“We’ve been all through this,” Blade reminded her, his eyes feasting on her loveliness. He wanted to brand this moment in his memory, to remember everything from the pout of her full red lips to her form-fitting buckskin breeches, even the contours of the white blouse she had sewn together from pieces of a torn sheet.
Jenny hugged him and pressed her left cheek against his chest. “Oh, Blade! I’ve dreaded this moment! I don’t want you to go!”
“Please, Jenny, don’t,” Blade said, his voice husky. “It only makes it worse on us.”
“I’m sorry,” she managed to say. “I can’t help myself.” She buried her face and began sobbing.
Blade let her cry, uninterrupted. He twisted his neck and saw Joshua saying goodbye to his parents. How fortunate Joshua was to have his parents alive and well. None of the Alpha Triad had parents to worry about. Blade realized he was thankful his parents had passed on. If they were still with the Family, he doubted he would be able to depart. Leaving Jenny was hard enough, requiring every iota of his concentration and will power.
“I’m holding you to your promise,” she said, looking up at him with tears running down her face. “We marry when you return.”
“I meant it from my heart,” Blade whispered. “I’ll be counting the days until we’re together again.”
Jenny managed a smile. “I can’t wait to bind with you.”
Blade leaned down and kissed her passionately, forcefully. She clung to him in emotional desperation, her nails digging into his superbly muscled arms.
“Jenny,” he began when they broke their kiss, “I want to tell you something. Remember these words when the nights are long and lonely. I love you with the depth and breadth of my soul. You mean more to me than life itself. I will be back to bind to you. Nothing, absolutely nothing, will keep me from getting back here. No matter how long it takes, or whatever obstacles I must overcome, I will return. And while I’m gone, every moment of every day, I will cherish your love for me in the core of my being.”