The two jeeps that had collided were in flames, while the third jeep had mysteriously stopped in the middle of the field and was sitting there, the motor idling.
Hickok bolstered his Pythons. He detected the gleam of his Henry reflected in the fire from the jeeps and walked over to the rifle. As he stooped to retrieve it, a high, squeaky voice stopped him cold.
“Touch it and you’re dead!”
Hickok slowly straightened and turned. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Rat was standing to the right of the burning jeeps, an M-16 in his hands, a wicked look on his feral face. “You remember me, then?”
“How could I forget vermin like you?”
“Yeah! That’s right! Have your fun while you can!” Rat cackled. “I’ve been waitin’ for this chance for so long! I’m gonna repay you for what you did to Maggot, you prick!”
“Too bad I wasn’t able to do the same to you,” Hickok said goading him.
Rat laughed. “I love it! I just love it! I’m gonna waste you! Are you scared, Hickok? Afraid I might pull this trigger?”
Hickok feigned a gaping yawn. “Nope. I’m bored to tears.”
“You’re faking it!” Rat snapped. “You just don’t want me to have my fun!”
“No. I’m just waiting for my friend, Geronimo, to put a bullet in your miserable head. He’s right behind you.” Hickok held his breath, hoping Rat would take the bait. It was literally the oldest trick in the book.
“You’re full of shit!” Rat declared. “You must think I’m really stupid to fall for a gag like that!”
“You have no idea of how stupid I think you are,” Hickok said.
“There’s no one behind me!”
Hickok yawned again. “Want to bet your life on it?”
Rat’s features mirrored his quandary. He didn’t believe the gunfighter for a minute. At least, he didn’t want to believe him. But a nagging doubt persisted in his mind. Maybe Geronimo was behind him. Otherwise, how could Hickok be so calm about his fate?
The issue was decided by the burning jeeps. One of the rear-view mirrors, overheated by the raging flames, suddenly shattered with a loud pop.
Rat, fearing the worst, whirled, firing the M-16 wildly. It took only seconds to realize he’d been duped. Geronimo wasn’t behind him! He spun toward Hickok, continuing to fire the M-16, spraying the automatic at waist level.
The gunfighter was prone on the ground, the Henry to his shoulder. He saw Rat’s mouth drop and his beady eyes widen in alarm. Perfect. The Henry thundered and recoiled against his arm.
Rat’s forehead was caved inward by the impact of the 44-40 slug. The back of his head spewed blood, brains, and greasy hair in every direction.
The M-16 flew from his hands as he slammed to the ground and lay still.
“Got ya!” Hickok elated, rising. He walked to his long-time foe and stared at the lifeless eyes.
The night was deathly still.
Blade and Geronimo materalized out of the darkness and reached Hickok’s side.
“Are you okay?” Blade asked.
“Fine,” Hickok answered.
Geronimo nudged Rat’s corpse with his right foot. “He give you any problems?”
“Piece of cake,” Hickok replied. “How about you? Finish off those soldier boys?”
“We got them all,” Blade said, “then heard your shot and came running.” He paused. “We can’t waste any time. Take ten more men and watch the road. We’re leaving here in an hour no matter what.”
Bertha came running up to them.
“We’ve got to get back,” Blade stated, leading Geronimo off.
Hickok faced Bertha, reading the concern on her features, the affection in her eyes. “No hard feelings?” he inquired.
Bertha shook her head, suppressing the inexpressionable sadness she felt in her heart. “No hard feelings,” she acknowledged.
Hickok offered his right hand. “Shake on it?”
Her hand was damp as she gripped his and shook.
“Let’s head back,” he suggested.
They moved toward the tent in silence, Hickok experiencing a peculiar sense of remorse.
“Just you remember one thing,” Bertha finally spoke up, grinning devilishly.
“What’s that?”
“If you and your wife ever have a fallin’ out,” she vowed, “I’m gonna be on you like flies on garbage!”
“Remind me to talk to you about your analogies sometime.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nineteen miles northwest of the Cheyenne Citadel, resting that night after spending hours packing for their departure the next day, Adam Mason and his father and mother were relaxing on their front porch.
“I wish we didn’t have to leave our home,” Gail said, sorrow tinging her every word.
“We’ve been all through that,” Seth replied. “We don’t have any other choice. The Government will find us anywhere in the Civilized Zone. Yama is our only hope.”
“If he returns,” Gail retorted.
“He will,” Adam chipped in. “I know he will.”
“You hardly know the man, son,” Gail rejoined. “None of us really know him, and yet we’re all set to trust him with our very lives.”
“We don’t have any choice,” Seth reiterated.
“I wish you’d stop saying that,” Gail said.
Adam rose and stretched. “Don’t worry so much, Mom,” he advised.
“Yama will take good care of us. He’ll return. You’ll see.”
“I hope he hasn’t run into any trouble in the Citadel,” Seth commented.
“Yama can take real good care of himself,” Adam asserted. “You saw that. Nothing can kill him.”
Gail Mason suddenly cocked her head to one side, listening. “Shhhhh! Be quiet! Do you hear it?”
“I hear it,” Seth corroborated.
“So do I,” Adam ineterjected. “What is it?”
“Sounds like thunder,” Gail mentioned.
“That’s funny,” Seth said. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
Adam, trying to get a fix on the distant rumbling, walked to the southern tip of the porch. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Come look at this!”
Seth and Gail hurried to the end of the porch.
“Dear Lord!” Gail cried.
The southeastern horizon was lit by a brilliant fireball.
“What is it?” Adam asked.
“I don’t know,” Seth admitted, “but whatever it is, I think it’s coming from the Citadel.”
Adam gazed at his parents with frightened, dilated eyes. “Could it be Yama?”
Neither one answered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The attack, while it may have been anticipated, came from a completely unexpected source and caught them off guard and unprepared.
The convoy, embracing sixteen transports, one slightly shot-up jeep, and the SEAL, was two days out of the Twin Cities and stopped for an afternoon break at Floyd Lake, just east of Highway 59. The SEAL was parked near the water as Alpha Triad snacked on smoked venison and fresh water.
“I don’t like it,” Blade said to the others between mouthfuls. “We’re making too many stops. We should have been much further by now.”
“What did you expect with all the women and children along?”
Geronimo countered. “Children need potty breaks more often than adults, and water is essential.”
“I know,” Blade acknowledged. “It’s just that I have this uncomfortable feeling between my shoulder blades, like we’re being watched or something is about to happen. I can’t shake it.”
“You’re not the only one,” Hickok disclosed. “I can’t understand why the blasted Army hasn’t hit us yet. They’ve had plenty of opportunity. We didn’t even see one measly soldier in Detroit Lakes, and we know they were using it as a monitoring post once. What’s going on?”