“Now we shall return to the Temple. And, as I promised, you will shortly meet your Destiny.” Aaron and the two guards laughed.
Chapter Nineteen
“I can’t leave you clowns alone for a minute.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You cow chips need someone to hold your hands and watch over you every second. I’m gone for a spell, and the Big Guy gets himself captured and you goof off.”
“I haven’t been goofing off,” Geronimo said indignantly.
“Have you tangled with any humongous cockroaches?”
“No.”
“Did you bump into any jumbo spiders?”
“No, but—”
“I bet you didn’t even stomp any Stompers. Why is it I always do all the work on these runs?”
“You’d better be careful,” Geronimo stated.
“Why?”
“At the rate you’re going, your nose will be ten inches longer by nightfall.”
“Why are you pickin’ on my nose?”
“I wouldn’t pick your nose with a ten-foot pole.”
“Excuse me,” said a voice behind them.
The Warriors stopped and turned.
“Do the two of you do this all the time?” Marlon inquired.
“Do what?” Hickok asked.
“Argue,” Marlon said.
“We never argue,” Geronimo responded. “We engage in enlightened discussion.”
“We do?” Hickok said.
“Yep. You babble, and I enlighten you on your mistakes,” Geronimo said.
Marlon chuckled and looked at the gunman. “I want to thank you again.”
“It was a piece of cake.”
“Melanie might be dead right now if not for you,” Marlon said. “She told me how you saved her.”
“She saved my hide too, so I reckon we’re even,” Hickok mentioned.
“Not quite. Anything I can do for you, I will,” Marlon pledged.
“How much longer until we’re there?” Geronimo inquired.
“Kiest Park? About ten, maybe fifteen minutes. I hope the Stompers are still hanging out there. They were last we knew,” Marlon mentioned.
“Ten minutes, huh? Then let’s vamoose,” Hickok suggested. He stared at the line of Chains strung out to their rear.
“Head out!” Marlon declared.
They trekked to the southwest, using the side streets and alleys, ever alert for Stompers or the Chosen.
“That army dude was really ticked off at you guys,” Marlon commented idly as they crossed Hampton road.
“Garber was a mite flustered at being left behind,” Hickok agreed.
“We didn’t have any choice,” Geronimo said. “At least one of our team has to survive to get word to General Reese. Garber may not like staying with Melanie and those three guards, but he knew we were right. If we don’t come back, he’ll be able to tell the general everything we’ve learned so far.”
“Which isn’t all that much,” Hickok noted.
“We know about the Chains and the Stompers,” Geronimo stated.
“But we know diddly about the blamed Chosen.”
“We know they have Blade, and that’s enough.”
Marlon glanced at Geronimo. “I should thank you again as well for tending to the spider bites.”
“You’ll need to watch Melanie closely for a week or so,” Geronimo advised. “She lost a lot of blood, which is the reason she fainted, but I don’t believe the spiders were poisonous. There was no discoloration or puffiness where she was bitten.”
“You think she’ll be all right?” Marlon inquired anxiously.
“I know she will,” Geronimo said. “In a month she’ll be as good as new.”
“I was so afraid I was going to lose her,” Marlon remarked.
“I know how you feel,” Hickok said.
“Have you ever lost a woman you loved?”
“Once,” Hickok replied, thinking of the Warrior named Joan, the woman he had loved years ago, before he met his wife. Joan had been slain by the vicious Trolls in Fox, Minnesota. Whenever he thought of her fate, he appreciated having Sherry all the more.
They continued warily, halting briefly five minutes later when a two-headed cat as big as a calf bounded across the road and vanished into a brownstone. They passed the building with their weapons ready, but the feline didn’t attack. Seven minutes later a tract of dense vegetation appeared ahead.
“Kiest Park,” Marlon announced, and held up his right hand so the column would stop. “What’s the next move?”
“Hickok and I will go into the park and look for the Stompers,” Geronimo proposed.
“And what if they decide to shoot first and ask questions later?”
“Leave it to me,” Hickok said. He slung the Henry over his left shoulder, hooked his thumbs in his gunbelt, and strolled forward.
“Wait for me,” Geronimo declared.
“You’re both nuts!” Marlon stated, watching them advance. He frowned, looked at the Chains, then scanned the park. “Damn idiots!” he muttered.
“They’ll get their fool heads blown off,” commented the third man in the line.
“Who asked you?” Marlon snapped, and hitched at his pants.
“What are you mad at me for?” asked the bewildered man.
“I’m not,” Marlon said brusquely, and sighed. “I want all of you to stay put.”
“Where are you going?” the man queried.
“Where the hell do you think?” Marlon retorted, and ran to catch up to the gunfighter and the Indian. “Wait for me.”
Geronimo glanced over his right shoulder as Marlon reached them.
“We have company.”
“Reeves knows me. We’ve yelled insults at each other a few times,” Marlon said. “He probably won’t open fire if he sees me with you.”
“We hope,” Geronimo responded. He slanted the Browning barrel at the ground and scrutinized the weeds, thickets, and trees. The Stompers had selected an excellent hideaway; no one could approach the park without being seen.
“Let me do the talking,” Marlon recommended.
“Fine by me,” Hickok said. “I just hope this Reeves hombre has some horse sense. We can’t afford to waste time.”
Geronimo saw a bush quiver although the air was perfectly still.
“They’re watching us.”
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Hickok said, and halted. “We’re lookin’ for the Stompers!” he called out.
Marlon stepped in front of the gunman. “You said I could do the talking.”
“Sorry. By my guest. My lips are sealed.”
“That’ll be the day,” Geronimo cracked.
“Here goes nothing,” Marlon said, facing the vegetation 15 yards off and squaring his shoulders. “Reeves! Reeves! You know who this is! I’ve come here to talk!”
No one responded.
“They might be out scrounging for food,” Marlon commented.
“Try again,” Geronimo prompted.
“Reeves! This is Marlon! We came here in peace to talk! Can you hear me?”
A tall, brown-haired woman wearing jeans and a leather jacket stepped into view next to a tree. “How do we know this isn’t a trick?” she demanded, gazing past the trio at the Chains 50 feet away.
“Who are you?” Hickok asked.
“Cathy.”
“Where’s Reeves?” the gunman queried.
“He’s here.”
“Then why doesn’t he show himself? Is he a wimp or a man?” Hickok asked caustically.
Marlon leaned close to the gunfighter. “I’m supposed to be doing the talking! If you get Reeves mad, we’ll never pull this off!”
“I won’t say another word,” Hickok said.
“Where have we heard that before?” Geronimo quipped.
Two men emerged from the undergrowth accompanied by Cathy. The first stood well over six and a half feet in height and weighed in the vicinity of 250 pounds. Matted shoulder-length black hair hung from his head. His eyes were beady and brown. A dirty, torn gray shirt and overalls bulged at the waist, suggesting budding corpulence. He held a double-barreled shotgun in his pudgy hands.